Las Vegas at night. It's very neon, it is. It's also zooming by at, like, 85 miles an hour and giving people with weak stomachs a total case of motion sickness. Which may be the new hip thing -- in a world where Ugg boots are apparently the height of fashion, nausea may be the new good time.
Anyway, Mike is walking some polo-shirt-wearing tool on out the door, explaining, "All right, so it took me a while to find the wheels you wanted, but I think you'll be happy." The fifteen grinning goons behind him think so too. Ah, we've got a bachelor party. Oh, wait -- multiple bachelor parties. The alpha groom is all, "Good thing you brought that around back, because if our fiancées saw…" They'd what? Be taken aback that you think sneaking around is a fine precedent to set in a long-term relationship based in some part on trust? Go into the kind of suffocating paranoia that sends the "THIS MARRIAGE IS DOOMED" message? Ask to come along, get it on with the stripper, then leave you wondering whether you weren't enough man for her? Please -- fill me in.
My curiosity will never be sated. We see a giant charter bus, and some dork shrieks, "Stripper bus! Awww, yeah!" Nobody's had the heart to tell him he's been routed to the short bus instead. We see the stripper bus, which has all the ambiance and charm of an airport shuttle, and a few women doing some warm-up spins around the pole. Some big-hair refugee from the 1980s vamps seductively in the bus door and asks, "Ready, boys?" They bellow an enthusiastic yes. Mike watches with a weirdly paternal expression.
Everyone loads on to the bus, and Alpha Bachelor is all, "I could die happy!" And just think, if he did, his fiancée would never see the gurney with his body on it, since they're parked in back. Everyone wins in that scenario.
Mike wanders away from the party bus when a woman dressed in WhoreMart's finest corporate casual begins berating two women as they walk off; she informs him, somewhat drunkenly, that she's a showgirl and she was just trying to pass on her résumé to those "stuck-up beeyotches." Heh. But -- showgirl résumé? Perhaps the action items read like "Facilitated vanilla fantasy in repressed couple at 10 PM topless review" and "Supervised colleague liaisons in 'Dance of 3 Girls and a Pole' number." Anyway, Mike's kind of rolling with it, because the last thing you really ever want to do with a loud drunk is make it look like your departure was anything but their idea, and after Lucy Lush executes a grimly unsexy shimmy and off-balance high-kick, Mike catches her and restores her balance. Lucy Lush brays, "Geddoff me! I don't need your help!" Apparently, the drink gives Lucy reverse beer goggles; I can't speak for anyone else, but I would've checked Mike out and been the kind of crafty drunk that "stumbled" a few more times. Anyway, Lucy makes her declaration of independence right into the path of the oncoming stripper bus. Mike yells, "Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Drunk lady!" but Lucy's oblivious, so he tackles her and brings her down safely out of the bus's path. Why the bus elected to keep moving forward whilst honking the horn, as opposed to hitting the brakes, is a mystery. The bus passes by. Mike watches it go while lying flat on his back, then lifts up to ask the now-unconscious Lucy Lush if she's okay.
Elvis thinks she is, as she fits the "little less conversation" criteria to a tee.