The strippers were pudgy and bored, the beer was domestic piss, and the tepid music first played in some high school gym twenty years ago. I put up with it for almost two hours before I approached Ray, the Best Man, and suggested we go spy on the bachelorette party raging at the Chippendale's show across town. I reminded him there were female strippers downstairs at that club. Ray is a flake and always has been, which explains why this party was so lame, but basically a good guy, so he was thrilled at my idea. “I guess I could have planned this night a little better,” he sheepishly admitted. I nodded. “I think you could have, yeah.” He tipped the strippers and told them to take off and killed the music. We were in John's apartment so I'm sure the neighbors would be happy to see us leave. “I have an announcement,” Ray said. When no one paid him any attention he said it again.
