Wedding Bell Booze

I had game Saturday, good people. An old fashioned wedding, right out of the books. If the book was The Nightmare Before Christmas, or something by Roald Dahl maybe.

It was quite a shock to find Felchyana drunk on the worst imitation Russian vodka I've ever seen. On the day of our wedding! Actually, it was the day after our wedding was supposed to be, since I had been too inebriated to remember the date then, but you understand my meaning. It was quite disturbing. Lil Duncan had to walk her around the room and give her coffee, while Ivana Folger-Balzac shouted at her like a drill instructor; though since she does that for everyone I'm not sure if it was supposed to help. I was so depressed riding Boris Utzov around the room like a horse was the only thing that would cheer me up. I'm about to marry one of his nation's people, so that makes us like family. Then again, who knows where he comes from? They don't speak the Queen's English there, that's all I know.

Despite all that horror beforehand, it was a charming ceremony. Red Bagel walked me down the aisle, though the preacher certainly didn't approve, but he's Episcopalian and I don't approve of that, so we're even. Felchyana had to come down the aisle riding Lil piggyback, which was quite embarrassing for me and arousing for some of our guests.

It may seem strange, but I had a hard time deciding on who my best man would be. It was between Camembert and Lee for quite a long time, but I could never completely make a choice. Eventually I decided to select Lee carrying Camembert as my best man. Which worked out nice, although now Lee's back is out, possibly for good. But I say it was worth it.

We wrote our own vows, which were quite moving, if I may say so. Felchyana's vows were unintelligible in our original language, the way Boris read them they sounded like excuses on why she couldn't get married in very broken English. So I had to translate them, and then they finally sounded right. I promised to love, honor, and cherish her, and she promised to delegate all responsibilities outside the kitchen to me, the less known about it the better. The preacher then told me I could kiss the bride, at which point I punched him out—no one needs to see that kind of smut show, I don't care what kind of kicks he gets out of it. Then Lil picked her up and carried her out of the church to my car, which is a two-seater I bought second-hand from a go-cart place.

At this point it would be customary to drive off into the sunset. Would that we could! The battery was dead on the stupid thing and nobody brought any D-cells to the wedding. Which is just as well, we were only going to drive to her apartment and honeymoon ourselves into a coma. Who needs that?

Instead, as is more customary in the working world, Lil Duncan carried us both home to our place and I caught a ride from her back to the office. After all that, Lil demanded a week's vacation to go to physical rehabilitation, but I wasn't lucky enough to have that sort of vacation at my disposal. I had to jump in head-first, which smashed my desk, and get to work trying to pay for this gigantor-style wedding.

Despite the intrusion of reality and the deep debt I've run into, and my wife's never-ending crying after the ceremony, it feels good to be a married man again. I've closed one chapter to my life, nearly a thousand pages in, and start another one today. This will hopefully be the exciting chapter with all the explicit nudity and gunfights.

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