“Two legs!  Check!”  Keep the captions coming.

And here we have another marriage for Sir Paul McCartney.  This one is to some heiress who looks like a Jewish version of Kate Middleton, it all happened so secretly and “classy” this time around.  Money goes a long way when you need to keep things smooth.  She has two lovely legs.  I don’t know her name, you probably don’t either, and there’s no point learning it because chances are something more interesting will come up and Brad and Angelina will finally tie the knot and that will be the quintessential marriage made in heaven.  Apparently, they will get married when everyone can get married, especially the gays.   When Brad and Angelina get married, that means the whole world order will become pure and true.  And when the whole world order becomes pure and true, I am going to marry John Stamos.  Even though he could be gay.  And if that is the case, I will strap it on.

But backtrack to Sir Paul McCartney and Kate Middlestein.  Apparently they had a low-key wedding at the same place he married his first wife Linda.  So it wasn’t cursed.  But what is up with this whole charade?  Why does this marriage even have to happen?  Clearly he is a serial husband, which is the sad sack pussy whipped version of a Bridezilla.  Let’s just call him a Groom-Gimp.  Lock him in a box in the basement and wake him up when the wedding starts.  Don’t feel sorry for him, he likes it like that.  He wrote all the bad sappy Beatles songs that I fast forwarded on the old 8-track.

Those two lovebirds aside, it seems that everyone I know is getting married or hooking up.  This whole marriage thing is more like a death really.  Now you are stuck basically in one spot even though you think you are on some magnificent journey with someone.  Noah’s Ark is boarding for its voyage to the land of deluded, and there’s me in my lawn chair with a blanket on my lap watching y’all trip and hump your way on board.  Let me open up a wine cooler and give you a heads up.  Ladies:  Did you know he is marrying because there is something about you that reminds him of his mother?  And did you know how easily you can be replaced?  If you died, he’d bag your younger doppleganger in months and everyone around it would justify it by saying that your angel spirit guided him to his next bitch.  “She wouldn’t want him to be alone!”  They’d gossip amongst themselves at their Botox parties.    And Men:  She married you because her clock was ticking and her primordial urge to have a baby was inflicted up on you because you looked like you could swing a golf club.  She wants you out of the house more than she wants you in it.  Do you notice how your snoring has moved you into another bedroom?  She actually hates you and every hair on your back but she enjoys talking about you and your perfect life to her friends, especially the one you are having the affair with.  She knows but she doesn’t care.  You kid yourself when you try to hide it but even you know that she knows that you know.  If you died, she’d laugh her way to the bank and buy herself a yacht. 

Stop the pretense!

Fuck the Ark.  Let’s Dance!