Hilarity Ensues - Hilarity Ensues Part 33
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Hilarity Ensues Part 33

She was so aghast at this, she didn't say anything. So I walked away.

THE DEATH OF SLINGBLADE - PHOENIX, AZ.

Occurred, July 2007.

If you've read my first two books, you know all about SlingBlade. I have a lot of funny and interesting friends, but that dude is on a different level. He's not only funny and smart as hell, but he also sees the world in a different way from the rest of us. This is the email SlingBlade sent telling us he was getting married: So I assume that those of you who are married and thus purchased a diamond for your wife are aware of how evil and corrupt the diamond cartel is. I was not. Apparently, diamonds are almost worthless other than the value attached to them by the silly tramps that DeBeers has brainwashed into thinking 'diamond equals love.' Congratulations, ladies, your quest for the perfect princess cut not only supports terrorism and genocide, but has managed to destroy an entire continent.

Speaking of blood diamonds, what the hell is going on here? Everyone is upset about African children losing their limbs? Perhaps I missed their concern about these same children during the Rwandan genocide. Here's a solution: Stop buying diamonds. No no, the avarice of the entitled whore cannot be contained.

And if blood diamonds are so fucking bad, why can't I buy them at a discount? Or at least get them with a death certificate or an appendage or some sort of cogent backstory that might indicate an actual meaning to this useless little cube of carbon. Clearly the diamond market is broken on multiple levels.

In an entirely unrelated matter, I am now engaged.

SlingBlade's bachelor party and wedding were, well, I'm not sure how to describe them. So I won't. There is not really even a story to tell here, just a series of barely correlated events: There was no bachelor party. SlingBlade is a recalcitrant misanthrope, didn't want to deal with any of the typical bachelor party bullshit, and doesn't have any friends close enough to him to set it up anyway. It's not that people don't like him enough to do it-I would have set up his bachelor party in a heartbeat-it's that he didn't talk to any of us about it. One day out of the blue, we just got an invitation to his wedding.

The wedding was in Phoenix. To a girl that none of us had ever met. Or really even heard him talk about. I saw a picture, and she was very pretty, but that's about it.

The wedding was at a crappy hotel, with basically no reception after. Why? SlingBlade asked his fiancee what her family could contribute to the wedding. She him gave a number. That became the precise cost of the wedding. He's that cheap. I could write a whole other story just about how cheap that motherfucker is, but that example pretty much sums it up.

When I got to the hotel, there was a sign up about the two other groups that were also at the hotel that weekend. I swear to God one was a Special Olympics group and the other was some sort of homosexual organization. SlingBlade's wedding was sharing the hotel with fags and retards; one group wasn't allowed to get married, the other group couldn't spell it.

Since SlingBlade's wedding didn't really have a wedding party, and he let other people handle all the wedding details (his precise instructions were "I'll wear a tux and show up and say 'I do' and that's it"), the rehearsal dinner the night before didn't include anyone except for some family and one friend. There were only about 30 people at the wedding to begin with.

This did not sit well with me. I gave SlingBlade and his wife cash as their wedding gift (I did this with all my friends; it's the best gift). But I took the amount I was going to give them, and subtracted out the cost of the meal from the night before the wedding, when they were at the rehearsal dinner.

I met SlingBlade's wife the day of the wedding. She seemed like a very nice, sweet woman, and she was truly hot-a legit five-star.

The wedding ceremony was held overlooking the pool. During the day. When a bunch of gay guys were hanging around. Making out in the background. Of the wedding ceremony.

It was just a weird, strange wedding all around. But that's not why I called this section "The Death of SlingBlade." I did that because the marriage has worked out great for him. He's still very much happily married, has two kids that he adores and dotes over, and he's happier than I've ever known him to be. The guy who was such a misfit that he had to talk in a SlingBlade voice at bars in order to talk to girls-he's dead. This is all great for him as a person, but this kinda sucks a bit for me, because he's nowhere near as funny as he used to be when he was depressed and angry. When I talk to him now, he makes jokes about punishing the weeds in his garden. Hence, the death of SlingBlade.

But you know what-he's my friend and I'd rather see him happy and unfunny, than depressed and hilarious, so good for him, seriously. I still have never hung out with his wife (because of his job, they live very far away from the rest of us), but I think, based on the thank-you note she wrote me, that SlingBlade married a woman who is appropriate for him: HATE'S BACHELOR PARTY - TAMPA, FL.

Occurred, October 2007.

Hate's bachelor party was fine, but wasn't like the others. Part of the problem was, since it was 6+ years after we all graduated, everyone had kids or other conflicts with their jobs and most couldn't make it. The only law school friends who could were me and El Bingeroso, and we didn't know most of the other people he had coming to his bachelor party.

