They’ve been forewarned that I can be difficult, but that’s not true at weddings. This isn’t a restaurant where I can criticize the food and belittle a waiter if he doesn’t have the nuts to put up with me. Never show your weak side, but never fuck with a waiter until you have your food. Weddings are fine. You already know what you’re getting to eat – you filled out a little card six months previous. I know I’ll get a good table; I’m the father of the groom. This is a title I’m going to milk for all it’s worth. I’ll only be the father of the groom once, hopefully.
There are a few things I desperately have to avoid at all costs. One thing, believe it or not my precious readers; your author is a sentimental fool. This culminates in my eyes welling up with tears at wedding ceremonies and looking like a big pussy.
My biggest criticism of weddings has always been with the reception, because after all, that’s the real part of the wedding. I’ve seen marriages that did not last until the end of the reception. Of course this particular wedding I’m thinking of was a tragedy just waiting to happen. The bride and groom had met a scant three weeks previous, were both fresh from rehab, and were both extremely annoying individuals.
So what was I doing at this greatest pig-fuck of nuptials? Thank God I was working with the band. I was a completely neutral entity at one of the best/worst train-wrecks in recorded history. Real white trash at its’ best! The father of the bride had paid for the entire wedding, a fact we had learned the second we were contacted to do a gig at the reception. He was quite obsessed with this fact as he only had one daughter and he really fucking hated the dick she was marrying.
Dad liked our band. We weren’t cheap, so dear old Dad sincerely wanted to se his daughter have her special day even though he was obviously not happy with her choice of spouse.
The lovely bride was an obnoxious, fat, piggy, little bitch that just took great pleasure in shouting orders to anyone in the banquet room. After all, this was her day and this is the way the bitches on the T.V. act. Being the “thing that scares food the most”, she just had to have a knosh while she was primping for the ceremony. The band’s dressing room was the next room over from the bride’s so we had “up close and personal” views and sounds from the den of misery.
She bellowed like a hunted killer whale when she dropped some ziti all over the front of her “ever so tight” gleaming white wedding dress. How dare that bitch! That ziti was delicious! She just couldn’t wait for a napkin, or was just so used to not having one she didn’t have time to stop her natural jaw reflex that kicks in whenever there is any type of food within reach.
The band elected me to do a recon mission, find out what all the horror was about. Usually this would have been a piece of cake, no pun intended. I put in earphones from a non-existent component, strapped on my guitar and walked out into the hallway. I was pretending to listen to a tune while trying to figure out how to play it on my guitar.
I had my eyes shut tight in order to portray a serious musician doing some serious listening. In other words if you look like a douche-bag people tend to pass you by and I had that tactic down to a science.
When I got a quick peek at the very noticeable “marinara sauce” stain on her wedding dress and the hissy fit that was violently spit out of ever orifice that little Miss Piggy had, I had to run and literally dive back into our dressing room. I hit the play button on our ever-present boom-box, gesticulating wildly, letting my fellow band mates know that I was in need of immediate assistance.
Our drummer, being the evil genius that he is, sized up the situation and quickly tossed me a nice clean towel from his personal stash. I covered my mouth as I let loose the paroxysm of hysterical, guttural laughter that only a true suck fuck like me can fully conjure up, or appreciate for that matter.
Some people, more sensitive than I, may have felt sorry for this young narwhal. But, alas, I had just a wonderful time re-enacting this scene for my fellows in arms. Were we going to leak this information to the rest of the guests? A striking paradox, this was sensitive stuff here!
Everyone would have been straining to get a glimpse of the stain, not the blushing bride! Snickers would have emanated wildly from the wedding flock, and I’m not talking about the bride’s favorite health food. In the same sense, the father of the bride would have cut my balls off and fed them to me if he found out I was the one that exposed said stain.
I soon felt both amusement and pity for this young girl on her wedding day; I kept our little secret within the confines of my band mates. Unfortunately, one of the busboys had also noticed and I was given the same reenactment that I had just performed, this was out back by the dumpsters when were smoking the obligatory joint before the gig.
The kid was good, very entertaining. He played the part of the bride with Strasberg-like aptitude and soon his story had the entire wedding party abuzz.
The poor bride had to concoct a floral arrangement to cover the stain. It made her look like she had roses growing out of her ample breasts. She was all tits and flowers and looked ridiculous. It looked like she was holding her bouquet between her boobs so she could keep her hands free.
When she was handed her bridal bouquet of roses that are held down by your waistline she immediately wished she had done this sooner. She would have seen that the stain-covering roses and the bridal bouquet roses together looked like she was holding three foot long roses.
When she reached the alter and handed the bridal bouquet to her maid of honor it looked like she only handed her half of it. This caused some murmurs to start. When the bright red stain appeared from behind the roses the murmurs got louder. When one of the bridesmaids giggled it was infectious.
Everyone ended up having a good laugh, especially the groom. Big, BIG mistake! The bride started to cry which made the whole thing funnier at this point, the point of no return (you really had to be there).
Well, the procession was restarted. Someone saved the day by getting the stain out with club soda and baking soda. Miss Piggy and Clem were finally married. Dad got so drunk he started a fight which the band had to break up because it seemed like everyone there wanted to see a good brawl!
Miss Piggy and Clem were divorced right after their first child was born three months later.
Boy was that good fucking ziti or what?
Selah.
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