(With apologies to McSweeney’s “Open Letters to People or Entities that are Unlikely to Respond”)
Dear Hens’ Nights
Look, we’re just starting to get to know each other, and you have years of experience on me, so maybe I just need to give you more time. But really, is all the penis stuff necessary? Can we not send women into the institution of marriage without doodle-shaped cocktail garnishes and draping them in flashing sashes like hotwired beauty pageant entrants?
The importance of the penis to our society is not lost on me. The vast majority of the world’s architecture, and feats of historial stupidity, bear testament to our phallocentric culture. So do you really need to put me in situations where I’m trying to make conversation with an (awesome) 80-year-old nanna-of-the-bride who’s drinking her sangria through a schlong-shaped straw?
The “peppermint pecker” mints were, I grant you, rather cute… and not unwelcome after garlic-laced tapas. But all the pin-the-dick-on-the-dude parlour games, and cream-filled cock sponge cakes are a little tacky, no?
I hope we can still be friends – I know we’re going to be bumping into each other pretty regularly for at least the next decade. And hey, I admire a lot of your work. Without you, there would be at least 400% less high pitched squealing in bars on Saturday nights. The novelty veil and male-stripper industries would be destroyed. The world would be robbed of any number of novelties in the shape of penises. And I would never know what it’s like to spend much of the wee hours of a Sunday morning wearing a sailor’s hat and demanding to be referred to as “El Capitano”.