What a fucking joke. SP and DB are getting married today, and P said he’d like for me to go. They’re just wearing jeans, and the ceremony is at two this afternoon…(wait for it)…in a train caboose at the historical society here in town. Loser Dog Boy has a thing for trains, I guess. Jesus H. Christ–it’s 45 degrees outside, and the caboose is unheated, there for people to see what trains used to look like, not for wedding ceremonies. I’ll go because P asked me to, but it’s a fucking joke. He said it’ll take only ten minutes or so, and to just wear what I’m going to wear to the golf course. To my mind, if it’s not a big enough deal to bother getting dressed decently or holding the fucking thing somewhere that it’s NOT 45 goddamn degrees, then why bother with it at all? Just go to the courthouse on Monday, grab two witnesses there or a couple of homeless guys off the street (whatever), get it over with and get out of my fucking life, and my state. Christ!