Then she walked over to the groom.
“You fuck you shit you piss ass stink! Blow my hole!”
“Weow!” said he. “Are you ever primed!”
“Good luck, George,” friends called out.
Did they all live in the country?
Nope.
Only Dave, the best man. Dave owned a Peugeot. That afternoon he got in the back and shot up 500 mgs of paraboxelynic, flew out the window and slowly rose up over the city into the country fair air of the sky.
“Whatcha doing up there, Dave?” friends cried out.
Smilin’, Dave waved.