My bank account isn't terribly excited about mine and Patti's wedding. It's beyond anal rape and is really used more for necrophilia. But you, the reader, are so right. Our wedding is going to be awesome good the best! Look out, traditional weddings. Here comes a coconut cream pie in your face!

Patti and I stopped by the marriage bureau at the Dekalb County Courthouse to obtain a license. The plaque on the door read “Marriage and Pistol License.” You know, so you can kill two birds with one stone, literally. Couples lovingly filled out forms together while one shifty-eyed black guy sat in the corner by himself. Here's to the American dream! [ clink ]

According to our application's fun facts, two people can get married regardless of age and relation as long as the bride is pregnant. I guess the potential for inbreeding explains why the State of Georgia ceased marital blood tests in 2003. To their credit, the marriage bureau does issue potential newlyweds an STD pamphlet featuring invaluable information such as, “Getting drunk can lead to sex without a condom,” or my personal favorite, “Do not cause yourself or your partner to bleed. There are other ways to love each other,” which probably appears on the pistol application as well.

Sixty-one dollars later, Patti and I had a marriage license to be signed by our reverend. And forty-seven dollars later, the shifty-eyed black guy next to me had his license and let out a laugh.

“It hardly seems fair,” I said, “that his union costs less than ours. But then, we could have been married in 1990 if I had knocked you up, and that guy still would've had to wait until he turned twenty-one to be with his pistol.”