Positively True Adventures!

I went to the grocery store yesterday to pick up some necessities like lye and a shovel. While I was there, I noticed this dark-haired woman looking at me. It wasn't one of those good looks either. You know the good ones I'm talking about: when she's rubbing the Aunt Jemima syrup bottle on her vagina screaming, "I want to ooze my lady-goo all over your short stack!"

It wasn't one of those. And I don't have a "short stack."

Whenever I would pass her she would sigh heavily and roll her eyes. Finally, when I saw her in the International Foods aisle where I was picking out some fermented baby dolphin meat to put in my nephew's piñata, I had to say something to her. By the way, when I use italics, that's me being sarcastic; I don't think this woman understood it.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I think you know," she replied.

"I have no idea. But the way you're staring at me, it's like you're in love with me."

"I most certainly am not."

"Well, why don't you marry me then?" I said.

"I thought you'd never ask," she quickly responded.

She took my hand and pulled me through the store to the deli section. This would have been odd enough, but then we continued on through the metal doors to the back where they hang all of the meat and frozen cow heads that Mexican people buy sometimes to put in soup.

Her entire family was there dressed up and looking as nice as a family that I'd later come to learn suffered from six generations of fierce inbreeding could be. Her mother/sister was there. Her father/uncle/son was there. And her grandmother/brother-in-law was there. It was very inbred.

We stood in front of the Minister hand-in-hand. Me in my Vaginas are for Pussies™ t-shirt and her wearing a three-sizes too large unitard with one tit hanging out and one wooden clog infested with termites.

"I was being sarcastic about the proposal," I cried, my desperate plea falling on deaf ears. Literally. A side-effect of the inbreeding was deafness and a tendency to permeate an odor akin to a burnt hair and asparagus piss latte. She was the only one from her family in the freezer who could hear, but she was too busy sorting out the details with the Minister. By the time she did finally turn to speak to me, I could only speak in short spurts as I was choking on tears and the fermented dolphin meat that I had decided to snack on while being dragged through the store.

I'll never be sarcastic again, I thought. Look what it's done for me.

"What's your name, Gorgeous?"

"Kurt. It--it's Kurt. But I'm not--" I began to choke.

The Minister started, "Do you, Cornelia, take Kurt to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." She gripped my hand tight and smiled at me, her one good tooth beaming at me like a lighthouse a sailor sees right before he crashes into a coral reef.

All I have to do is say 'I don't.' That's all I have to do and this is over, I repeated to myself. Just don't be sarcastic.

"Do you, Kurt, take Cornelia to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Here we go. No sarcasm just this once.

"I do."

Fuck!

So, I'm married now. It's kind of weird how this works. They're so inbred that, in order for us to have a kid, I have to actually make love to her dad/uncle/brother and there's a possibility she'll get pregnant. At least there's always some lovely banjo music playing.

Kids, the moral of this story is, "Don't be sarcastic or you'll end up having sex with some inbred dude's open appendix scar wound trying to get the girl that you married in the back of a grocery store pregnant."