Holy Matrimony

Back in the day, the baboons, they shrieked that if ever the gay people were permitted to marry, all the walls would come crumbling down, exposing a vast darkling plain upon which frolicked legions of squalid degenerates, flagrantly engaging in every manner of mutant preversion.

The Grub, for instance, wailed that gay la-et-iconic-rock-instruments-pictures-005marriage would ineluctably lead to sexual congress involving “man on child, man on dog, or whatever the case may be.” Other baboons howled that frothing, naked libertines would lay siege to the courthouses and the churches, clamoring to marry their sisters, their goldfish, their toasters.

Among the Sane and Decent people, these warnings were met with laughter and scorn. It all seemed to be just more of these people’s usual buffoonish baboonery.

And, lo, true, in those civilized sections of the globe, where gay marriage has become legal, there has been no stampede of the depraved and the debauched, seeking to consecrate their unions with their vacuum cleaners, or their nurse sharks.

Not even Mongo has sought to formalize his lifelong fucking of his daughter, Lolita Mongo. Instead, they have mostly confined their beast-with-two-backs to the shadows. As has occurred in that bloodline, since time immemorial.

But, I guess: wait. Because it has recently emerged that Keith Richards, of the Rolling Stones, he has openly and publicly acknowledged, that he is married to his butterscotch blonde blackguard Telecaster guitar, Micawber.

Well. You know. It takes. All kinds.

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2 Responses to “Holy Matrimony”


  1. 1 sally January 4, 2017 at 1:57 pm

    oh, dear — I have this very old refrigerator that I love! My family says it is likely to leave me bereft one day –and I must buy a new one — one with water gurgling in its door –and other such new and strange things. But I do so love my old fridge and I kinda like my toaster, too. My coffee pot does nothing for me. Still, I have never considered these wonder appliances as anything but extremely good friends. I have, however, never cradled and hugged a guitar. That may bring about different feelings in one, so I will not sit in judgement of Mr. Richards. I have always said”to each his own.” Namaste


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