WEDDINGS & TRANNIES & BOWLING, OH MY!!! Conclusion

As promised, the third, final and far less interesting Wedding post:


When last we left the scene of the crime, trannies were bowling and falling and flirting with unsuspecting townfolk. Scribe was lamenting the fact that he has great pictures & video of the blessed event and couldn't’ post them on his blog. And the bride and groom were acting like complete tools on the bowling lane, posing for the camera like hillbilly couture fashinistas..

As this scene fades into the next one, we follow Scribe, EFB & the bride’s sister to the couples’ home. Entering their abode was like unto being allowed to walk into a prop or a home that hasn’t been occupied in years. Scribe expected to see the living dead coming out of the floorboards because it was noon and the cows needed to be milked.

As the bride’s sister took them on a tour of the house, Scribe wondered how many cribs could be fitted into a single home. The answer he came up with was at least five. The adult furniture was practically non-existent, presumably because it would take up room from children, of which they apparently intend to have many.

The bride’s sister revealed that everybody on the street was related in some way. Next door lives a cousin, two doors down an uncle, three doors down another cousin, and so on. This is the town the children of the farmer parents move to because it’s so affordable and they are still close to home. Scribe and EFB couldn't wait to get out of that house.



Back in the car, they drove down the road apiece back to the reception hall, where more cars and people from out of town had arrived. As the bride's sister went to help with the serving of the food, she kept mentioning how her, um...let me pause her for a moment. I'm not sure what to call him anymore, although the phrase "punk-ass bitch" holds a certain appeal. My confusion lies in the fact that his designation when it comes to the bride's sister depends greatly upon the version of events being related at any given time.



We know they started dating in the early Eighties and moved in together shortly thereafter. We also know he claims to be a devout Jew, yet is living unmarried with a "goyim," with whom he has sex on a regular basis, runs electronics during the Sabbath as well as drives, and eats and drinks dairy with his meals. But he's the first to decry Muslims and spout Zionist rhetoric. This kind of hypocrite can be dealt with only one way, and unfortunately Scribe was the first to do it, despite being at least ten years his junior.



So, Scribe and Faux-Jew are not friends anymore, to say the least. People who love to dish out criticism of others but threaten to end friendships when the favor is returned are ho's to be dismissed in Scribe's world. But the bride's sister loves him and she's in her mid-40's and not much to look at. He was and is her last chance at happiness, and despite the fact that he refuses to marry her unless she converts to his open-minded and all-encompassing religion, she stays with him. She has used failing health and false pregnancies, phony work schedules and who the hell knows what else, but Faux-Jew looked up and 25 years had passed.



It's hard for anyone to know what the hell he is because they had supposedly broken up for good not long ago, but she still refers to him in the same manner she did before.



In the ensuing years, the Faux-Jew has become even more of a staunch pro-Israel/God's Chosen People type. His anti-Christian bias is a thing to behold. Once when some well-meaning yet no doubt annoying would-be missionaries at the Detroit Auto Show told him Jesus loved him, Faux-Jew replied, "And Satan loves you!" in the same sweet tone. He also spent an entire trip through the Dominoes Farms outdoor drive-thru X-mas display making derogatory comments about Christianity with EFB's little nieces in the car. A bigger asshole there never was.



So, it came as no surprise to old Scribe when he didn't show up for the wedding like he said he was going to. It was also unsurprising that his Jewish friend and forcibly converted wife didn't show either. How he was able to function as his friend's best man in a Catholic church I will never know.



It was sad to watch the bride's sister walk around and decline involvement in any activities because she was waiting for him. As the evening wore on, we started feeling really uncomfortable. Surely he would show up. Even someone like him wouldn't be that much of an asshole in this situation. Hell, even Scribe came and he barely knows these people! OK, maybe he came for the trannies, but still...



"I don't think he's coming," Scribe said. "He'd be here by now."



By now meant 90 minutes into the reception. The bride and groom has already been forced to kiss like 50 times and all the tributes and toasts had been uttered. Still no Faux-Jew.



The bride's sister had tears in her eyes she was holding back. Scribe was getting really pissed. EFB looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. Nearly two hours had passed at this point.



Then he arrived. He looked worse than dog shit in summer heat*. Like an old rabbi who didn't take care of himself. Gone was the cool goatee' he'd sported 4 years ago and its place was a massive, scraggly beard filled with white. His eyes were all puffy and his complexion was ashen. Scribe, on the other hand, looked fiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnne! He took no joy in his former friend's appearance. He decided to take the high road. His path would be one of positivity.



Who am I kiddin'? Take that, bitch! Shuffle on in here lookin' like a fuckin' drunk rabbi if you want to, but the Scribe looks fashionable and fresh! Now who's the chosen one, muthafuka! HUH? Now who? MUAAAA HAAAAA HAAAA HAAAA haaaaaaa...





Um...





Anyway, Scribe and EFB were both glad he arrived and amused by his little wedding photographer act as he pranced around taking photos of everybody except us. So childish.



Later that night, in order for the bride and groom to have their dance, Scribe volunteered to watch their baby for them. So the conclusion of the night for him involved walking an infant back and forth and pretending a radio tower was the most fascinating thing in the world to keep its attention focused away from everything else. Babies love me. They're like puppies with less fur and less to say. I've been told I have a unique way of communicating with them. I don't speak baby-talk and they seem to respond well to it.



Had to work the next day so as I bid farewell to the assembled, shit-kickers, well-wishers, trannies and bigoted Jews, I noticed EFB waving good-bye to the bride's sister's um...boyfriend? I was told he nodded nicely. Whatever. He's still and ever shall be a bitch-ass whore.



God, I hate weddings.













*The dog shit line must be credited to my former supervisor, who sent that phrase via text when I sent her a pic of one of the trannies.