Last Saturday. Just a few days ago. It changed me forever.
It would actually be quite funny to just end the post there, but I’m a very serious man, so I won’t.
Here’s what happened:
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon. My fiancée was away at the gym, so I had a few hours to myself to enjoy my favourite weekend activity – doing nothing productive.
Suddenly, I heard the front door open. A group of masked men barged into the office and tackled me to the ground. I attempted to throw them off with a clever ruse by screaming “it wasn’t me, it was the other guy!” (for, you see, there was no other guy). My clever plan didn’t have the desired effect. Instead I was tied up, blindfolded and carried into the trunk of a car.
My kidnappers turned on some loud rap music with a heavy bass track. This was mildly unpleasant, due to the close proximity of the car’s subwoofer to my unshielded ears. While inside the trunk I managed to untie myself and wrap the rope tightly around my knuckles, ready to put up a fight when the trunk was finally opened.
The trunk was finally opened. I leaped out with brave, even if high-pitched and girlish, screams and started swinging wildly at nobody in particular.
I proudly made it as far as at least two metres from the car when I was tackled to the ground yet again. At this stage my kidnappers stripped me down to my boxers and forced me into a dress and a wig. This was starting to resemble my typical Saturday, or, as I like to call it – Saturdrag. Boom! *ignores crickets chirping and high-fives himself*
Back in the trunk I went, with more rap music. My kidnappers forced me to drink some colourless, odourless liquid they kept referring to as “water”, which I can only assume is some unprocessed version of Coca-Cola.
Finally, after an hour or so, I was let out of the trunk close to the main walking street of Copenhagen, better known as the “Walking Street” (or Strøget, if you want to impress your friends and ruin my joke). More guys were waiting here.
Now…have you solved the mystery of “what-the-hell-is-this-kidnapping-story-all-about-Daniel-just-get-to-the-fucking-point-already-dammit”?
Correct! This was the start of my bachelor party.
I know, my friends are awesome.
Can’t decide which one, yet.
I won’t make you read further through a scene-by-scene account of the day. There’s plenty of video evidence that will undoubtedly soon find its way to Youtube. Let me just give you the highlights. The day included:
1) Challenges, in the form of collecting kisses and hugs from strangers, dancing in public for money and doing a photo shoot inside of the main fountain. All of this while wearing the dress and the wig.
2) Karaoke. Here I sang countless songs including such masculine hits as “I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman” by Britney Spears and “Hero” by Mariah Carey. For the record, this was the first and (hopefully) last time I do karaoke, because my singing voice is best described as “a fox howling wildly after stepping on a hedgehog”.
You may hear rumours that, after a while, I was sufficiently drunk to really get into the singing. People may even tell you that I stole the microphone from others and insisted on singing even when I wasn’t invited to do so. These are all shameless lies. Propaganda, even. I maintain that I was merely being a good trooper and playing along with my friends’ shenanigans. Shut up, it’s true.
3) Blacking out. This is most unfortunate, because literally hours of events are irretrievably missing from my memory. Fortunately(-ish), my friends were taping the events. That’s why the next day I had the pleasure of viewing myself force-hug strangers, moon miniature trains full of tourists and generally act like an obnoxious, drunk person that I was. Class act! I blame the bounteous amounts of alcohol that my friends forced me to consume, but I’m not sure that story would hold up in court.
4) Throwing up. Again, this was neither the result of any physical ill-being, nor a natural reaction to what was, according to my estimates, a shitload of alcohol. This was simply me playing along with the “drunk person” image. That is my story.
5) Other happenings. At some stage we were at a restaurant where I loudly ordered “ten burgers for ten men” (we were, maybe, 8 or 9) and promptly passed out on the table. There was me being forced to take a shower in a hotel room to sober up (looks like my friends haven’t read my Cracked.com article). There may or may not have been a stripper, but there definitely was a stripper.
The night ended with me sleeping it off in the hotel room and my friends calling up my fiancée to take care of me. That was only fair. She was in on the whole thing and even filmed the initial kidnapping.
I guess that’s why I love her.
In short, it was awesome. It was exactly the type of bachelor party you could hope to recreate after watching The Hangover. My friends are all right, after all.
There are no words that can prepare you for what I’m about to show you, but my readers deserve to have their sanity shattered, so I’ll wrap up with a photo of me and some of the bachelor crew. I’ll understand if you never want to visit the blog again after this. It’s been nice knowing you.
There’s no need to thank me. Your suffering is “thanks” enough.