Relax, guys. Did I say Colton’s bachelor party was going to be lit AF? What I meant was, it’s going to be zen AF. I totally meant to rent an island villa walking distance from the all-night beach parties, but somehow I booked us at this Buddhist monastery hundreds of miles away. My bad — I was blackout. Look on the bright side. We’re together, we’re in Thailand, and nothing is going to stop us from celebrating Colton by getting turnt to the extent monastic life allows. 

Before things get rowdy, a few small changes to the itinerary: Colton wanted to do a nice dinner before hitting the clubs. Fortunately, the monks here have agreed to serve us a twelve-course tasting menu. The first course is a single grain of rice — and so are the other eleven! It’s going to be an epic experience in epicurean self-deprivation. Also, we get to go behind the scenes in the kitchen to help cook the rice and clean up. In fact, it’s mandatory. The monks were very insistent on this.

Next, I promised an arsenal of contraband that would cause Hunter S. Thompson to rise from his grave in the hopes of kicking it with us. Unfortunately this monastery is less fratty than you’d expect for a house full of dudes. They don’t even brew beer on site, which is like Monks 101. I asked where to find booze and drugs, but the head monk just said our suffering must be great if we wish to poison ourselves. Honestly, he may have a point. When was the last time we all hung out sober? We might be able to squeeze in a couple games of tea pong if we’re quiet, but we’ll probably want to get some rest — we rise before dawn to mop the monastery floors with coarse brooms. 

As far as daytime activities, I investigated some customary options for expressing our primal male aggression and getting amped. Axe-throwing and ATVs haven’t caught on here yet, so instead of bro-ing out, we’re going to bro inward by crushing a day-long meditation. Maybe we can all benefit from reflecting on our deep-seated need to perform masculinity for each other. FYI, the meditation is silent. So if you want to holler at your boys, do so telepathically. 

Lastly, some of you are no doubt wondering: where are the ladies at? I did check Tinder on the bus here before I lost service — the nearest documented lady is roughly thirty miles away as the crow flies. I can’t see any bars or strip clubs in the verdant valleys that surround us, but we could hitchhike ten miles to the nearest village and see what’s popping. That said, why must bachelor parties be centered around female objectification and sexuality? What if we just focus on developing tender, vulnerable male friendships? 

Yes, I know it’s Colton’s bachelor party. Fine, go to Bangkok, go to the beaches. Make mistakes happen. I’m going to chill here at the monastery. Later, dudes. 

What? Is that a…group of ladies approaching? They must be lost. Now it’s about to get lit!