Kevin Ryan

Some close friends of me and my lady got married a few weeks ago in the backyard of her house.

Okay.

Which is also connected to a flea market that they do not own.

Okay.

Strike one.

Her brother was the officiant and showed up in a Pope costume.

I mean, that's just funny.

During the ceremony, he used lyrics from Wet Ass Pussy, Let the Bodies Hit the Floor, and a handful of other off-the-wall songs.

For the reception, they had a karaoke machine and open bar, and all the staff was from the local town dive bar down the road.

Okay.

The piece de resistance of Garbagio had to be when they asked me and my lady to be the witnesses on the marriage certificate and when it was time for us to sign, we were led inside to where it was hanging on the fridge with a magnet.

That's where I keep all my good documents.

P.S.

We had to track down the priest who was tripping on mushrooms behind the karaoke stage to get his signature on it as well.

Listen.

Sounds like a fun-ass wedding.

All the other stuff.

You go to most events, someone's going to be on mushrooms.

Well, at least one of it.

You ever want to win at 200 people?