"Weddings" are ancient aboriginal rituals performed by walruses and fans of Michael Bay's robot-orgy masterpieces (otherwise referred to as narwhals) in various regions of a Kaiju uterus that involves various methods of strangulation and regurgitation of what you ate this morning for dinner, which is used to decorate what's left of the Berlin Wall, as a rite of passage. A wedding is a chance to get wasted, bang your sister (whoa bro that's total incesticide!) and then start the cycle all over with yet another skanky whore - I mean, walrus in the name of death.
Not that narwhals are skanky whores or anything...
Weddings basically mean "Your mother is a French Bodhisattva that likes to lurk in the darkest alleys of Paris" in the southwestern dialect of Vulcan. But to walruses and narwhals (particularly those squishy ones that have a profound affinity for anything that remotely resembles a butt), it means "You are dead and we will honor your memory. Come hither, Joan Rivers; we must do as we please with this carcass." Then again, that carcass can simply be eaten and regurgitated for the next ritual...
As such, humans regarded this practice as barbaric when they saw it on HBO in a documentary titled How the Russian Parliament REALLY Functions. But then again, who doesn't love them some fine lookin' harlots - I mean, slaughtered sea mammals?
Not that sea mammals are fine lookin' harlots or anything...
As stated, weddings have gone a long way, considering the procedures and costs (not to mention those dreaded cupcake towers that are in right now). Unfortunately, there seems to be a lack of major innovation in today's ceremonies. Not even famous actors and other personalities have planned to improve such a moderately splendid occasion. They're just good at promoting it for their fascist capitalist interests.
Elsewhere, in what would be considered to be the barren wasteland that is Uncle Sheridan's frontal cortex, the narwhals have yet to differentiate between a cone covered in frostbitten shrimp and a kernel of cauliflower.
Alright! It's your lucky day! After (insert wacky event that led to this moment here), you're going to get married! Time to find a tuxedo and gather other nice things! Luckily, you pulled out the stops for this wondrous occasion with everything ready (including the butter mints and the cupcake tower). Be sure to look confident as you walk down the aisles with your sweetheart. You have your vows ready. But this is the beginning.
“Do you, <insert name here>, take Alicia Keys to be your wife, the womanly figure that you shall be destined with till death do you two part?”
“And do you, whatever female celeb you are, take <insert name here> to be your lawfully betrothed, espoused - Jeez, I forgot. Well, you get the concept.”
“I like turtles!”
“Does anybody (besides me) object to this matrimony, or forever hold you peace?”
“Can I get my tax refund now?”
Similar to your significant other's procedure, you do your vows and are put in charge of way more stuff! Well, womanhood isn't fair game but you've made it this far in life. Congratulations! Now decide who sets up the honeymoon.
The friendly and insane institution of Illogicopedia is not held responsible for any counts of domestic violence, scandals about cheating, affairs, or miscellaneous disastrous events following your marriage (or before). It helps to think twice about that choice? Well, nobody's perfect.