"I wish I could tell these women that while they’re losing a whole night’s sleep, the strippers are only paid to be at the party for one hour. We like to shave it down to 50 minutes, tops — it’s the amount of time it takes a group of drunk men to get bored with our asses anyway. They will invariably dwindle around the hour mark, disappearing to do keg stands in the yard or mix Cheetos and bean dip in the kitchen.
The average party goes something like this: We get there, get paid our show-up fee, and are ushered to a bathroom by the best man. We change into our cop costumes and give him the cue to start the music. Inner Circle’s “Bad Boys” starts blaring and the guys cheer like something really epic is about to go down. It’s actually very sweet of them to pretend that they didn’t just see us roll up in our ratty civvies. The bachelor is dragged to a chair in the middle of the living room, with a circle of chairs for the other dudes. We dance on him all sexy-like for a couple songs before we bring out the handcuffs. We strive to remember to take off his shirt before we cuff him. This is something that I’ve still managed to forget on more than one occasion, resulting in the bachelor’s having to sit there looking like Cornholio while we fumble to unlock the cuffs.
Once the shirt is off, the Sharpies come out. And no, not in a let-us-demonstrate-our-Kegel-strength kind of way. This isn’t Patpong. We make beautiful art on the canvas that is his pudgy torso. It’s best to stick to classic motifs: an ejaculating penis and hairy balls on his upper arm, eyelashes and eyebrows over the nipples to complement the Sharpie frown below the belly button. We sign our work in big clear letters. If a bachelor has been particularly macho or whiny, he might also end up with “BITCH” across his back."