The New York Post's Page Six has the story of the Star Jones-Al Reynolds prenup (he's got to stay with her for at least two years before he can get any of her money in a divorce), but what bothered me were the details of his bachelor party last Friday night at the Time Hotel.
First of all, he had 60 guys there. That's not too bad -- you can have a helluva party with that many people. But they had to get naked and wear bathrobes to sit around and drink. Right away I'd be uncomfortable. I wouldn't want to take off any of my clothes around my closest friends, and I'm talking about people I lived with back in college who saw me in various states of undress on many occasions.
Second, the bars at the party were sponsored by two liquor companies and a beer company, so presumably the be-robed partiers were limited to the brands the sponsors provided. That might be OK, but the sponsors were something called Hypnotiq, Remy (which I think is a liqueur, based on the ads I've seen in the subway) and the beer was described as "awful."
Finally, the topless girls arrived just before midnight, but they were "butt-ugly" according to the Page Six spy. Two of them did put on a simulated lesbian sex show, but some guests had had enough by that time and left. Now, I like girl-on-girl action, but not after drinking crappy beer in a bathrobe for two hours with 59 other similarly-attired guys.
The whole night sounds extremely unpleasant. This guy got married in Manhattan, for Jebus' sake! What happened to the old-fashioned hit-every-bar-and-strip club-on-the-island bachelor party? At least Reynolds could have used his bride's money to rent a nightclub for the evening and let his guests keep their clothes on. This fiasco makes my bachelor party (a Wednesday night visit to a Baltimore-area industrial park strip club) sound like a bender in Vegas with the Maloof brothers.