As most of you don’t know, my commenting wingman, Mike G, recently celebrated his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with the woman he calls The Bride. Altogether let’s say:
What is even more monosyllabic-inducing to me is that this is his fourth marriage.
LA Readership and Mike G: WHAT?
Just yankin’ ya, but let’s be realistic, I’m queer as, accounting for inflation, a nineteen dollar bill and this is not the site for sentimental straight sap. I will say this about Mike and The Bride, out there in the hinterlands of New Jersey, they’ve produced three well rounded spawn. The first-born, Son, is a university wrestling team member with clowns as his kryptonite, so anyone reading this that would like to get him in a headlock fast — dress as Bozo; D1 is their first-born daughter that decorated the car in glitter and feathers so it looks like a rolling drag queen, and D2 is their second-born daughter that hates squirrels after one had the audacity to run off the roof and use her head as a launching pad. She’s now learning to drive and dreams of exacting revenge.
If they have any animals Mike hasn’t revealed them to me so I’ll improvise here.
The Bride and Mike both have Real Jobs that are called a word that’s as foreign to me as any words gassed in Aramaic, Careers. From what he tells me, she’s even his Best Friend. There you guys go again:
You Guys: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
With my extraordinary power of perception I’ve deduced that she doesn’t bitch at him to take out the trash or pick up his socks and he’d sooner cut out his tongue than say:
Mike G (never uttering): You know, that dress does make you look fat.
So there was Mike and The Bride in Paris without any of the Spawn nor did Mike stuff his pet chicken, Miriam, in his suitcase Borat-style. They were alone. In the city of light. One of the most romantic places on the planet. Being romantic …
… and taking pictures for Lame Adventures! The Bride even downloaded them for us. Their marriage sure works for me. Let’s virtually visit Paris!