The Limits of Love
There you are at the altar. All dressed up in your tux, schvitzing like a madman. Family friends and random others look on with intense interest. You look longingly into the eyes of your betrothed as the minister asks you to recite your vows. He then calls for your nine-year old nephew to bring the rings forward on the plush red pillow. You reach down and take the piece of bone extracted from your own jaw and gently slip it onto the ring finger of your new bride. As they say in Holland, Veird.
Hit tip: Oxblog
1 comment:
Ick!
Post a Comment