Awright you pushy fuckers! I'd hoped to get this all out in one last post, but the minions of that dark realm known as real life have been waging war on my fucking around time. This means that virtually everyone I know wants me to do something and they want it fucking yesterday.

What does this mean to you? It means less than timely blog posts is what it fucking means.

So here's the wedding post complete with pictures. The reception should follow soon after (sometime next month).

Ok. This post contains pictures, so before I begin i have to explain something.

This is mostly for the benefit of Gage who thinks it's hilarious that I censor my pics.

Furthermore, he doesn't believe me that pictures or movies were ever censored by a black bar over the eyes and that I made it up or something.






This is the cover of Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, released in 1981 by AC/DC. It's the first rock album I ever heard and subsequently the first one I ever bought. If you don't own it I pity you as it's one of the greatest pieces of music that humanity has ever produced.

Anyhow, it's also where I first encountered the black censor bar. I use them because I sometimes use pictures that people might not want me to use and the bar (as I understand it) obscures the person's identity to the satisfaction of the law.

There's also these:






A free autographed sketch to anyone that sends me a pair of these. (Mailing address upon request to anyone except Dr. Reverend who still wants to send me something undoubtably vile and/or explody.)

So that's why the following pics are obscured as they are. You can all stop asking.

Anyways, morning of the wedding, about 4 AM (which is about two hours before I normally go to bed) I awaken to the sound of voices in the living room, but my alarm hasn't gone off yet so I roll over and try to go back to sleep. I'd showered before I went to sleep so as to afford myself the extra time.

The door opens.

Dammit.

I don't open my eyes, because I don't give a fuck who it is or what they want, I'm fucking sleepin'.

I feel someone sit down heavily on the bed next to me and start going through the pile of stuff next to the bed that incorporated both my stuff and the stuff Nate left in there from the night he used the bed before I got down there.

Then I heard the crash.

Without opening my eyes I knew it was Scott.

Now I keep saying this because to read what I write about Scott you'd think I don't like him.

That couldn't be less true. Scott is one of my oldest and best friends. It's just that he's a walking fucking calamity is all. If Scott is around and something is fucking up ask him first.

Apparently while Scott was looking for Nate's backpack on the floor he leaned all his upper body weight onto the particle board bookshelves next to the bed. The shelves were full of books and held up with little plastic supports.

I'm amazed he didn't try to sit on them.

But I managed to ignore it all and at least keep my eyes closed for another hour or so before getting up and getting dressed.

Oh, sometime before getting up I finally let go of that fart I'd suppressed the night before. It was all anyone talked about for a few hours.

In my defense I'd just like to say it's a damn good thing I had the good taste to take care of it before the wedding began.

It's simple etiquette people.

So I get out of bed - the far side of the bed, due to Scott's dumbassery – and prepare.

Now, a word about the tuxes.

This was far and away the best experience I've ever had with a tux and a tux shop. That's Classic Tuxedos No, I'm not selling out. I just don't mind recommending them because I've had some really shitty times with tuxes and these people really had their shit together. It was comfortable, not stiflingly hot, and the shoes even fit. You know how hard it is to get comfortable tux shoes? Imagine needing them in size 14.

That's right ladies. Size fourteen.

But yeah, best tux ever and I looked damn good in it. Of course, that's the whole function of a tux though, isn't it? If it doesn't make you look good it must be something else.

The only problem was not in the tux, but in my body. Due to my massive hernia I keep going on about, I couldn't button the bottom three buttons of my shirt. Fortunately, the vest covered those three buttons, but it was a backless vest and all the other groomsmen had full ones.

This comes into play later.

But I get up, shave (which I do once a month weather I need it or not), get dressed, and while I'm waiting for everyone to show up I pick up Brian's X-Box 360 controller for only the second time in my whole visit. I'd have had it more, but I was in a room full of sports fans so it was nothing but basketball (which I loathe), football (which is ok if it's on TV and it's college) and boxing (which is ok, but not in a video game other than Punch-Out) and I didn't bitch about it.

Just as soon as I try to fire up Perfect Dark: Zero and get in a few headshots before the wedding you'd think I was pulling their fucking toenails out with rusty pliers. They like sports games, I like blowing people's heads off with shotguns. And while they can always go play sports out in the real world society seems to frown on me randomly shooting real people (even though I have a really fucking loooooong list of people we as a society can do without) leaving me with only the video game option.

I got to play for a whole twenty minutes before Chuck showed up. Somehow, thankfully, we made it out the door without a prayer.

I guess now's as good a time as any to introduce you to the principal characters.

Me.

Yeah, I know. That's why I don't have a lot of pics of me.


Brian And Andrea.

Brian and his parents Chuck and Suzie.

Scott (Dumbass) and his brother Mike with the gay hair (more on that in a moment).

Sham.

Nate (It's the only pic I have).

And the lovely miss Wednesday Adams.

So we arrived at the church somewhere near the ass-crack of dawn. I hadn't eaten anything because all we had were leftovers from the rehearsal dinner. Don't get me wrong, the food was great, but I wasn't about to attempt to eat a pork barbecue sandwich while wearing a tuxedo. There was just too much chance of fate bitch-slapping me. I just drank a bunch of Mountain Dew while waiting with Brian and Nate back in the little pre-school room of the church, perhaps the one room in the church that seems the most heinous to me. I mean, it's one thing if an adult chooses to buy that fucked up story, but to force it on kids is just wrong.

But that's another rant for another day.

The wait was fairly uneventful save for one moment. See, Andrea's mother Kaye reads this blog. What's even more amazing is she likes it. Anyhow, being a reader of this blog she was first introduced to our very own Rich Fucking Sanders through this picture:

So you can imagine my joy at being able to say the words “Kaye, I'd like to introduce you to Rich Fucking Sanders.”

THAT was priceless.

Of course that introduction was made once Rich came in from his tailgate party.

That's right. Tailgate party. At a Wedding. At a CHURCH. Before a WEDDING.

And he says I'm going to hell.

So the wedding begins. We all line up, we file in, everything works like clockwork. We're standing there, the praying begins and then...

There's something poking me in the ass.

Fuck. Scott would have to be the one behind me. Well it's right at ass level and it feels kinda phallic. And it's not just sticking me in the ass, it's poking rhythmically. Poke, poke, poke.

I'm being molested during a wedding ceremony.

I can't turn around and fucking slug him. I mean, you know, it seems mildly inappropriate, and I can't just move forward because I'm at the front of the line. So I wait till they launch into another prayer and everyone is looking down and I move forward about two inches. All is well.
Till the prayer ends and Scott starts fucking poking me in the ass again. I can't move any farther forward and I'm beginning to reconsider my policy on punching the shit out of him.

Poke... poke... POKE...

It's a damn good thing they had a ringbearer because by the time the ring part came around I was ready to suck out Scott's left eye and fuck the empty socket.

Too graphic? Oh well, too late now.

Sleep with that image in your head tonight.

The wedding ends, we file out, I resist the urge to kill, more jokes are made about me not bursting into flames, and again I'm denied an opportunity to talk to Wednesday.

This brings us to the reception.

Next post kiddies, next post...

PS: If you want posts more often send money.