A nice guy named Jian, clad in a pink singlet, is wrestling a shirtless dwarf in the ring; Jose Canseco, in a black dinner jacket and matching cap, is enjoying an intense game of poker, and well-dressed men come and gothrough thick black curtains to an area bathed in red light, where much of the female contingent at this party can be found.

This is the stag night of the century. Self-titled.

And here I am, pen and notepad in hand, chronicling it all. Theatre of the absurd, you ask? No, believe me, it’s real.

An online post advertised the “Stag Party of the Century,” being held on a Thursday night in a cavernous venue in Downsview Park, featuring a gaggle of semi-celebrities, free booze, poker, “AND LOTS MORE.”

PHOTOS: The so-called ‘Stag Party of the Century’

So why not take a look?

Turns out it’s a grand send-off for 34-year-old Jian Magen. He is getting hitched next month, to a woman named Tali, a lawyer who “wants to change the world,” one partygoer confides to me.

Jian is one half of Magen Boys Entertainment, a Vaughan-based agency that stages wrestling shows, concerts and a plethora of social events. If you want your kid to have a pimped-out bar mitzvah, call Magen Boys.

Twin brother Page is the other half. Jian’s plan is to have an even more grandiose stag than his brother had five years ago. As I wasn’t at that party, I can’t compare the two, but I must say the stag of the century isn’t quite living up to expectations.

Few people seem really into it. In spite of the open bar, there are a lot of sober men, quietly chatting amongst themselves. Amid the flashing lights and misty air, young women in short black miniskirts and tights are trotting around in high heels, urging guests to buy raffle tickets for door prizes, including a plasma screen TV and some Ralph Lauren polo shirts. All money goes to the wedding.

The poker tables, with smartly dressed dealers, appear to be the most popular draw, although the excitement and attention temporarily move to a giant ring when wrestling fanatic Jian enters to take on a whole host of underwear-clad warriors.

“I just wanted to organize an event with all of my friends (about 400 to 500), my favourite wrestlers (Iron Sheik and Virgil), my favourite singer (rapper Phife Dawg), my favourite baseball player (Jose Canseco), and my favourite food (Belly Buster Subs),” says Jian, hopping from one foot to the next. “Our business is to throw great parties, so we wanted to have a big party of our own.”

“It’s a celebration, it’s not a smutty thing,” interjects Page, who checks in on me throughout the night to make sure I’m having fun.

In this sea of popped-up collars and loafers, permeated by the smell of cologne, Terri Andrews and boyfriend Al Ruddick stand out. She’s dressed in black capri pants and a T-shirt, he in a yellow shirt, denim shorts, sneakers and a ball cap. Both are wearing World Wrestling Entertainment champion belts.

They don’t know a single person here. They are diehard wrestling fans who sat in traffic for two hours between Brantford and Toronto just so they could come see the Iron Sheik. The event is public, after all, with guests required to pay $100 for a ticket. Al came across the party on Facebook.

Chatting with this furniture mover and landscaper, and his girlfriend, a personal care worker who looks after the elderly, I feel this one-act comedic play has a tinge of normalcy to it after all.

“The Iron Sheik is the greatest, we got to talk to him in the backroom,” says Al, 37, with a big smile, holding up a signed Iron Sheik action figure, still in its packaging.

“It doesn’t bother me one bit that I don’t know anyone,” says Terri, 40, of the event. “I’m just going to sit back and take it all in.”

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Walking around the joint, the floor sticky with spilled cocktails, dance beats thumping in my eardrums, I can’t help but draw comparisons between Al and Terri and Jian and Page. Both sets are wrestling aficionados, but while one pair can command them to show up with little more than a phone call, the other can only dream of seeing their favourite WWE stars.

The experience is like walking into a child’s playroom, only all the action figures have come to life. Think big-boy Toy Story.

“We go way back,” a bulky and bejeweled Jose Canseco tells me of the Magen boys, who doesn’t look the least bit irritated that I’ve interrupted his poker game. “I have a twin brother too, you know, so I can relate to them.”

In another corner, retired wrestler Virgil, in grey sweatpants, is hawking autographed photos of himself with other wrestlers. While we’re chatting, he turns away as someone comes over to buy a picture, but the guy doesn’t have cash and there’s no ATM in sight.

I’m afraid I don’t get to meet the Iron Sheik. Did you know he’s making a movie about himself, and is trying to fund it on Indiegogo? As I approach his table to ask about that, someone spills their drink on him.

By 11 p.m. things are getting a bit more rowdy and I notice Terri standing guard at Virgil’s table.

“He asked me to watch his stuff while he went to the ring,” she says, ecstatic.

With Jian, wrestling under the name Celine Jian, still in the ring getting his butt whooped, I ask Terri: Any advice for the soon-to-be-wed entrepreneur?

“Never go to bed angry, but if you really can’t resolve your differences before going to sleep, still tell the other person that you love them,” she says, emphasizing that trust and honesty are key, something she says was lacking in her previous relationship.

“If you can’t stick with your partner in the rough times, you don’t deserve them in the good times.”

It’s the most thoughtful advice I’ve heard all night, from the most normal person I’ve met.

Jian does not hear. The dwarf is long gone, but he is now busy pile-driving another half-naked opponent.