For the record, I love my parents (at least, I think they’re my parents. They haven’t shown me any ID and they insist on using aliases like “Mum” and “Dad”). I would do anything to make them proud, but that doesn’t give them the right to make requests whenever they want. I am not a DJ…
Thanks to first-rate parenting, divine guidance and loose regulations governing teenage drinking, I’ve managed to drag my sorry carcass into its 20th year of life (unfortunately, I dropped my brain somewhere around the 5th year mark and I’m too lazy to go retrieve it). Before now, I was the last-born, only son, apple of my mother’s eye, spoilt till I cried sour-milk and shielded so much I may as well have been born in a Kevlar plant. Now I’m at the big 2-0 a lot has changed. The most noticeable change is my mother’s sudden interest in my “love-life” (still yet to be discovered, but we have our top scientists working on it. They’re aiming to land a woman on Cero before the year 2030). More specifically, the issue of marriage… and (**cringe**) offspring...
Pardon me while I put my modesty on a shelf for a second and allow me to say this:
Anyone who’s met me will agree (at gun-point usually) that I am, without a doubt, the greatest thing to have happened to the Y chromosome in millennia. I am the product of AAA+ grade genetics, the real man’s man. You’d be extremely lucky to sample even a grain of my bountiful awesomeness (I charge USD18.50 per hour). In recognition of this, when I die, I wish that my body be liquefied, bottled and sold as a perfume. This will be my small gift to the women of the world. Because guys, when your lady hears I’m gone, there’s a strong possibility she might get a bit suicidal. With a little something to remember me by, you can avoid seeing her life come to a grisly end. Plus, she doesn’t have to die thinking about how pitiful she was choosing to settle for a man who’s three rungs down on the evolutionary ladder.
Okay, I’m done. Gimme a sec while I put my modesty back on. Whoa… (grunt) I keep forgetting how heavy this thing is… alright, it’s back on. So you see, I’d like to think I’m a nice enough guy n’ all, but I’ve observed an alarming trend amongst the women of our era. They habitually choose to date every Polo shirt-wearing gorilla under the sun instead of seeing actual men. And the punch-line to this sick joke is that they are woefully aware of this (Whoops. Sorry, modesty wasn’t plugged in yet).
So ultimately, the very word “marriage” has never even formed in the Alphabet Soup I call my mind. I mean, come on folks, I’m only 20. I can’t see that far into my future. I’m at the age where I can hardly see past my own ego most days. I don’t really hope to ever get hitched in any case. The circumstances for that to happen would have to be truly bizarre (eg. Cosmic radiation; Doomsday 2012)... but if any of you feel like sending up a prayer to Heaven for me, by all means go ahead. Just know, you’re gonna feel really stupid when you see it piled in with your mail the next morning with ‘Return to sender’ stamped on the envelope…
…However, I got thinking (Hint: This is where you run away), what would married life be like? What kind of female (let’s assume a human woman, pulse optional) would I marry to begin with? Would we want kids (human hopefully)? Would I make her sign a pre-nupt (I'd forge her signature if I had too)? What would the wedding be like (Cheap I hope. I am paying for it after all)? I could have written a piece on the entire ceremony, but it would be too strenuous (For me to write, not for you to read. I know you’re just staring at the pretty pictures on the screen, you helpless, illiterate sods). So I chose to concentrate on one facet of the ritual.
The vows.
I know what some of you are thinking. It’s stupid to write vows to someone who I’ve never met, for a wedding that may never happen. Listen. If rappers in the 90’s (Tupac included) could get away with making a song for their “unborn kids” without being ridiculed, then by Jove, I’ll do just the same with no lip from you nose-picking Philistines….
[Rodger (the minister)]: And now ladies and gentleman, the reading of the vows. The couple chose to write their own individual vows. They shall read them out for us now. Cero, would you please begin, and then Brünhilde may read hers.
(Cero reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded, much handled, greasy piece of paper. He holds it up for everyone to see, then promptly starts to tear it into pieces. Much gasping and whispering from those seated.)
[Brünhilde (my fiancée)]: … Huh? …W-w-what are you doing…?
[Cero]: Brüny, there’s something I need to tell you. I wrote my vows down a few hours before I proposed. The plan was if you said no, I’d throw them away. If you said yes, I’d wait till the wedding to read them out to you. (drops his eyes, laughs nervously) I’m glad I didn’t have to toss them. I’ve spent the last two weeks memorizing them, because Brüny, I love you that much.
[Consuela (the bridesmaid)]: (squeals) Oh my god that’s so sweet!!!
