This is essentially the pregame to the wedding that sadly does not include the playing of ‘Shout. Although you’d think there is potential here, these are consistently underwhelming. First things first, don’t expect two gifts. The only gift I’m bringing to your engagement party is sound advice from Blake Griffin, “Get a Prenup Cuh”. I have five questions in regards to your engagement party: Is this catered? If I come to this, can I skip the wedding? Why are we celebrating your statistically probable divorce? What do I do with my hands? And lastly, does Becky’s dad know the only reason you two dipshits are getting married is because a few months back when Chad was rearranging your guts he didn’t pull out and now your having a child out of wedlock? Roughly 92% of hosts can answer these questions with the following response, ‘idk’.
Gender Reveal Party
I have never had the displeasure of attending one of these, but if some how I manage to get a spot on the guest list, just jot down next to my name that I have an engagement party the same day. I’ll keep this simple, I don’t care what you’re pushing out of your snatch. In addition to this, I think this is selfish… instead of buying your own kid (who you hopefully share some DNA with) his/her first gifts, you put the financial burden on friends and family? Selfish. If I ever get hoodwinked into going to one of these waste of 3 hours, look for me; I’ll be the asshole in the back yelling, It’s a boy! (Or in my native tongue Es Un Chico!)
Your Own Birthday Party
September 11th is the only day of the year my parents show tremendous affection to me, and they do it by throwing me a party that no-one, including themselves want to attend. I know what some of our more analytic readers are thinking, “You mean there were two national tragedies that happened on September 11th?” Yes dear boy, there was. Six years prior to a group of terrorist fucks joy riding into the beautiful World Trade Center, I emerged from my mother, feet first covered in placenta. I know, a lot of you are probably saying, “Come on guy your parents are just trying to do something nice for you”. My response to you kind folk would be, “shut the fuck up”. Making me blaze down the NYS thruway four hours to an event nobody wants to go to is far from nice. The worst part about your birthday has to be being the center of attention. Every step I take, Every move I make, Every breath I take, they’ll be watching me. I’d rather show up as the Pinata than the Guest of Honor. That’s right, string me up, and beat me senseless with a broom, and on the brighter side of things, any emotion I elicit that day will be 100% genuine.