Me: More people getting married. What the hell?
Ego: You don't need to get married.
Me: No, I know. I'm just asking...
Self-Loathing: Seriously man. You need a partner to get married.
Me: I know. I...
Self-Loathing: And Mr. Rotting But Still Mobile over there can't help that part.
Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh love blaaaaaaaaaaargh.
Me: Well yeah but...
Internal Sadism: No, do it! Go get married!
Reckless Endangerment: Go get married while skateboarding down Niagara Falls!
Me: I can't even begin to tell you what's all wrong with that but the point...
Inner Child: I want to be the ring bear!
Me: What?
Inner Child: You know, the ring bear. The giant walking, talking bear that gives the couple the rings.
Me: You mean ring BEARER. But I'm not...
Anxiety: Marriage? Why is there marriage? Who said anything about marriage? Why are we getting married?
Pragmatism: For love, I suppose.
Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
Me: It's...
Anxiety: Do we really love her? Does she really love us? How can we be sure? Do we know that she doesn't just want to marry us and then kill us for insurance money? Do we have insurance money? And is the love real and not just some elaborate sham? Is love ANYTHING but an elaborate sham? But if it's really real, is that enough to keep us together? Will love be enough to pull us through the dark times? What if the love fails? Then what? Can we really afford to spend money on a doomed enterprise? Can we afford to spend money on any enterprise for that matter? Can we even afford a wedding? Does she want kids? Do WE want kids? Have kids been discussed? Would she move in here? Would we move in with her? And what about sex?! Has sex been discussed? Are we sexually compatible? Have we HAD sex?
Libido: That's a big hell no.
Anxiety: WHATIFSHEDOESN'TLIKETHESAMESORTSOFTHINGSWELIKE?
Realism: I'm pretty sure we've already talked about that.
Anxiety: IMEANSEXWISE!
Me: Will you calm down?
Pervert: If she doesn't like some stuff, it's okay. We'll just bargain away parts of our soul to get them.
Soul: Noooooooooooo!
Paranoia: TUXEDOS ARE GUARANTEED TO DECREASE SPERM COUNT BY 31%!
Me: What?!
OCD: SPERM LEAVES RESIDUE ON EVERYTHING IT TOUCHES! IT IS LIKE A HUMAN SPIDERWEB!
Inner Child: We can shoot webs now?! We can be Spiderman!
Pragmatism: I'm reasonably sure that we can't.
Inner Child: Aw.
Me: Okay, look, as for the marriage thing...
Latent Psychopathy: Statistically speaking, a wedding is the best place to go postal, based on the high concentration of people.
Writers: Weddings are so cliche. Are you really doing this?
Me: No! I'm...
Overreaction: Oh, the poor girl! Did you break it off? Or did she? She must be devastated. Broken hearts litter the ground with the shattered promises of broken dreams!
Writer: NICE!
Me: There WAS no...
Gluttony: Oh my God, will there be cake?
Self-Loathing: The wedding's off, dipshit.
Bad Joke Center: That's what SHE said.
Self-Loathing: Ouch, dude. That was cold.
Music Lover: You're as cold as ice! You're willing to sacrifice our love!
Ego: She was? Why?
Self-Loathing: Probably for the best man's dick.
Me: Shut up, she did not!
Libido: So there IS a she!
Me: No!
Realism: But you just said there was.
Me: I...you...no!
Pedantry: Use your words, friend.
Me: Just...gahhh...
Hopeless Optimist: Maybe she'll love you again.
Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!
Me: I don't...
Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaargh yes you do want her to love you again blaaaaaaaaaaargh!
Me: EVERYONE. JUST. SHUT. YOUR. DAMN. MOUTHS!
Everyone but Me: *silence*
Me: One, there is no wedding. Two, there is no girl. Three, there never WAS a wedding OR a girl. Four, we are not going to concern ourselves with a hypothetical wedding. Five, I was commenting on how bizarre it is that it seems like everyone in my particular age bracket is getting married and I'm here sitting on my ass at home alone.
Fashion Sense: Ahem. Beard attempt.
Me: AND SIX, ALL OF YOU NEED TO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP SOMETIMES AND LET ME TALK!
Libido:...fine. Sorry.
Me: Good. Now, how about some wine?
Budding Alcoholism: All....out.
Me: Perfect. Just perfect.
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