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6:38 a.m. - 2004-10-18


Jesus ... where do I begin?

I guess I should toss a new bone to Jeff Foxworthy. If the mother of the bride and the mother of the groom get in a physical altercation at your wedding reception ... you might be a redneck.

But I'll save that for later.

So Saturday I get to the wedding reception and set all my stuff up. The reception starts at 4, I get there at 3:15 and there are already 21 year-olds there who didn't go to the wedding that are tapping the kegs.

At 4, the guests start rolling in and I'm going strictly by my playlist that the bride had given me. While most brides will give you a list of 10-20 songs that they must hear throughout the night, this bride gave me 179 songs that she had to hear throughout the night.

So it was safe to say that I wouldn't be taking requests from the people in attendance. Which I covered with the bride beforehand. I asked her "Do you want me to take requests?" She thought about it and told me "no". She then changed her mind and said "When people make requests, send them to me. If I think the song's appropriate, I'll tell you to play it."

Oh thanks.

I'm a 20 year veteran of DJ'ing and I've got a 21 year-old determining what's appropriate and what's not.

I have literally been doing this since she was in diapers.

I think I knew what was appropriate and what wasn't.

So when the outrageously gay guy with the "I LOVE MY WIENER" t-shirt sashayed up to me and asked me if I had any techno music, I pointed at the bride.

"You have to run it by her first," I said.

"Oh, she LOOOOOOOVES techno!" he lisped. "Go ahead and play it!"

It was 4:10 in the afternoon at a wedding reception and this guy was trying to convince me that the bride wanted to hear the Chemical Brothers.

No offense, cowboy ... but I don't think so.

When the bride and groom cut the cake, they did the traditional smearing of the cake on the face.

The groom, obviously the smart one in the marriage, decided that the smearing would be funnier if he smeared it in his new wife's hair.

So for the remainder of the photos that evening, the bride had a big wad of vanilla frosting in her hair and left a trail of cake crumbs everywhere she went.

Which ... for the most part ... was in the parking lot.


Because that's where everyone was smoking weed, Silly!

Yes, the bride and groom REEKED of pot after about 30 minutes into the wedding.

Never mind that the sun's still up and you have duties inside like getting your picture taken and greeting guests.


Or should I say "Weeding Day"?

It got to the point where the bride and groom were hardly in attendance at the reception and every time we needed them for photos or cake cutting or whatever ... we had to send a cousin out to their truck in the parking lot to retrieve them.

Anyway ... so now they're both high as kites and it's time for them to have their first dance as husband and wife.

Now, the bride gave me a list of the songs they wanted to dance to.

First was the bride and groom.

Second was the father and daughter dance.

Third was the groom and mother dance.

Fourth was the "cousin" dance. I didn't ask.

So the bride and groom do their dance.

Now then ... I do this little thing at weddings which has really turned into a hit with the brides.

While they're doing their dance, I have all the people in attendance form a big circle around the couple so the videographer can get shots of the couple as well as everyone else in the background. It looks good on video.

The trouble was ... the videographer's check bounced, which I found out later on from the photographer.

So he didn't bother showing up at the wedding or reception.

So there was no videographer.

And while they were dancing and I had a circle of people around them, the photographer was stuffing his face full of moldy pimento cheese sandwiches.

I had specifically told the photographer that I'd have the circle of people around the couple and that it made for great photos.

Apparently, this photographer didn't think that a little thing like the "First Dance" wasn't all that important to document on film.

So I threw on Savage Garden's "Truly Madly Deeply" and told the couple to keep dancing and the people around them to now join hands and do a little swaying.

Then I rushed over to the photographer.

"Are you going to be taking pictures of this?" I asked kinda sternly.

"I'll take pictures of them dancing later," he said. "There's too many people around them now."

I searched for one of those "Hello, My Name Is" stickers so I could write "Fucking Idiot" on it and slap it on the photographer's chest. Alas, there were none handy.

So they finish their dance, and I tell the bride to stay on the dancefloor and then called her father to the dancefloor.

I was met with blank stares.

"Daddy ... wherrrrrrre's Daddy?" I said into the microphone, looking for an old man in a tux.

Okay ... here's the funny part.

The bride's Dad is DEAD.



Now I'm no psychologist, but I can venture to guess that it's probably not a smart move to bring up the bride's recently deceased father in a jovial spirit at her wedding reception.

While I'm babbling "Daddyyyyy ... where are you Daddyyyyyyyyy?" into the microphone, the best man comes running up to me and says "Dude! Her dad's dead!!"


