A few days before my surgery, my brother sent me the pictures below and despite my horrified laughter, I was speechless. Well...for a few minutes anyway. Of course, I couldn't laugh at their tacky wedding without laughing at my own Vegas wedding (officiated by a shaved-chested Elvis, don'tcha-know), and perhaps the similarities between the two is what made it so funny (minus the sequined tube top wrapped like a sausage casing around the bride's stomach, natch). Regardless of the psychology of the laughter, I felt it was my duty to send these images to my friends and just couldn't resist the urge to provide commentary. Here it all is, for your viewing pleasure:
Click on any of the images below to view them full size...if you dare. You'll need to maximize the new window to zoom in.
a) Image #342 - The Wedding Setting. Ohhhh, the back yard (amidst the picnic tables) is so CLEAN! Yes, you can SEE the trash cans overflowing in the background, but shuddup, bee-yotch! 'least they CLEANED! Also, I'm thrilled to see that they've done away with that pesky 'rule' that nobody but the bride wears white to the wedding. Yay!
b) #343 - I'm going to be having a SERIOUS talk with my husband this evening as to why he didn't honor ME by wearing a tank top to OUR wedding. Asshole.
c) #347 - The aluminum siding as a backdrop just makes my wedding at the Viva Las Vegas wedding chapel just seem paltry and pale. I also plan to have a stern discussion with my wedding guests for not insisting that I get an arm tattoo, a sequined tube top, NONE of them offered to punch out any of my teeth, and not a single one of the men were decent enough to wear ginormous diamondique earrings while holding me up
d) #353 - she was apparently schooled by the Highway 41 Flea Market Stylist (note the 4-sizes too small, sequined TUBE TOP, displaying ample belly fat); she's wearing a tiara, as I did at MY wedding. I make myself feel better about this by reminding myself that mine was WAY more classy cuz MY officiant had the decency to shave his chest first and MY tiara had pink FUR on it
e) #361 - ohhhhh, the wedding cake. I cried at its beauty. Although nothin' says lovin' like a lopsided bundt cake, the tinfoil-wrapped stands truly MADE it.
f) #362 - where to begin?? The clothing alone is going to be the fodder for my dreams (read: night terrors) for weeks to come; her over-exposed thigh has a BRUISE on it; I'm envious of her toothless grin; the ever-present tiara haunts me; and I find myself feeling that her groom is WAY more important than originally thought (silly me...judging him on the trash in the back yard..the wedding site) because now that I see him wearing a blackberry (the same blackberry *I* have, by the way) on his shirt pocket DURING the festivities, I realize that he must be a very important, well-to-do, and in-demand Forbes List contender. I also feel it necessary to refer you BACK to image #343 just prior to the ceremony proper where Mr. Fantastic patiently awaits his bride at the altar; notice the striking LACK of said blackberry. That means that, at some point between when he and the minister were at the 'altar' waiting for Ms. Precious to arrive and when they said their vows, the phone became a necessary accessory.
g) #363 - wait wait...I was wrong! The mark on her leg is NOT a bruise from last night's trick! It's a KNIFE WOUND!!!
h) #373 - BITCH STOLE MY HAIR!!!
i) #373, part II - As per my previous email to Shatonya (**excerpted below), both of these women were at the flea market on Sunday. Clearly they were shopping for wedding finery and taking etiquette classes out by the fried plantain stand
j) #374 - Hey! If MY Elvis can shave his CHEST?? The frickin' BRIDE can shave her upper LIP!
k) I will be taking paypal donations for the VAT of BLEACH I will need to wash my EYES out after reviewing these pictures, thanks to my brother.
**Excerpted email to my sister-in-law regarding this weekend's field trip with the in-laws to the Frightening Flea Market on highway 41 (which I sent beFORE my brother sent me these pictures):
Shatonya,
We went to the (terrifying) flea market just off 41 with George's parents last weekend. Ohhhhh that was a treat. Next time I go there, I will be sure to adhere to the apparent rule that if you have even one roll of fat, you are required to purchase tank tops and other inappropriate clothing at LEAST 6 sizes too small and not only should your waggling arm fat jiggle freely, but you simply must...MUST show as much of your stomach as possible. Points are removed if you choose not to display your bountiful flesh, but you can gain a few back if you tuck in the oh-so-tight shirt. Extra points are given (or is it one free pair of neon green alligator skin boots??) if you have faded and badly-done tattoos anywhere on said fat. Grand prize is given if it's what George calls the Bulls-Eye Tattoo situated juuuuust above the ass. Yes...I can't WAIT to go back there! ;-)
Okay. Lunch hour = over now. Back to work. (I wonder if they'll mind that I'm blind now?)