There is no in-between when it comes to mixing groups at a bachelor party. It either works seamlessly or fails miserably (e.g., GoldenBoy's Vegas bachelor party). Hate had become not just a lawyer, but basically a fucking ambulance chaser. As a result, some of his friends at this bachelor party were the types of guys who buy boats on the local lake to get girls. You know the types-the ones who have white blazers in their closet. That they wear on out in public. When it's NOT Halloween. I don't generally mix well with those types of guys, so it was a strange dynamic all weekend, and as a result, there was nothing funny or ridiculous to write about.

The only reason I'm even putting this in here is that traveling between bars, I got a ride from the greatest cab driver of all time. There was a new rap song playing on the radio. I was drunk, of course, and I wanted to hear it.

Tucker "Yo, turn that shit up man."

I guess he didn't hear me, because he just kept driving. I looked at his name on his taxi license, and it was something African and unpronounceable.

Tucker "Hey Prince Akeem, hey Prince of Zamunda, turn that shit up."

He turned and looked at me, and in a thick African accent, said: Cabbie "Hey Lisa MacDowell, shut the fuck up!"

GREATEST CAB DRIVER EVER!!.

I tipped the guy $50 when he dropped me off.

HATE'S WEDDING - PITTSBURGH, PA.

Occurred, April 2008.

Hate's wedding was possibly the most boring wedding of all time. Which probably means it was a great wedding for the couple and the families, but no one really cares about that shit, especially not me. The wedding was so boring there were only a few things worth writing about: I was talking to some random girl who was a friend of the bride. She was super mediocre in every way, but she seemed to like me, so that meant she had at least one good quality. Great, except who ever got a boner thinking about the silver lining?

Girl "What do you do for a living?"

Tucker "I don't know. Have a lot of vacant sex with morally questionable women and get drunk every day."

Girl "That's not a job."

Tucker "That's what you think! My life is proof of your incorrectness!"

I went on to explain my book, website, etc., and she was fascinated by the fact that I was in my 30's and unmarried. She was that type of girl.

Girl "Don't you want kids? Do you even like kids?"

Tucker "Oh yeah, I love kids. I want to have a bunch more."

Girl "You have a kid? No you don't."

Credit "He does have a few kids ... they're just all in the dumpster behind Planned Parenthood."

I not only convinced this girl that I had a son, I got her to believe that I was a trying out all kinds of new experiments on him to see what happened as a result.

Girl "Experiments? Like what?"

Tucker "Well, let's see. I bought him a cat, waited until he bonded with it, then the next time he was bad, I took the cat out back with a shotgun, and told him, 'If you won't clean your room, someone has to pay for your insubordination.' Then I took the cat behind the shed and shot the gun off in the air a few times, until I could hear him collapse in tears. Then I let the cat go and it ran off, scared as shit. He promised to never let his room get dirty, and by God, it's worked. He's afraid to even leave his rug on the floor!"

Girl "OH MY GOD!! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT??"

Tucker "Well, his room has to stay clean doesn't it? You know of a better way to get him to understand the seriousness of the issue?"

Girl "That is so wrong!"

SlingBlade "Sounds reasonable to me."

Well, once I realized she was taking me seriously, I really went nuts with the bullshit: "I do all sorts of classical conditioning with him. For example, I have a foghorn I set off every time he takes a bite of any food. You should see his little spoon shake as he raises every bite of Frosted Flakes to his lips."

Or my personal favorite: "One day when he was at school, I took all his action figures and hung them from the ceiling with nooses around their necks. I pinned notes on them with tags. Some were ominous like, 'You're next' or 'Only the beginning,' but some were nonsensical, like 'Fish are delicious.' I swore to him that I had no idea who did it. I told him that it was probably the demons in his closet, and they must be getting sick of his shit, and he should probably be careful at night. He cried a lot over that. I don't think he slept for a week."

By the end of the conversation, she was in tears. I don't mean this figuratively. She thought all these ridiculous lies were true, and she was crying, thinking about the poor child who was enduring all this abuse. I almost felt bad for her. Then I remembered that I'm an asshole and she's an idiot, so instead I laughed at her.

Sadly, that was not the end of the mediocre girl parade. Some of us went out drinking in Pittsburgh after the wedding, and though I have met hot girls in Pittsburgh before, they must have all been hanging out with the Steelers that night, because none were out at the bar we went to.

At some point, two girls approached me and started hitting on me. I always feel bad for mediocre girls who hit on me. On one hand, I like it that they have the courage to actually take things into their own hands with a guy and not just passively wait for guys to come to them. That's sexy, and I want to encourage more of that behavior in women.