Well then. That kinda puts a crimp in the ol' "Father/Daughter" dance, huh?

I checked the paper again.

"Father/Daughter: 'Butterfly Kisses'"

I hadn't really clarified this beforehand, but did this mean that the bride was going to do a dance with the ghost of her father?

I mean ... it's her wedding and if she wants to get out on the dancefloor and twirl around by herself while pretending to be twirled by her dead father, it's her prerogative.

It'd be a first in my book.

Apparently ... and the bride set me straight on this with tears welling up in her eyes that the "Father/Daughter" dance was to be danced by the groom (23 years old) and HIS daughter (7 years old).


Of course!

I should have known ... redneck wedding = both bride and groom already have kids from their teen years.

Stupid me!

So the groom dances for about 30 seconds with his daughter, but his daughter is very uncomfortable with this and walks off the dancefloor, leaving him standing there alone.

In order to not make him feel as stupid as I felt at the moment, I cut the song and went into his dance with his Mom.

Now ... he asked for this song specifically ... Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man".

So the groom/mother dance was not really a slow dance as much as it was a "Swaying back and forth because we're both really fucking stoned" dance.

Then ... the cousin dance.

Now, apparently the bride's cousin had been playing the role of her recently deceased father, which nobody bothered to fucking tell me beforehand. He gave her away at the altar and got her birth control prescription refilled the day of the wedding.

So when I called the "cousins" out to the dancefloor, the groom bellowed "THEY'RE THE KISSING KIND!! AHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA!!!"

Judging by the looks of the cousins, I could tell they were. Hell, they were probably brother and sister too.

So they danced, while the groom danced with his cousin who had cerebral palsy and was confined to a wheelchair.

At first, the groom was hunched over and holding the armrests of the wheelchair as he tried to spin her around.

This was before his stoned mind could comprehend that the wheelchair didn't exactly work that way.

So he ended up just walking on the side of the chair as she wheeled up and down the dancefloor.

It was sweet and needed to be documented on film.

Unfortunately, the photographer was getting high in the parking lot.

After they danced, I played the usual wedding fare that the bride HAD to hear ... "Celebration", "We Are Family", "Strokin", "Come On Ride The Train" ... usual stuff that rednecks have to hear.

I was trying to do a decent job, even with one of the bride's other cousins in my ear, telling me how he was a DJ and asking me to play stuff like "Zoot Suit Riot" and "Polk Salad Annie".

I later found out that the guy wasn't so much a DJ as he was a guy with a decent-sized CD collection who made tapes at home.


There's a difference, cochise.

If you WERE a real DJ, chances are pretty good that you'd be the one DJing this debacle of a wedding ... not me.

So when the bride had to come up with a DJ, she called me ... and not her "DJ" cousin.

A big difference there, pal.

This guy bugged the holy crap out of me all night long, trying to tell me what songs to play.

And I kept sending him to the bride, who would be talking to someone, only to have him come up, ask if he could hear a song, have her turn around and look at me and shake her head "no".

This went on for HOURS.

Finally, the bride got sick of it and came over and told me that I could now take requests because she was "too fucked up to care anymore".

Those were her exact words.

So the gay guy got to hear his techno music which made him one proud gay guy.

And the dweeb cousin got to hear his zydeco/swamp music.

And the sister of the bride got to hear her nasty booty music so she could grind her pelvis on anything that was stationary.

And the mother of the bride got to dance with the gay guy to the point where they were squatting on the dancefloor and everyone and their mother could see up the mother's dress and get a glimpse of her hairy woodchuck about to pour out of her dress.

Around this time, the groom figured he was so fucking gone that it was time for him to serenade his wife.

Now then ... it was because of this wedding that I invested close to $1,000 into my karaoke stuff because the bride REALLY wanted karaoke at her wedding.

Granted, I knew the karaoke would be used at other parties. But this was the first party that said they needed karaoke.

After the groom spaced out on the microphone during a long story about how he met his bride (he was driving down the street, saw her leaving her trailer and getting into her car and he did a U-turn and followed her to work and then basically stalked her ass for a few weeks before approaching her ... smart move, psycho), he was ready to sing his song.

Sarah McLaughlan's "Angel".

Only trouble was ... the boy couldn't sing to save his life.

And he didn't know how the song went.

And he couldn't read the words because he couldn't quit fucking sobbing after telling his wife how much he loved her.

