First, a bit of background. I am an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church, who will, of course, ordain anybody who asks nicely, or at least asks. I originally became ordained so people would start calling me "Reverend" and "Rev", which, for the record, worked. People started asking me if I could perform marriages. I did a bit of legal research. The answer, it turns out, is yes. Legally, I can preside at weddings and sign certificates of marriage in all 50 states. Needless to say, something had to be done.
Now, a disclaimer. None of these weddings are legally binding, except, of course, in the eyes of God. Very few of them could concievably be legally binding, given the current legal definition of marriage in the United States. Nevertheless, the law of God is not the law of man, and I feel all of these marriages are binding, if not in fact, then in spirit.
The First Wedding: A charming four-person S&M affair. Three girls and one guy. They wrote their own vows. I pronounced them "wives and bitch". At the traditional time when the minister tells the groom to kiss the bride, I said, "You may handcuff the bitch." They bought a little set of plastic handcuffs just for the occasion. It was pretty cute. They gave me a sugar cookie for my time, the most payment I have recieved for my time to date. All in all, a big success.
The Second Wedding: A bit more traditional this time. One guy, one girl. This one was conducted according to a bit of an impromptu '80s metal theme, and took place in a high school parking lot. The groom wore a Misfits shirt, and gave her a ring he'd made in 8th grade shop class. There was Ozzie blaring from some speakers somebody'd set up around us. Not really to my taste, but it made 'em happy, and that's what's most important.
The Third Wedding: A Friday night. I had taken some acid a bit earlier. I was sitting out on the patio of my building, enjoying the inherent harmony of the universe and all that sentimental bullshit, when two friends of mine (of the two traditional genders) walked up and asked me to marry them, then, that night. How could I refuse? Through a sequence of events I don't clearly remember, the wedding party ended up on the marble front steps of The Littlefied Home, a gothic mansion preserved in the middle of the campus of my University. Vows were exchanged. About an hour later, when I was alone again, it all sunk in. If you've never performed a marriage while tripping before, I'd reccomend giving it a shot some time. A few days later, I had to annull the marriage, On Grounds of Insanity. C'est la vie.
The Fourth Wedding, and a Funeral: One day, as I was walking to class, a friend of mine walked up to me and asked me to marry him to a SoBe bottle full of cigarette butts and ash. At that point, I had become so inured through ministerial power to custom and good sense, that that sounded almost funny. It seemed like a good idea at the time. When I got back an hour later, the bottle was missing and he wouldn't look me in the eyes. Through questioning witnesses, I found out that after about fifteen minutes, he had become convinced the bottle was cheating on him, and smashed it in a jealous rage. I should have performed pre-marital counseling. I should have been there. There must have been something I could have done. I don't know. This business is tough sometimes.
So, that's my story. Two for four ain't bad.