The life of Travis America - The death of his brother

[HBCC readers: Travis America weighs in with a truly unique story of drunken debauchery. Please, repeat after me: I am sofa king...]

Saturday, August 27 marked the Bachelor Party of one Kieran McGee, who has been virtually jizzed on here in previous posts by Mr. Commando and Mr. Handsome. Kieran, when not playing the role of Corey Glover in his Living Colour cover band (replete with the Mucofluspanglet˜Multi-Colored-Fluorescent-Spandex-Singlet), spends his time breaking the collective heart of Bobsled Commando and Captain Handsome with his unique brand of socially conscious and sexually charged acoustic rock.

Kieran also happens to be the younger brother of Yours Truly, meaning the onus was on Mr. Truly to organize a memorable evening that not only eclipsed expectations, but did so in a non-bachelor party fashion. You see, Kieran was actually married on March 17 (Sup St. Patrick) at City Hall, but the "wedding" is scheduled for September 9. As such, the bachelor party had to be in line with the vows Kieran exchanged on that fateful March day, i.e. NO STRIPPERS. Not my fault. His fault.

Look, I know what you‚re saying: "Travis, cry me a fucking river, you live in New York City, there are a million things to do in the City That Never Sleeps besides going to a strip club."

Perhaps, dear reader, perhaps. But the fact of the matter is...oh, you weren‚t done...

"You still owe me 72 dollars from that road trip, and stop touching yourself. Christ, I say the words 'strip club'‚ and your hands go directly south. Pathetic."

Fair enough, good sir or madam. Moving right along, this bachelor party needed to include something you won't get on an average night in the big city. Getting shitfaced in a plethora of East Village watering holes, well, that could be any night. Or every night, in my case. So what to do? The zoos all close at dusk, the MTA started cracking down on 'train surfers' a few years back, and my supply of nitrous oxide had just run out. Luckily, my boss has a sicker mind than I do, and supplied the end-all solution: a coffin.

Yes, a coffin. It could work. It had to work.

After a dinner consisting of sake, sushi, sake and sake, we lured Kieran back to my apartment with the promise of more booze, a little contraband, and a "surprise." After getting sufficiently shitbombed, we popped "The Stripper" by David Rose into the CD player, Kieran was blindfolded and lured into the coffin. He was then wheeled into the night, much to the delight of many an East Village drunkard.

With the exception of escorted trips to the restroom, Kieran was not allowed to leave the coffin. The only acceptable excuses for removal from the coffin were one or more of the following:
1) Kieran suffers a claustrophobia-induced panic attack
2) Kieran is somehow sexually assaulted by an outsider
3) Natural disaster (not counting tornados, as it was agreed that Kieran would be safer in the coffin in such an instance)
4) Kieran vomits in the coffin
5) Kieran ejects himself while being rolled down a hill into oncoming traffic

After two hours in the coffin, Kieran succumbed to scenario #4, not only throwing up inside the coffin, but also covering my sneakers in bile, Guinness and Cuervo.

The coffin was sadly discarded and we embarked on Part Two of the evening: sheer intoxicated mayhem. Among the highlights: Thom cutting Kieran with a hard sourdough pretzel to the face at Zum Schneider (OMG, what about the wedding photos?); Thom throwing Alfonso into a row of parked bicycles sending Alfonso into a pirouette face-plant and chipping a front tooth; and Thom becoming the first patron in the storied history of the Blarney Cove to be refused service. The moral of the story: Thom and alcohol need to be kept at opposite sides of the room as all times.

The night wrapped up in relatively quiet fashion, with Travis, Scott and Captain Handsome freestyling about Brian Wilson's father forcing him to defecate in front of the rest of the family at the dinner table. Of all the opportunities for comedy Brian Wilson has provided over the years, this is perhaps the most heartbreaking and least humorous subject of them all. Naturally, it had to be tackled. Stretching the boundaries of humor. That's the American way...(click for larger picture, we todd did.)