Like we wrote last Friday, Rocks Off attended a bachelor party this past weekend for our friend Brett, who gets hitched this coming Saturday. (It took us a few days for our head to clear.) It was a star-studded event that included a faux Kings of Leon sighting, Luis Scola, a Led Zeppelin cover band, a carful of eight dudes listening to Van Halen, firearms and the Tontons. The following is a sanitized version of what happened; people have families and stuff. For the grim play-by-play, check out the Rocks Off Twitter feed. The night started at Pei Wei, where we stocked up on Asian carbs, Japanese beer, and mixing our soft drinks with bourbon we bought at the liquor store beforehand. Apologies to the family of four that saw Rocks Off pour a quarter bottle of Seagram's into our cup. After dinner, we were driven to the House of Blues, where our driver nearly maimed Rockets superstar Luis Scola in the front of the venue as he crossed the street. He looked very slight in person and didn't really like being called "Lois Scarra" by a slurring gaggle of fans. We only remember through pictures what we saw at HOB. Usually Rocks Off can take expert live shots at the venue, but what we captured looks like some sort of Magic Eye picture. Apparently we did Jaeger shots with our eighth-grade football coach at the back bar. Brett kept screaming that the fake Robert Plant, "looked nothing like Mick Jagger." After we left HOB, Rocks Off was told that he told an off-color joke in the elevator to a group of people in town to run the Houston Marathon. Thirty minutes later, our party found our vehicle so we could make it to Leon's Lounge for their last night of business. At the bar, we are told, we hugged Brett every five minutes and fed three dollars into the jukebox while the Tontons were playing in the background. For some reason we must have thought they were taking requests telepathically through the machine. (They never played "Desperado," by the way.) Someone bandied about the idea of having a low-rent donkey show at our house with our boxer JoJo which was quickly scuttled. Leaving Leon's Lounge, Brett dropped nearly a half of a bottle of Wild Turkey he had tucked in his boot, which elicited groans and cries of "I have a straw in my car." The next stop was Washington where we had designs on crashing Rebels Honky Tonk but were dismayed to see a 30-minute line outside. We spied Robert Ellis and company on the patio, where he informed us that he and his friends got in for free by claiming they were Kings of Leon. He needs to put a KOL song in their set now. Someone jumped out of a tree and onto Brett around this time, nearly ripping his "Bachelorette" sash in half. The party made it to Darkhorse, with a beer run at the Chevron off Studemont in between. The secluded bar didn't realize that we brought in our own beers until someone came to clear off our empties. Darkhorse, in fact, does not sell bottles of Mad Dog. Who knew? At some point Rocks Off tweeted his last wishes, including Ellis playing "Man In Black" at his funeral. We also vowed that we were going to run in that morning's marathon to the whole bar and for them to wish us luck. After we left Darkhorse we somehow got eight guys in Rocks Off's small Chevy HHR for what turned into eight guys playing air-drums to "Panama" all the way to Ruchi's on Shepherd. By then we had sobered up a tad, enough to negotiate our car off a wrecker driver's truck and to make promises we probably can't keep. Anyone know Mariah Carey's cell-phone number?
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