My cousin the Reverend says he wants to fly in from
San Francisco to do
the awfully big wedding, plus the old
Nashville Soka Gakkai crew wants to be part of the
ceremony. But apparently the
Church of Everything (whatever the fuck
that is) is handling all the arrangements, right down to the loops to be used by the live DJs and the
choice of weapons and ammo for the bridesmaid squadron. Is this a
shotgun wedding now? I don't seem to remember the... uh...
circumstances that would warrant such a thing.
Many family members have begun to complain about the lack of a proper cleric - "Is this some sort of cult thing?" cousin Gina asked when I told her about all this rampant nuptializing; she, too, wanted a cut of the wedding plannage.
Meanwhile, I must somehow appease my seven current wives - they're not taking this at all well, and they're voting tomorrow on whether or not to hold a wildcat strike on the farm. And we're not just talking about goats unmilked and bacon unfried, you dig? Either way, I'll have to go into Appeasement Mode; this means I must rummage through the attic and find my old spiked dog collar and handcuffs. Cool.
Z is inconsolable; he won't return my phone calls, and has only communicated via a third party ("when will you cease these senseless marriages?", etc, etc - a real sweetheart, but way too damn emotional sometimes). I'm told they have removed all sharp metal objects from his condo, and are taking turns handling the suicide watch...
Like Granddaddy always said, "Son, the hogs must come first." A wise man, in spite of his lack of book-learnin'. The hogs must come first.