27/08/2013 - MARRYING WATERPROOF MARTIANS

            Marrying waterproof Martians with lithe dance hall instructors was definitely the right direction to go in. It's too intimate to think otherwise, to organise nuptials with anything other than these two. You tend to seek distractions in this life and the bigger the distraction the better, so why not bring two undeserving quantities together? The sum is ridiculous and worth regulating just for that fact alone. The mother-in-laws are purely conceptual but they sure can kick up some dusty fuss with their high-heeled wretchedness. They just don't behave themselves however you choose to interpret or indeed apply them.          

 

Fortunately the route changes and slips into a stream of correspondences lost, churning the waves out like grip on a flea's proboscis. There are always those picky cookies, the guests and staff, that get in the way of the marching orders and jousting events but they're stainless steel and won't be here for long. Apparently they're outmoding steel, the higher-ups of the Tawny Castle. It's become a sin to even touch the stuff in the Southern turrets and the King is seriously considering removing it from the history books entirely. The robots will die, the cookies will wither. Marvellous. Let the wedding commence.

            I daren't call it a unification in case the remaining guests, those not encumbered with metallic regimes, get sick and start retracting their thumbs from the seats. Such games are for dunces and they realise this and rebel in their dexterous ways. At least they don't go around masquerading as split-personality cases when they're eyes don't even emote in every possible capacity. Something just doesn't sit well with the Martians when watching it, they know its acting but the blinking is just too irregular. The Martians shouldn't have to deal with such trivialities when their minds should be busy making broad exposition.

            Meanwhile, as far as the procession goes, pop starlets have been kept to a minimum for fear that they'll grow tits and an attitude. After a while, they tend to flash both like it means something beyond the realms of their own locus. So we've fazed them out and factored more paper documents in. They do little dances on the air resistance as you drop them from virtually any height: much more calming. As for the dance hall instructor, or as he is forthwith known 'The Groom', he wants to charter the psychogeography of his bachelor party. There might be strippers and the like but we are inclined to think that he has booked in a couple of hours at the corner pocket of most pool tables and in a few graphic artist's crèches just for giggles.  It isn't clear whether he shits or not yet though it seems likely considering the size of his flabby arse. Ask our caretaker, she is a 'Jacksy Expert'.

            Catering will of course be provided by Isis and her department of snakes, their cake decorations are desperate but delightfully cheap. A few of the snakes will also be running the disco. They say:

 

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