Drunk Stripping Whores for your pleasure

First off, let me say I had fun posting that bizarre story. I just know that next time I'm going to have the prehistoric romance category.

I am getting blissfully married in about a month. For me, this is fantastic- getting married is one of those things I was skeptical about my involvement in for a long time. I think there's a lot of people who get into their mid-to-late twenties and see where their parents were at their age and freak out because they're in no way prepared to be in the same position. I would say that 85% of my friends are that way- they're still kids, in a sense, still having fun. I would make a proposal that we extend lifetimes by a decade and have a second round of "20s". But that damned Bush would veto it, I'm sure.
In spite of that, I am very ready to be wed, and particularly to the girl I'm with. I knew it was time to propose when I stopped asking myself questions about whether I'd be happy with her, whether she could live with me, and most importantly, whether she would eventually run off with some model/doctor from Brazil who lures her away with promises of free candy and plastic surgery.
The wedding is set- although she has done the majority of the work, I have endeavored to keep my complaining about it all on par with her own- it's important to share things in a marriage, and I feel it necessary to do my own part. Please note that I plan to act similarly during childbirth and child-raising. If I can brainwash whatever kids we have into being little copies of me, then I have succeeded as a father.
The only real thing that remains is the all-important bachelor party. The very image conjures up a swirling cacaphony of booze and paid-for boobies. In a way, it's very appealing and I have no problem if my groomsmen hosts decide to do that. But then there's Micah.
Micah is a pseudonym- in fact, I just made it up. Micah is the part of me that does not belong in this time. Micah is the part of me that would fit in well as a pirate, or an explorer, or somewhere in the hallowed Time Before Penecillin. As for a physical description of Micah, my best guess would be somewhere between Mark Twain, Colonel Sanders and Blackbeard. When he comes in force, my dearest and fondest wish is to go run off into the woods and disappear for a month.
It's not something to be sad about, really, except for the partial temporal disquiet I endure. In the largest sense, Micah really provides me with what I feel to be a Victorian sensibility.
It because of that that the idea of strippers and booze seems less interesting, than, say, going camping at a lake and sailboating, then coming back and hanging out around a campfire with my friends. It's perhaps a romantic ideal, and I know it puts me at odds with a majority of the population, but it's really the way I am. Even I'm raising an eyebrow incredulously, now.
I think that, in reality, what matters to me most is being with my friends, no matter how we spend the time. If that's out in the woods or in a strip club, I'm not unhappy about it. Of course, if it is a strip club, it's gotta be that one with the girl with the huge....dancing ability.