On the other hand ... these girls looked like something I'd draw with my left hand. I don't mean to be a dick (that's a lie), but come on ladies: Do you really not have any notion of where you fit in the hook-up hierarchy?

Of course, alcohol and rationalization can solve that problem, so I talk to them for a while. The one girl who was way more into me, MediocreGirl, kept asking me questions about myself, and I kept making goofy jokes. The other girl, BitchyGirl, had a look on her face like she'd just smelled poop, and got progressively more annoyed with the situation. Then Mediocre-Girl asked me another question about myself, and it happened: Tucker "But enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think about me?"

BitchyGirl "Oh that's great, why don't we just focus even more on you! Why don't you tell us about your stupid books!!"

The funny thing was, I didn't know they had recognized me, and I hadn't mentioned one thing about my books or anything like that. MediocreGirl was trying to slow play me, but BitchyGirl hated me too much to let it ride. What a golden opportunity for entertainment. When the universe sends you signs like this, you don't punch a gift whore in the mouth.

Tucker "Uh oh. I think you need to see a doctor, your Down Syndrome is acting up again."

BitchyGirl "Oh that's real original."

Tucker "So people call you retarded a lot? Maybe that means something."

BitchyGirl "What's next, you going to call me an idiot?"

Tucker "Well, I generally go with 'fucking idiot,' but we can stick with just plain 'idiot' if you prefer."

BitchyGirl "Oh you're so funny aren't you, every girl wants to fuck you, you're just the greatest guy of all time, MAKE ME PUKE!"

Tucker "I don't know why you're mad. If you're going to be an idiot, you may as well be the fucking type."

I think the fact that I remained totally calm and smiling pissed her off the most.

BitchyGirl "You can fuck off and DIE!"

Tucker "Just some advice: You're not really hot enough to talk about fucking."

BitchyGirl "Whatever! You don't even dress well!!!"

Tucker "I know, I shoulda bought an outfit, but I paid my light bill instead."

Everyone laughed, except the two girls. They were just completely confused. I guess they don't listen to Project Pat in Pittsburgh.

There was all sorts of drama after that between BitchyGirl and MediocreGirl, but I didn't pay attention. I thought they had gone, when MediocreGirl came back over. She made some apology, whatever.

MediocreGirl "I still want to hang out with you."

Tucker "Great. I assume we're going to fuck right?"

MediocreGirl "What?!? No!"

Tucker "Then there's not really any reason for us to hang out."

MediocreGirl "What? Why not? I think you'd be fun to talk to, to hang out, witty banter, all that stuff."

Tucker "If you aren't fucking, I'd rather shit my house keys than hang out with you."

MediocreGirl "Can't a girl just hang out with you and not have sex?"

Tucker "Of course. I have a ton of platonic female friends. It's just that YOU are not going to be one. Unless I'm putting my penis in you, there is no other value to you. You bring nothing else to the table."

MediocreGirl "Look, all I want is to talk to you, pick your brain, see what you're like, you know, stuff like that."

Tucker "See, what you're talking about is why hanging out with ME would be fun for YOU. It doesn't explain anything about why it'd be fun for ME. You don't bring banter. You aren't witty. You aren't funny. There is nothing to pick from your brain. You're looking for me to entertain you. A relationship is an exchange, not a one-way street. Look beyond your own personal desires for a second and understand what you bring to the exchange-nothing. Except a wet hole."

MediocreGirl "I AM very funny and interesting! All my friends say so!!"

Tucker "You mean like that stupid bitchy girl who just left? Great judge of character."

MediocreGirl "More than her!"

Ironically, by telling her she wasn't interesting, I had made it into an interesting conversation. But I've been down that road before; the half-life on explaining idiocy to an idiot is short.

Tucker "Look, I gave you the chance to be interesting, and you failed at that. I gave you the chance to be slutty, and you failed at that. You're out of chances."

Girl "Well you missed your chance to get with me!!"

Tucker "This is like a pile of dogshit telling me that I missed out on stepping in it. I think I'll be OK, thanks."

Funny enough, I think that statement pretty much describes the whole city of Pittsburgh.

TUCKER'S BACHELOR PARTY AND WEDDING - NOWHERE.

Neither of these has happened. Not even close.

I'm sort of pissed that I don't have a bachelor party or wedding of my own to write about. Of course, I don't even have a girlfriend, much less a fiancee or a wife, which is a fairly important part of the whole bachelor party/wedding apparatus.

I'll eventually get married, but when I think about it, I seriously doubt I'll even have a bachelor party. What's the point? I don't need a last night of freedom. What could I do that I haven't already done? Most importantly, what do I even have left that I want to do?