Saturday, 10 February 2007


Love. That biological narcotic that makes people write bad poetry, listen to bad music, buy the obligatory red and white Hallmark cards and ignore every warning their upper-brain gives them about the object of their affections.

So, we devised a means to legally shackle the idiots together, because if the shackle wasn't there, any sane person would run the moment they realise that at some point they've probably chickened out of every principle they've ever held just to keep the peace and maybe to get sex without extra trouble.

Anyway, to initiate this bond, we throw a "wedding".

This "wedding" is an elaborate, farcical spectacle put on to symbolise the couple's undying love for each other by showing how the man is willing to subject himself to any humiliation to satisfy his lover's most lurid exhibitionist tendencies.

Observe: she wears a white dress. Really? She's a virgin? The three guys keeping out of the groom's way at the back table at the reception seemed to think that she wasn't, but I guess I'm being silly. This is a particularly poignant display of her ability to use social symbols to manipulate sentiment. In later years, she will do much the same thing with her man's credit card, jewellery and designer outfits to show that world at large that her husband is a successful man, and that she just wanted to remind everyone of that.

The husband wears a tuxedo, a symbol of the Antarctic penguin, to symbolise his impending wing-clipped flightlessness and his forthcoming gradual introduction to a new realm of perpetual frigidity. Keeping with visual theme he's even got black rings around the eyes, acquired at the prior evenings' debauch, an evening which also explains his slight odour of fish.

Behind these two a cavalcade of "bridesmaids" wearing matching nylon outfits and a small child entrusted with either a ring or some flowers. They symbolise the bride's many personal facades and the child the groom's general approach to life.

The vows are read. Now, these two haven't been in a church for ten years, and have been cracking very offensive Jesus and Christian jokes since highschool, but don't let that detract from the immense display of religious pusillanimity they're affecting to keep in tone with this charming little stone chapel they paid so much to rent.

Oh, listen to that! They wrote their own vows! That's not sickeningly mawkish in the slightest, especially not the way they're written in a mangled, semi-literate attempt at archaic quasi-formal English! They won't keep them! He'll fuck other chicks, and she'll tell his every secret to her friends and stab him in the back whenever he forgets to assist in her attempts to display their social status, but these vows are really quite sincerely meant now, especially since they've both fucked their prenuptial strippers to "get it all out of their system".

They say their "I dos" (lying, technically...) and they kiss, which is so sweet, but not nearly as sweet as when she sucked his cock blue after he bought her the most expensive ring he could afford, the one she picked out, which is placed on her finger like a collar to symbolise her status as his well-owned bitch. It's all so sweet and pretty!

The family cheers, the lovers walk down the aisle to a piece of music they've been mocking since they were children, everyone tossing symbolic semen in the form of confetti, and head for the reception, where embarrassing speeches will be drunkenly intoned, and everyone will pretend to ignore their children's questions about the meaning of the garter toss (It's her hymen being removed). People will get very drunk, and existing marital vows will be broken in the form of clandestine bathroom trysts.

And then, they're off to the Honeymoon! Although a disappointment as traditionally it was the evening of ceremonial deflowering, they'll still be as sweetly romantic as if they'd never resorted to anal when her recurrent yeast infection played up last June.


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