Maniacal cackling on the wind

A stoical man gazing at the clouds has grimly warned that a hen party is approaching.

Sitting in his rocking chair, old timer Norman Steele has predicted that dozens of drunken women will soon be heading in his direction so everyone should hunker down before it strikes.

Steele, who has not been the same since the hen do of 2012, said: “They’re doing pre-drinks in an Airbnb right now, but they’re a-comin’. They’re a-comin’.

“If you listen closely, you can hear their maniacal cackling on the wind. Within the hour they’ll start blaring "Single Ladies" and "Wannabe", and that’s when the nightmare truly begins.

“First you’ll see their penis-shaped deely-boppers on the horizon as they stagger from one cocktail bar to the other. Then they’ll rip through the streets in a flurry of personalised sashes, wreaking havoc on traffic and pedestrians alike. Nobody will be safe.

“You can only tell the strength of a hen party by the damage it leaves in its wake, but this one feels like a biggie. Come the morning, expect to see hundreds of shattered pitchers and the bodies of broken waiting staff littering the pavement.

“I’m off to hide in my hen party cellar, and I suggest you do the same. May God have mercy on us all.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.

---

On a possibly similar note, another of the "blasts from the past" that we sang along to as the Gay Pride parade passed by on Saturday was this one [which could quite easily also be mistaken for a "hen party classic"]:

Icona Pop feat. Charli XCX - I Love It

I love it! Indeed.

Phallic-shaped straws and cock deely-boppers

Naturalist and national treasure Sir David Attenborough has turned his analytical eye to the brutal and feral rituals of the hen party.

“In order to mark the entry into womanhood of a 33-year-old accounts manager from Doncaster, the females are invited into a WhatsApp group. And so it begins.

“The hierarchy of the herd determines those convened to this time-honoured rite of passage, with the blondest taking primacy. Though there will be wise elders, such as mothers, workmates and nans, incapacitated by drink early.

“They become a source of awkwardness later once males – selected for their attractive plumage and physical strength – are assembled before the bride to engage in a traditional G-stringed mating dance symbolising the loss of her last vestiges of girlhood.

“As the pack stalks the raw, savage plains of Bradford, the hens assert their herd identity through the use of sashes bearing the words ‘Team Bride’. These prove that they have pledged allegiance to her for the duration of the ceremony and will swarm interlopers.

“The bride herself will wear a veil or superior sash to demonstrate her leadership. It is highly unusual for any of the hens to switch allegiance to rival brides at this point, but ever motivated by primal needs they may if pissed and a better party is going home.

“Sometimes the bride will also adorn herself with L-plates. This semiology serves to ward off any other potential mates and demonstrates that she will shortly lose her virtue to one particular male, ignoring the fact she slagged about for some years.

“Fertility symbols are crucial. Repeated reference to the phallus symbolise the young woman’s confidence in grappling with the challenges of marriage. An inflatable penis to ride upon, phallic-shaped straws, and cock deely-boppers all prove she has come of age.

“The ritual ends in the untamed jungle of nightclub ThrustZ where the women parade before males demonstrate their attractiveness to potential step-fathers of their young through the use of traditional mating calls, such as ‘Snog the Bride’.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.