Weddings can be beautiful, fantastic, joyous events. There’s no way to better celebrate true love than with your closest friends and an open bar. But not this wedding. This wedding is a dumpster fire. It’s the wedding where you wake up the next morning wishing you could forget everything you saw last night, but secretly acknowledging that you loved every second of it. You realize in the middle of the event that you’re witnessing the Malice At The Palace of weddings.
4:55 p.m.: You and your date-that-you-don’t-really-like have taken a seat next to a few of your buddies for a 5 p.m. start. Most guests are still filing in, and most have been drinking all day in preparation for this piece of shit. You can’t remember what the hashtag is because you’ve all just been referring to it as #FuckTheFranklins. Everyone knows they won’t last, and their gift registry was ridiculous. Despite all this, you’re going to enjoy every minute of this trainwreck.
5:12 p.m.: Ceremony starts behind schedule, and the wedding party starts to make their way down the aisle. The little ring bearer trips and falls, and not a cute “aww, precious little kid moment” fall, he trips and starts screaming for his mother. Finally the glowing bride comes down with her dad, who has the look of a man who would rather be giving his daughter away to Hitler.
5:29 p.m.: After enduring obnoxiously long vows, the groom says “I Do” in an extremely unsure manner and after an awkwardly long pause. This doesn’t go unnoticed. Your buddy takes this time to remind you about that time the bride had a threesome with the Ying-Yang Twins during sophomore year.
7:05 p.m.: The venue hosting the reception wasn’t quite ready so as soon as the doors open, the starving and thirsty guests rush the place, all heading towards the bar.
7:06 p.m.: “Wait, all you have is Natty Light and Franzia?”
7:19 p.m.: The Wedding Party is announced, with three groomsmen sporting the signs of single-nostril nosebleeds.
7:28 p.m.: Dinner is served. “This shit is ice cold and tastes like bad Luby’s… wait, this is actually Luby’s?” You’re already so drunk it doesn’t matter, but watching other people force feed themselves cold rubber chicken is a sight to be seen.
7:33 p.m.: Mother-Groom first dance goes off without a hitch, although his drunken swaying is hinting at a guy who isn’t going to make it past midnight.
7:39 p.m.: Father-Bride dance begins, and at first it looks like it’ll be a high point, as the father and daughter have prepared one of those destined-to-go-viral dance marathons, until the father forgets half the dances and walks off mid-routine saying “I told you this was fucking stupid.” You start a one-man standing ovation.
7:52 p.m.: You down what’s left of your flask right before the speeches, and hope that you don’t blackout too soon and miss more of this Shakespearean tragedy unfolding before you.
7:54 p.m.: The Best Man finishes his speech with a lovely anecdote about how the groom has the worst luck with catching chlamydia from Canadian prostitutes.
8:11 p.m.: The Maid of Honor has taken what should’ve been a short but sweet speech about how the bride has helped her through some low points, and made it into a speech about each terrible relationship she’s had and what went wrong before tying it into the bride not liking the guy when she met him. “And she was right, I shouldn’t be dating a coke dealer named Slim.”
8:20 p.m.: The DJ starts up and everyone starts mercifully drinking heavily and dancing like the whitest dudes on the planet. The DJ opens up with “Party Rock Anthem”, “Happy”, and “This Is Why I’m Hot”.
9:03 p.m.: “Dude he’s played the Macarena three times already….”
9:07 p.m.: You go tip the DJ, wink, and say, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
9:14 p.m.: First verbal altercation breaks out, as a guest really didn’t appreciate a groomsmen grinding with his 14-year-old daughter during “Blurred Lines”.
9:23 p.m.: Your friend finds the bride on Tinder, swipes right.
9:51 p.m.: Natty, Franzia, and your Fireball flask have already taken their toll so you lose your Luby’s in the bushes outside, next to a bridesmaid on the phone screaming at her husband.
10:07 p.m.: “Can someone ask the couple having sex in the parking lot to stop having sex in the parking lot?”
10:27 p.m.: Bride and Groom are emphatically arguing in the corner, it apparently started when he stepped on her foot during “The Wobble.”
10:42 p.m.: The bar has run out, so you all are outside passing around a half-empty bottle of Canadian Mist that someone had in their trunk.
10:44 p.m.: What started as a bummed cig has turned into another vomit session. Got a little bit on the exhausted flower girl’s shoes.
10:52 p.m.: You just realized that your date left hours ago in one of the many cabs that have come to take disgruntled guests back to the hotel.
11:07 p.m.: The Groom and Groomsmen announce that they’re leaving, and that anyone is welcome to join them at Fuzzy Holes Gentleman’s Club.
11:30 p.m.: The buses back to the hotel show up, and you rush to make sure you get a seat.
11:31 p.m.: You’re sitting on the floor.
11:37 p.m.: “Why are we stopped… wait… is our bus driver getting a DUI?”
11:57 p.m.: You find your way back to your hotel room, puke in your toilet, and pass out fully satisfied that you’ve witnessed the worst thing you’ll ever witness. .
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