Our trip to Vegas is going to make the Hangover look like the Hangunder! But, dudes, if you're going to be a high-broller, you gotta nail some ground rules.
· What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
· Except Facebook statuses, tweets, Instagrams, Snapchats, Foursquare check-ins, LinkedIn recommendations, and Yelp reviews.
· Tina can't find out any details
· Everyone swaps out his work blackberry for a pre-paid cellie this weekend.
· You're all code names from Top Gun.
· Chuck, sorry dude, but you're Charlie. Not everyone can be Maverick. Just be glad you didn't get Goose.
· When I walk into the suite, there better be a champagne fountain flowing. I'm talking 6 levels, Waterford crystal, 36-inch base diameter, with a current pressure of at least 102 mbar, and a single strawberry floating on top of it.
· First one to eat the strawberry gets a free lap dance.
· No Moët, or Veuve. I want champagne that's brewed by monks in some pastoral-as-fuck mountaintop. If the grapes weren't stomped on by nubile eunichs, singing Épernay ballads from the 14th century, I don't want that mainstream shit touching my lips.
· Don't forget to mix in protein powder.
· Scooter, you get a 3 level club soda fountain. Congrats on your 6th month chip, buddy!
· I want a girl with a backstory. Maybe she's trying to pay off grad school. Or maybe she's a struggling artist. Or maybe she has, like, a troubled past and just needs a guy to get her straightened out? I want something deep and thought provoking as shit.
· She also needs to have massive tits. Just like, huge bazookas.
· I expect to have a stack in my hand at all times, to make it rain non-stop
· No tens or twenties. Tina and I are paying for the wedding ourselves.
· You should be wearing a minimum of 3 polos at all times, collars popped.
· No lilac. If it wasn't the color of one of my highlighters from 9th grade, you can take your sorry-ass-pastel self home.
· Look, if you're having trouble just envision a peacock. A majestic, neon-colored peacock.
· The hotel has a pool and you're goddamn right we're going to be in it. Sammie, don't even think about bringing your water wings. Not unless you can find a pair that say "Suns out, guns out" spelled out in skulls, and designed by Ed Hardy.
Guys, this night is a celebration of my life before I enter into a deep emotional commitment in front of my family, fiancée, and God. You bronads better be ready to rage.