And he was a nervous wreck, having never sung karaoke before.

So about 30 seconds into the song, he puts the microphone down and tells me "I cain't do it. Play somethin' they can dance to."


I see.

I spend a THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS on this shit because your wife insists on it and then you get up here and decide that it's too much of a FUCKING HASSLE for you to sing, so I'm out a THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS.

Got it, Ace.

No problem.

Lemme wipe the egg yolk off my face, you fuck.

Ah, I forgot to mention that the best man had a face tattoo.

It wasn't actually a face, as it started probably from his shoulder, creeped up his neck and ended in a nice starburst on his right cheek.

Which reminds me ... kids. If you ever want to make a decent living for yourself and your family, don't get a tattoo on your face/neck.

If you want to work at a gas station, pumping gas for the rest of your life or be the guy in prison that everyone calls "Starburst Face" ... by all means ... get that tattoo.

And while I only talked to him briefly and he seemed to be an all-right guy ... I couldn't take my eyes off this huge black sun on his face.

Did I mention the games?


Well the bride insisted on playing games at the wedding.

So I had four games planned.

For these games, I bought four lemons, several pair of panty hose, six bandannas, a dozen eggs and two large art drawing pads with magic markers.

Did I mention that the bride decided once she was good and fucking stoned that she no longer wanted to play games and just wanted to dance?

Which, by dancing I mean, getting her ass dry-humped HARD by the gay guy on the dancefloor and looking like she was in orgasmic ecstasty while her grandmother and young daughter watched and cheered?

And that I was out about $20 for all this shit that I had no use for?


Well there you go. Now I have super-sized panty hose in case anyone needs it.

FINALLY, the bride and groom could hardly stand anymore as they had drained the kegs, scraped the resin out of the bong and smoked it and were generally fucked up beyond belief.

So now it was time to get on the road and DRIVE, BABY!!!

So the bride walks up to me and is now a surly little redneck bitch.

"Gimme the mic," she slurs.

I hand her the microphone.

"Look ... listen ... listen ... shhhhhh ... listen ... people ... listen ..... shhhhhhh ... listen to me .... listen .... listen .... shhhhhhh," she says into the microphone while swaying on her feet.

The crowd ... what's left of them ... have been silent for the last 30 seconds. It's the ringing in her ears that's causing her to think they're still talking.

She goes on this babbling diatribe about how much everyone means to her, even her "fatassed stepfather", which she repeats over and over again to let everyone know that the bald guy in the tux is a big fatass and is usually not one of her favorite people but right now he's okay.

She has no point to this diatribe other than to say they're leaving and that she thanks them all for coming.

But this takes her about four minutes to stammer out.

Finally, some collossal fuckhead yells out "Y'all sing a song!!"

So the bride and groom try to make eye contact with each other through puffy, bloodshot eyes. And they start trying to think of a song they can sing together to make this night complete.

"You got Kid Rock's 'Pictures'," the bride slurs to me.

"It's 'Picture'," I say, showing my anal side. "And I've got it."

"Well put that shit on!" she squeals.

So they sing the karaoke version of "Picture".

But neither of these two have a single musical bone in their bodies.

So they're reading the words off the screen in a monotone while the rednecks that are left dance to the music.

When the song ends, the bride puts the microphone down and they stumble out of the building together with everyone hooting and hollering behind them.

They lay on the horn in the parking lot as they leave, setting off car alarms.

Finally, they're gone.

At this point, I'm tearing down my equipment and trying to get out of there.

A bunch of people come back inside and start cleaning stuff up.

The mother of the bride starts yelling that someone stole her "goddamned plate" again and that they've been taking her plate of food all night and throwing it away before she could eat.

The mother of the groom admits that it was she who threw it away.

I swear on the Bible ... the bride's mother pushes the groom's mother in the shoulders, sending the groom's mother reeling backwards.

The groom's mother comes back and lunges at the bride's mother.

Luckily, two cousins separated the women before there was any bloodshed and they were directed to opposite sides of the building and told to keep cleaning up.

And maybe I forgot to mention this ... but the groom's mother was dressed in a faded black t-shirt and these shorts that showed off her pale, vericose-veined legs from the moment she walked into the building.

The groom's mother

I don't feel bad about mentioning that, because she could at least help the fact that she was dressed like she was getting ready to change the oil in her car.

She couldn't help the fact that she literally had about five teeth left in her skull and four of those were rotting.


It was the redneck wedding from Hell, kids.

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