[Rodger (the minister)]: Uh, well then. Cero, please continue.
[Cero]: (ahem!) Brüny, ever since that day we met at the pharmacy dispensary counter, I knew it would be you. You were buying some aspirin; I was picking up my week’s dose of anti-psychotics. I suddenly collapsed on the floor in a seizure. About 30 seconds later I stopped breathing. I would have died if it wasn’t for the kind lady who’d stood behind me in line. You administered CPR to revive me and she managed to bring me back to life. Granted, that when I came to I did throw up in your mouth… but I don’t think anyone there would have denied the magic of the moment.
It did take a while before you warmed up to me. You never really wanted much to do with me so it took a lot of persistence on my part. Bit by bit I learnt more about you. I found out where you worked, where you lived, what you were into, the music you liked, what brand of toothpaste you used… and a whole lot of other stuff after looking through your trash. Like how you always ate Spaghetti Bolognaise for Tuesday dinner. I tried some of it once. It was already cold and it took a while to pick the cockroaches out of it, but I could taste the love you’d put into preparing that meal. I felt like we had started to develop a real bond. But I couldn’t do that for long since you brought those two Rottweiler’s home. I think you were worried about having break-ins or something. I cared for your safety so I stopped dropping by your house and put back the spare key you kept underneath the pot plant ‘cause I didn’t want any creeps who might have been lurking around to see how I got in.
Our first date was at the soup kitchen where you were doing charity work. We sat together and I introduced my friends to you and you were really nice. I was all smiles that day… It was then I became certain of just how strongly I felt for you. A week later I proposed to you inside the coffee shop on the corner. I could tell that you were really shocked, but before you got chance to say “Yes”, someone called the waiters to throw me out. But I saw the look in your eyes then and I had no intention of letting you down.
So I made arrangements for Consuela to pick you up from outside your favourite deli. I’m really sorry that she had to use the chloroform, but I could only book the chapel for a half hour and I wanted it to be a surprise. And I’m sorry about the Rohypnol too, but we were in a hurry and you were giving Consuela a hassle about putting on the dress. I’m sorry if I bought the wrong size, but I promise to make it up to you in time.
Brünhilde von Rasmussen, I promise before God and these witnesses to be your loving and faithful husband for as long as we both shall live. But I’m sure that’ll be a long way away from now. We’ll have access to a bunch of drugs and medicine, so I don’t think we’ll hardly ever get sick or anything.
I promise to love, respect and honour you, sharing your plans and interests, ideals and emotions, through all the trials and tribulations of life, as well as the joyous times, caring for you in lifelong commitment. I already know most of your plans and interest already ‘cause I read your diary and went through your mail every morning.
I’m sorry that we didn’t have time to get your parents over here, I’m sure they would have loved to be here. But not to worry ‘cause all my friends here from the asylum are gonna be our family
[Rodger (the minister)]: Um, Cero can you hurry it up a little? The caretaker could walk in any second!
[Cero]: Come on Rodge! The caretaker gave the whole ward a day-pass so we could come see the chapel’s paintings and stained glass windows. He left me in charge of everyone till he gets back and that won’t be for another fifteen minutes.
[Rodger (the minister)]: I just don’t wanna get into any trouble.
[Cero]: What trouble? You were a priest before you got thrown in the nut-house but was never defrocked. So technically, you’re still a priest, making this is an official wedding, so my big day can go ahead as planned. Where's the harm?
[Rodger (the minister)]: Oh, alright. But remember the bishop wants us out in five so he can show a tourist group around.
[Cero]: Fine, fine. How much do we gotta get through?
[Rodger (the minister)]: Well she has to do her vows as well and the-
[Cero]: Okay, whatever, just skip to the end then.
[Rodger (the minister)]: Do you Cero ta-
[Cero]: Yeah yeah yeah.
[Rodger (the minister)]: And do you Brünhilde von Rasmussen take thi-
[Brünhilde (my fiancée)]: (slurs)…Whasss goin’ on…?
[Cero]: Just take that as a yes.
[Rodger (the minister)]: Then I know pronounce you man and wife. You may-
[Cero]: No time now, we’ll do that later. Consuela, give her a couple more pills then we can sneak her on the bus to the asylum with us. If she’s a bit dozy she’ll fit right in and the caretaker won’t ask any questions.
[Consuela (the bridesmaid)]: (grins absently) Okie-dokie-artichokie! Now come on Brüny! Here comes the choo-cho train, and down the hatch.
[Brünhilde (mai waifu)]: …Whoosa, awza.. grref.. (garble)
[Cero]: Okay. Come on everybody. Let’s roll.
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