Tony Bo's Wedding Recap
by Stingray
I would certainly be glad to give you a recap on Tony's wedding as I, Stingray, was the BM and can share a lot of perspective but no photos. I took some pictures, but this big goombah grabbed my camera and broke it. It had to have been an Italian thing.
So here we go:
We arrived in DC on a Thursday? We buzzed the nation’s capital in our Cessna 182 and dropped bags of dog shit on Pennsylvania Avenue. We found ourselves in a vicious cockfight with some pussies in F-14's, but luckily I put new spark plugs in the 182 and was able to out run them. We landed our plane in a pasture just north of town and smoked a joint.
We then stole a car and drove it to the airport downtown. I think it is National, but I could be wrong. We had to act like we took a commercial flight in so that Tony wouldn't worry. He worries, you know, and we wouldn't want to fuck up his wedding weekend.
Tony and his father, Vince, picked us up. We drove north and made a quick stop at some shithole market with a bunch of street people sucking tailpipes and drinking diesel fuel. The purpose of our stop was to pick up some authentic Italian foods, wines, and cheeses. We then went to the house and made sandwiches.
Besides a new bride, Tony bought a new/old house: a real charmer with the hard wood and the yard and the trees and the big red door. It had a real Rockwell kind of feel to it, and I took it upon myself to christen it with a steamer. Not a bad way to start a weekend on the coast, if I do say so myself. It was brown and nutty. It looked like an elongated pinecone.
Next up was a conversation with Liz. What a sweetheart of a woman. If I didn't already have a top-notch mom, I would force this family to adopt me. We sat out in Tony's back yard pounding beers underneath his folly. It was a folly with big phallic weenies that rose up from the top like giant elephant cocks. Liz rapped for us to some new beats she has been working up with her pals at Death Row. The best one went a little something like this:
My boy’s getting married,
Now I know he’s not a fag.
Got a reefer in my pocket,
Got a neener in my hand bag.
Put a cap in this prick ‘cause he was peepin on my ass,
Put the rock in the pipe and I’m burning it with gas.
Propane motherfucker, propane in the vein,
I’m so hard, this bitch you cannot tame.
Speaking of weenies, Tony has a couple of homos that live right behind him. They have these little, yapping poodles that they named Little Miss Whitney Smoochie Face and Bubby Baby Bonnie Do Me in the Pitty Witty. Wow, those guys are gay! They got the fancy talking and the swishing and the swooning down pat. The big, beastly man is a mail carrier and looks so hot in gray shorts. I don’t remember meeting the bride of Ralph, but I bet he is cute with a gaping bung. Oooh la la. Dem boys make me pee pee go grazy in me dungarees.
One of the festivities and tributes to the new love involved boys grilling meat and eating it out of doors. There were Grandmas and Grandpas, mosquitoes, and salads. There were uncles and aunts and songs sung as ballads. There were mommies and daddies and babies with cavities. There were sisters and brothers and Tony’s ex-lovers. But best of all, there was me. I was there to regale all the people with my stories of heroics and valor. They loved me, and I left them wanting more.
Nature sure is a curious force isn’t it? Just when things get dry, water falls from the sky. I just want the reader to ponder that thought before we get into the action packed day that was Friday. Also known as Tony’s last day before saying goodbye to being a 40-year-old virgin bachelor. A tip of the cap to the kind and beautiful Juliet, for you have slain the virgin man child and brought him down or up, to the level of mortal. Joe Six-Pack never smelled more like pee than he does right now, but that all depends on how you look at it…and smell it. FYI - If you are looking for meaning in that last sentence, there is none.
It rained a lot. I am sure the wedding party will never forget the fucking rain. It rained and rained and rained and rained. It rained so much even the rain was getting bored with the rain. So when it’s raining you got no other choice than to go the National Air and Space Museum. For those of you who have never been, they have all kinds of objects hanging from the ceiling that used to fly. Now it hangs. Historic stuff like Sputnik and a few ICBM’s. They also have some stuff you may not have seen before, like the inside of the nose cone from the Spirit of St. Louis. Complete with the backwards swastika and a bunch of signatures from some German engineers. Evidently Charles had some ties with the Nazi party that we don’t celebrate a lot in the U.S. Nothing beats a little German engineering, though, I always say.
The highlight of this day was the food. Liz whipped up some pasta with some shrimp and some salad and some other shit that was amazing. We ate and we laughed and we ate some more. We toasted, and we told stories about the days when men were men and Tony was still a virgin. We fondly gazed at the big, brown doe eyes of the soon to be Mrs. Tony and applauded her for her strength and tolerance. We broke into Tony’s private reserve and picked off a few bottles of red that would make any man happy he isn’t a confirmed alcoholic on the wagon. Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up. Then just in the midst of all this bliss some wiseass asked the question, “Should we check out the basement”?
Remember that Bugs Bunny cartoon where Bugs was being hunted by Elmer Fudd in a mansion? Fudd was a millionaire big game hunter who would stalk prey in his house, and in this house he could create a waterfall that would run down his staircase. After all that fucking rain Tony had a similar water feature in his basement. Turn on all the lights, the party is now OVER! Grab a broom and mop, the water is coming in. See Tony in his underwear running around the yard at two in the morning. Digging in the mud to change the water flow. Curse the sky and pray for drier weather. Curse the sky. Curse the sky!
In the wake of 10 inches of rain in 24 – 36 hours the aftermath wasn’t all that bad. Aside from a pile of wet towels, the soon to be married couple went through their first big crisis mode and came out of it smelling like red wine and delicious pasta. The teamwork and perseverance were a sight to see, and if that doesn’t cement a lifetime of happiness together, then counseling will. So let’s hear it for the brave men and women in the helping professions! You see us when we are at our craziest, and you still don’t laugh. That takes talent.
Speaking of helping, let’s get on to the ceremony and what happened behind the pulpit. Father Mike in his infinite wisdom had a fifth of Hennessey, a gram of coke, and a four-foot Graphix loaded with some very serious Humboldt County shit. We tore into his stash like college boys on spring break. Snort this, cannonball that, toke this… We got high as hippies and then went out in front of the congregation, and I guess we kept it all in check. Nobody could tell. I kept thinking to myself, why can’t they tell that we're wasted? I was staggering around scrounging for communal wafers. I was scooping hands of holy water trying to combat the dry mouth. I was doing drops of Visine, and I cracked a beer during the exchanging of vows. I farted. I broke down into tears and screamed my name just to hear my name being screamed. I don’t know how everybody missed that. No wait. That was my wedding… sorry.
Women at weddings are a trip. I was amused by a little something, something from Eastern Wasatch County. She had this look on her face that said, “You should have seen me back in my college days”. Fact is that cute party girls with huge cans turned mommy make me crazy horny. Where is the time machine when you need it, and since there is no such thing as time machines, why don’t you show me your tits and blow me in the backseat of your rental car? Go ahead and giggle for me. I’ll say something stupid and you laugh. Laugh like it’s the funniest thing you ever heard. Then tell me in a roundabout way that I am still cute and then go chase your kids. Make me feel special, and then shake your ass while you go fetch your husband a beer. Bring attention to your cleavage by talking about how firm they were before the kids. Pound some more chardonnay, and then cry a little bit for me. Thank you for adding that bonus slice of predictable weirdness to an already full weekend.
Comments