Hey there!  Wow!  Look at you!  You look ravishing!  Have I told you that you look ravishing?  Well you do!  Am I even supposed to see you before the wedding?  I don’t know!  What’s that?  Last night?  What about it?  Oh.  Right.  Funny you should bring that up.

Well right, I meant funny like “ironic” not funny “haha.”

I agree; last night, with the possible exception of the botched liquor store robbery, was not funny in the least.  From the face tattoos, to the four hours of drunk dials, to the naked cartwheels in front of your parent’s house, our bachelor party behavior was irresponsible and downright juvenile.  A fact made increasingly clear as the LSD wears off and I slowly regain use of my appendages.

I want you to know that I came here this morning not only to apologize and to reaffirm my commitment to the faithful execution of my role as Best Man, but also to return these bridesmaid dresses that were loaned to a pair of truck stop transsexuals for the evening.  I’m told a Tide To Go pen will get those stains out fairly easily.

Also, I want to ask you to get off my man Mark’s back.  Apart from our ill-fated visit to the goat pen at old man Hooper’s petting zoo, none of our activities were his idea.  Mark’s a bang-up guy.  Seriously, you two are going to be great together.  And you know what they say, “Don’t judge a book by its behavior while hopped up on mescaline and teddy grahams,” right?

Mark is the same husband-material guy who fell in love with you and accidentally got you pregnant.  I don’t take seriously his repeated declarations that he’d rather be marrying me, and neither should you.  Men say crazy things when they’re dropping acid, and his frequent references to you as the “Hefty Harlot of Harrisburg” are no exception.

What’s that?

You hadn’t heard that part?  Never mind then.  I was just kidding.  Haha!  It was actually Ray who called you that.  Yeah, definitely Ray.  What a douche!  What’s he even doing here?

He’s your brother?  Really?  Wow.  In that case, I’d like to take a moment to apologize for the whole “Ray’s a douche” thing.  My bad.

Come again?

Oh that’s just a scratch.  Thanks for asking though.  Yeah, Mark broke off my car’s radio antennae and stabbed me with it.  No big deal.  Don’t worry; I’m going to wear three undershirts today.  Wouldn’t want to mess up the pictures, right?  Haha!

But like I was saying, I feel just awful about everything that went down last night.  Especially the parts I can remember.

Please keep in mind that this is the first bachelor party either Mark or I have attended.  How were we to know where to draw the line between good, clean fun and criminal excess?  Yes, in the light of day, my decision to blare “Damn it feels good to be a gangsta” outside the Nas concert seems regrettable, but things are not as clear at one in the morning with a forty of King Cobra and 15 White Castle sliders in your  belly.  Not that that’s any excuse.  Inexcusable.  Absolutely inexcusable.

If I might, though, be permitted to speak a word in my defense, there are many things I was unaware of before last night.  For example, I had no idea your sister was a stripper, and it should not be assumed that Mark recognized her as she makes a very convincing Xena Warrior Princess.  Also, the ether had kicked in long before she arrived.

Additionally, I had no idea about Mark’s “history” with your sister the stripper, his fondness for urinating out of moving vehicles, his loathing of local law enforcement officials, or his peanut allergy.  Had I known these things, the night probably would have gone differently.  At the very least, it likely would not have involved the fire department or six-inch hypodermic needles jabbed directly into his heart.

Ok.  Wow.  You’re yelling about Mark’s diabetes like somehow I knew about it before he got to the ER.  Honestly, in the six years I’ve known him, it hasn’t come up.

Yes, I realize your big kiss today might not be as passionate since Mark put all those cigarettes out on his tongue, but that doesn’t mean he’s not just as great with kids as you always thought he would be.

Tried to kill him?  Come on, let’s not get hysterical.  He told me he’d siphoned gas with his mouth before!

Ok.  Well, I can see you’re in no mood to discuss this rationally so I’m going to go hook myself up to that saline drip again.

Listen, we could stand here all day going back and forth about who totaled whose Lexus, who gave roofies to whose sister, and who will likely be going to court-ordered rehab, but that’s only going to upset you and aggravate my coke-ravaged sinuses.  Just know that I’m really sorry about the whole thing, and, given the chance, I would take back most of what happened after 9:00 pm.

Let’s just focus on what this weekend is really about.  You look beautiful.  You love Mark.  He’s had his stomach pumped, and you guys have a very happy, very hallucinogen-free future to look forward to.  Dwelling on anything else will only distract us from the miracle of love.

Still friends?

Aw, no hugs?  Ok. I get it.

Good talk.  I’ll see you out there.