“Accept this justice as a gift on my daughter’s wedding…” Don Corleone
I went to a wedding. Two very nice young people were married after repeating some encouraging words from the priest. Then like water into wine ‘poof’ – the two nice young people became ‘one’ in the eyes of God. From the primo seats scored from a scalper, I watched closely for that defining moment when the couple was to become ‘one.’ I love cool tricks that defy all natural laws. Of course I was left to take the priest’s word that the two had in fact become ‘one’ because I didn’t really notice any big difference between the two after all was said and done. They signed some papers with a quill pen just to seal the deal, and off they went to honour their vows forever and ever, amen. Driving from the church to the reception hall, it seemed that in front of every church, family and well-wishers filed out of their own respective weddings.
I am married. I wasn’t always married. When I was born in 1968 I was single which lasted till 1992. I was graduating Nipissing with a relatively impractical degree in Sociology. Financially I was bust but managed to pay for my wife’s ring with my father’s gambling profits – he played serious workplace poker before poker was cool. I proposed to my wife in the parking lot of a Lucky 13. I have little actual recollection of my own wedding as I did nothing in the way of having to make any adult decisions. I do remember distinctly wanting Anton LaVay to play the organ, but no dice. This was the only thing I really wanted and it was summarily shot down by my wife. I’m thinking that for many the actual wedding has nothing to do with the groom. A good groom worth his weight in salt will just nod and agree with everything until the last person leaves the banquet hall after the final Macarena go-round fades. This day is for the bride. My wife didn’t seem to really relax and enjoy our wedding at all. She was pretty wound up with details.
I had two best men knowing that one best man would probably blow it at the last minute, so this way I would have a backup. Well, my first best man indeed blew it at the last moment after having some type of wicked fight with his wife about an hour before the ceremony, so it was up to my second-in-command who was quite drunk. I wrote an epic speech - a grand oration in the vein of Castro – for my best man to read but it relied heavily on timing and perfect alliteration. He messed it up – butchered it to be honest, but made up for it by consuming copious amounts of booze and passing out in the women's bathroom.
I did manage to hold to my decision for the first few songs that were to be played by the DJ. This was something I felt strong enough to fight for. Dylan – Every Grain of Sand, Frank Zappa – The Closer You Are and Van Morrison’s Moondance. Then the night flew by and the next thing I know, my beautiful bride and I are baking in temperatures around the 105 degree mark on the west rim of the Grand Canyon eating coyote. Back in 1992 there were no reality shows to speak of. Today, I would have taken a more active role in pimping out our nuptials. Actually, had I been given the chance to do it all again, I could be the king of all media, instead of Stern.
So, without further ado I am proud to present to you my Reality Life in 32 Episodes.
My mother will start off this mess by being featured first in the TLC Pregnant at 16 progressing to Spike TV’s Teen Mom. After my celebrated birth she will sell me out to Toddlers & Tiaras. Then I’m off to live out my young adult years on The Hills where I will bloom into a handsome young man looking for that special woman to share my life with and so forth. I will score the role of The Bachelor where I will meet some hot chick who doesn’t know the names of any Canadian provinces. I will propose then she will be forced to Say Yes to the Dress while I’m told What Not to Wear. The wedding will be catered in Hell’s Kitchen with some towering nine-tiered cake sculpted by the Cake Boss with all gifts coming from Pawn Stars. My new wife and I will buy a made-for-TV shitty house so we can star in that How to Flip Your House show. After we flip the house for some serious cash it will be time to cash in on Wife Swap. The kids will then come fast and furious. They will all be terrible, terrible monsters. They will steal people blind and throw spoons at each other at the kitchen table. But that’s super cool as Super Nanny will deal with them, while Dog-Whisperer Caesar Milan deals with our dysfunctional dogs while he waits on news from his divorce lawyer live from Divorce Court. As much money as I will be making from the swollen teat that is television, I will be spending more than what is coming in. The teat will begin to dry out – cracking and withering which works out to my advantage. Next stop on the remote: Till Debt Do Us Part. My wife will grow bored with scripts and barking directors as she will be actively causing psycho-drama on The Real Housewives of Bangus County. When that wraps she will star in The Week the Women Left. While she is gone I will just let myself go. I will become TLC’s 50 Tonne Man who will go on to win on Survivor by eating all my fellow contestants before going on to win on The Biggest Loser only to become hooked on amphetamines. This is where things will truly kick in to high gear. Within a single broadcast season I will get busted and skip bail only to be hunted by Dog The Bounty Hunter and Mantracker and get some serious air time on America’s Most Wanted, before being corralled down at the Mall of America by Mall Cops. But I will escape by losing them in the food court. But peeling out of the parking lot I will get lit up on COPS, eluding them to appear in World’s Wildest Police Chases before finally stopping for cheeky Police Women of Maricopa County. While out on bail I will overdose in San Diego in a very special episode of Beach Patrol before being featured on A&E’s Intervention after which I will reluctantly check into Celebrity Rehab. I will become more obsessive than ever in order to land a sweet spot on Hoarders living in a ramshackle house where Billy The Exterminator will find me crushed under a pile of plastic commemorative Walt Disney cups featuring Toy Story, 101 Dalmatians, Tarzan, Aladdin, Little Mermaid, Lady and the Tramp, The Aristocats. No Shrek. ROLL CREDITS. FADE TO BLACK.
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