Late to my own funeral

It is a common saying among single men, that when a fellow "dick swinger" (male), is walking down the aisle to get hitched,....he is walking to his own funeral with "dick in hand" about to end life as he knows it.
I guess when you think about it.....it's almost the same thing.

They both usually take place in a church, with a preacher. The same people who are at your funeral, probably went to your wedding, and you show up to both, dressed in your best outfit, and more importantly, somebody is out of a shit load of money after both are over. Right?

I have never felt that way about marriage, but I can see their point.

Most women are nuts and it seems like God banished Satan to be forever tormented within the confines of a diamond.

***Originally, diamond rings were called demon rings, but in the late 1700's, clergy started calling them diamonds, so they could wear them too....FYI  true story***
Somehow, when a woman puts the ring on, it unleashes a demon within......Almost like when you combine baking soda with Vinegar. You put one of them by themselves, and it's all good. But the second you put them two mother f*ckers together.....All hell breaks loose.

Before the ring

After the ring

But, I digress. ..
This blog is actually about the time that I was late to my own wedding but I was explaining why some guys called it a funeral, plus, I was just giving you some background info thats all.....FYI

So anyway, I actually got married at the courthouse initially. We had a ceremony later, but the legal marriage was downtown. We had a 10:00 appointment with this judge who looked like Judge Mabalean Ephrim from TV, and she wasn't a very happy looking lady.

Put it like this, if I was facing charges in her court room, I would represent myself and save the lawyer fees, cause this lady didn't look like she was a "wrist slapper"......naw.....she was definitely an "ass-kicker" if you know what I mean.

So I was so excited about getting married that I partied all night before in celebration of this joyous occasion.
Problem was, I partied too much. I was shit faced..

I was so shit faced that I didn't hear the alarm clock go off.

It wasn't until 9:15 that I woke up and realized that I was supposed to be in downtown Memphis in 45 mins, saying "I do".
I jumped up and practically pushed my "soon to be wife" out of the bed and told her we were late....and the race was on.
We got dressed in less than 15 mins, which left us exactly 30 mins to be in front of the judge. We got in the car and headed to the city. At the first light we came to, I noticed that the gas was low. My dad always told me that when the light comes on, you got about 15 miles left in the tank. Well, the light wasn't on yet, so I kept going.

Meanwhile at the courthouse, my brother, friends, and frat brothers, were already there calling us and trying to find out where the hell we were. I asked them to stall for me and told them we were in route.
I was driving at least 110mph on I-240 and right at Parkway, I noticed that my car was slowing down and I couldn't get it to go faster. I checked the gas gauge, and the light still hadn't come on yet. So after I was stuck on the side of the highway, I realized that the gas gauge was fucking broke, and the light didn't work either.

With 15 mins to spare, I called my brother and had him come pick us up.
We made it to the courthouse about 20 mins late and I had to take a verbal "bitch-slapping" from the judge and everyone else who was waiting  on us.

I don't know what made me think about that story today. I was just driving and started laughing about it.
It may have not been the most "over the top", lavish wedding in the world,
But, one thing is for sure,
I will never forget the day I was late to my own funeral.