Monogamy and a Walmart Wedding
According to The New York Times, marriage rates in the United States are at their lowest point ever, with less than 50 percent of American adults choosing to tie the knot. While Bible-thumping Wonder Bread fans across the Midwest pray to Jesus for an end to this alarming trend, I personally applaud it. Marriage is an archaic, outdated institution designed to torture the spirits of men everywhere. A lifelong, committed marriage is like Robin Williams’ career. Sure, it was kind of fun in the beginning, but after thirty years of the same old shtick you just want to lie down in a ditch and die.
Every day at work, I see the same married couples dining in awkward silence, looking about as lively and enthusiastic as Terry Schiavo in her final week. They’re like the zombies in a George Romero movie; sluggish, vapid and slowly rotting from the inside out. If I ever wake up naked next to a seventy-five year old woman (again), I’ll hit the liquor cabinet so hard they’ll have to wring my liver out like a sponge. After all, everyone already has a lifelong sexual partner…its got five fingers and doesn’t guilt-trip you if you go a little early.
Since I first learned about sex ten years ago in that Kids R’ Us dressing room (I was seven years old, you bastard!) I’ve come to appreciate what a spontaneous, liberating rush it can be. The constant search for new and interesting sexual partners is one of the most natural human activities. After all, we’re only a few generations removed from the apes. Monogamy is an unrealistic expectation for a species descended from furry shit-throwers (no offense to Robin Williams.)
My cousin Amanda is a perfect example. She got married at eighteen, back when she was a young, peppy love magnet bursting with sexual imagination. Four years later, she looks like a guest on Maury. She’s overweight, depressed, and smells like the New Jersey Turnpike. She comes home every night to her cats Regis and Mr. Purrfect, cheats with a little Rocky Road ice cream, cuddles up with a Norah Ephron novel, and waits for the Dancing with the Stars results. She’s an AOL user, a Wal-Mart shopper, a People Magazine reader, and a fan of Billy Joel. Though I can’t speak from personal experience, I can only assume that her “special area” resembles Tucson, Arizona; dry, dusty, and only inhabitable for three months a year.
If that image gets your peacock chirping, then rent a tux and find the nearest wedding chapel. As for me, I plan on being single for life, like my Catholic priest Father Murphy. I’ve known him for ten years, and he’s a perfectly happy and honorable man. I met him at Kids R’ Us.
Even further was the marriage event of the decade. Have you ever had your wedding at a church or attended a reception at the four seasons? Psh…boring!
This week, an Ohio couple was married in the garden aisle of Wal-Mart. Apparently it was where the romance was kindled, so the couple felt it was best to start their new life next to the imported shrubbery and wholesale size bags of miracle grow…Of course, only this type of shinnanigins can take place in Ohio…It is unclear as to where the newlyweds will spend their honeymoon, but the Furniture Department is replacing its bed sheets in advance.
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