Day two of the Sinless Vegas Bachelor Party started at noon at the Bellagio Buffet’s Champagne Brunch. For more than four hours, we sipped champagne and buffeted to our hearts' content. We had come seeking Alaskan King Crab, but the succulent meat isn’t served until 4 p.m., so we ate, drank, and waited.

Much like Robert Bly’s Iron John, the experience birthed incredible conversation and interaction. For instance, we met this woman. She approached our table and asked, “are you guys filmmakers?” We looked hip and introspective, so it's not surprising we attracted such a question from such a sophisticated broad. And as you can see from her business card, she’s quite talented and has an impressive web presence. Although normally, I like to have at least five e-mail addresses on a card.

After a four-hour Champagne brunch, you’re not the same man because you’ve just behaved like a Sex and the City TBS Marathon, and your judgment is impaired or, in my case, vastly improved.

We beelined it to PayLess Shoe store because in Groomzilla’s haste to leave LA, he failed to bring clubbing shoes. It was there in aisle one that I found love in a size twelve. Here I am sealing the deal with the Payless cashier. These are the shoe that dreams are made of . . . .

Bachelorette parties swarm a Vegas weekend. The bride-to-be’s veil and trail of bridesmaids instantly makes for a spectacle to behold. In comparison, bachelor parties are a much more inconspicuous amoeba. This is due to the fact that most stags eat steak, throw down at a blackjack table, and then take off to see it taken off, and thus never really interact with the general Vegas population.

Therefore, our Singaporean-clean Bachelor party left us much more exposed to the general Vegas population and, most importantly, bachelorette parties.

Over dinner, our party crashed with these bachelorette playgirls. One of the members was kind enough to offer up her Secret deodorant stick to our Groomzilla who had forgotten to swipe on his Speed Stick.

(You can see this is one those Groomzillas who’s taking care of everyone and everything but himself.) I bought the ladies a round of sangria, and they agreed to pose in this photo, which I will present to my Grandfather on his ninetieth birthday next week. The Anderson name is in great hands.

Anything is possible in Vegas, and after a trip to New York New York’s club Rok, a text came through from the Tahoe girls of the previous night. We had acted like gentlemen, and they requested our presence at their bar-side table.

Maybe because we had no game or because we are as saintly as nuns, our evening ended with nothing more than a few exchanged numbers and a pleasant goodbye. One married man in our group was incredulous at the wasted opportunity for us single guys. I was proud. We had looked sin in the eye and marched away like good LA Boy Scouts.

It was now 6 a.m., and the sun was just beginning to rise over Hooters, proof of what an unmitigated success this weekend was.

Groomzilla was beaming. He’s gonna do great on his big day, as long as he remembers his deodorant. He can always borrow my shoes.