I had a good time, but...

My friend had his bachelor party Saturday night. I had a good time, but I was hoping for a little more debauchery. I'm actually getting too old for out of control shenanigans, but I wanted things to get out of hand for one reason: An easy blog post.

Seriously, if someone does coke off a whore's taint or we catch an underground donkey show, that's a post that practically writes itself. Instead, we ate and drank at Margaritaville, I won some money playing video poker, we saw a comedy show at the Improv, we drank a little more at a karaoke bar and we went home.

I had a great time, but reading about it didn't do anything for you, did it? Replace Margaritaville with "Jose's Cantina" and the Improv with "Jolly's Chuckle Barn" and we could have been in any city in America. When you mention bachelor party and Vegas in the same breath, people expect craziness. They want to hear about impossibly attractive women engaged in the kind of behavior that would make Charlie Sheen blush; they demand tales of drunken riots and casual bloodbaths; they expect you to tell in excruciating detail a story you swore on a hotel Bible you'd take to the grave. They think you've dined with Emeril Lagasse, drank with Nick Nolte, traded jokes with Jerry Seinfeld and banged J Lo up the ass while calmly explaining why you find her talentless.

But even for a mild-mannered groom-to-be and his four unhip friends, it's still Vegas. I still saw more beautiful women in one night than a lot of people see in a year. Hula dancers practiced their art, bikini-clad women dove into vats of margarita mix, guys on stilts fashioned "r"-rated balloon hats for wasted bachelorettes, hot girls kissed JUST TO BE NOTICED, drunks sang karaoke both incompetently and hilariously, and I somehow ended up walking down the Strip drinking from a 24-ounce "ghetto can" of MGD. I hate MGD.

So the post didn't write itself. Maybe the next time someone I know gets married we'll have a proper orgy complete with human sacrifice.