I think a guy needs one last chance to feel like he actually has some power before he gets married. My evidence? The last three bachelor parties I've been to have involved shooting guns: the first two were paintball excursions (I got shot in the neck both times, once from close range - frickin' ow!), and the latest was a trip to the West Side Rifle and Pistol Range. YAY! I'm not even kidding. That is a very sincere "YAY!".
I walked in there a pathetic, cowardly little sally, flinching violently at the sound of the muffled shots on the other side of the glass, and I emerged a confident, virile and yes, even seasoned and wise, man. I'm not typing with my fingers if you know what I mean.
And I'm pretty good with the aim, as you can see above. That was from, like, a hundred yards away or something. And for those of you gun novices out there, the rifles are .22's, and can easily take an elephant's head clean off with just one shot. Yeah, that's right. An elephant. You can only imagine the strength it takes to keep the weapon steady from the kickback. And I have that strength now.
I gotta go now because Jill needs me to paint her toenails.