“We gather here today in front of God, and the Corona umbrella, and the lady digging through her purse for some reason while I am GIVING MY PREACHER SPEECH, MEREDITH.
“Thank you, Meredith.
“As I look upon you two, in your wedding dress and your wedding shorts, I think about my own wedding. I had banged my way through America for three decades or so, and the whole routine was a bit ragged at the edges. Plus, it was becoming less and less okay culturally to be a grown man pulling just-ripe skank, y’know?
“Luckily, you know: I found the love of my life, Natasha Monster. Dark hair, good family: real straight-shooter, my gal.
“Anyway, it was our wedding day, and the Buddhist monk performing the ceremony had done something or other to anger Mickey and gotten himself thrown off a mountain. Tamalpais, actually. Mickey threw a monk off Mt. Tamalpais.
“So, you know: how can you get married without a Buddhist monk, right? We’re running late, the whole vegan meal at the reception is getting cold: complete disaster.
“But then, boom: Big Guy. Now, it was ’99 and he was dead and we had to be all cool about things, so we dressed him up as a replacement Buddhist monk and Garcia did the wedding, man. How cool is that?
“Now, almost immediately, everyone knew who it was and started heckling, and then a few people got upset about the monk that Mickey threw off the mountain, and the whole ceremony looked to be ruined but then the wind caught a hold of my formal kilt and blew it up. Folks got a real good look at my legs–a solid look, where they could understand and ask themselves questions–and just like that: party was back on.
“Okay, so: you kids have a fun life together. Someone point me at the sandwiches and my check.”