The Ultimate White Trash Wedding
As you probably know, the Chef is currently in the process of making tenuous plans regarding matrimony. If you didn't know, then you're probably thinking "Big fucking whoop - some guy on the internet that I don't know is getting hitched. Now where's the porn?"
Sadly, there is no porn here, as the Maitre d' won't allow such things on the Buffet. It's just as well, since the health inspector frowns on mixing sex with food, as you usually end up with more protein and sausage than you bargained for. And of course, the Maitre d' will be happy that I neglected to mention his addiction to porn. The kind of porn with tentacles. He likes tentacle porn. But I didn't mention that.
The Maitre d's taste in porn aside, the Chef and his future Queen of Darkness (I suppose she wouldn't mind me using that title for her) have begun to make some plans. While we were discussing it, the question of the worst way possible of having a wedding came up.
As you may or may not have realized by now, the Chef and his scaly cohorts live in the eastern chunk of Tennessee. Around here, we have what is known as "The White Trash Las Vegas", otherwise known as the Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge area of Sevier County. Proof that you can indeed turn a couple of hillbilly towns in the middle of the wilderness into a tourist trap, Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge are home to, among other things, shops selling cheap imported Chinese-made knives with lead paint, bakeries with purportedly "homemade" fudge coming from factories someplace in Kansas, the Ripley's museum and freak show, the trailer park Mecca of Dollywood, and of course the subject of this entire article, a drive-thru wedding chapel.
Let me put this picture in your head: a young couple eloping, leaving their parents out of the loop, and getting married at a drive-thru wedding chapel in the middle of the hills and tourist attractions. The only way this could scream "white trash" any louder is if the minister was also an Elvis impersonator (which is a must).
Actually, wait. Let's see if we can ramp up the "white trash" factor a little bit...in order to have the most white trash wedding in the history of mankind, we have to do better than a mere pompadoured white-sequined minister standing beside the drive-thru asking "Would you like fries with your matrimony?". In the first place, I'd have to get one of those t-shirts with the tuxedo front printed on it. You know the kind; they went out in the 80s, but mark my words, they will return one day in all their hideous screen-printed glory. I'd also have to leave off shaving for a couple of days, which isn't really too much of a problem since I usually have some none-too-reputable-looking stubble anyway. I'd also have to grow a mullet (which yes, I did have at one time), or better yet, a skullet. Skullets rule the roost of white-trash hairstyles, at least as far as men go. Topping off the entire ensemble would be a pair of ripped jeans and genuine snakeskin cowboy boots. A Red Man baseball cap is optional.
Then there would of course be the question of the bride's attire. The future Bride of the Chef would, in good trailer park style, be required to wear a tube top, preferably in black with some witty phrase like "Got Milk?" on it. For her hair, there's no topping the eminent beehive made famous by Priscilla Presley (before her horrible face-lift accident involving pressing her cheeks on a hot skillet).
The one hitch is that, were this a real honest-for-true white trash wedding, she should be my sister and/or cousin. As the future Mrs. Chef will no dout tell you, she is neither of those, which somewhat puts a damper on my backwoods enthusiasm for this whole affair. After all, if you're going to do something, you might as well do it right. You just can't have a true white trash wedding without siblings getting hitched.
Oh, well. And I already had my t-shirt picked out.
See more articles from: Mystery Meat
The Maitre d'
Getting married in Gatlinburg
Anyway, true story: I had a friend from high school that did this. Sort of.
He decided to elope with his girlfriend one night. They decided to go to Gatlinburg because, it being the Las Vegas of the East, was sure to have a 24-hour wedding chapel. And so at 2 in the morning, they picked up another one of my high school friends to be the witness.
Well, here's the kicker: there aren't any 24-hour wedding chapels in Gatlinburg. And they found that out by driving around the town all night, and then getting hitched at one of the courthouses in the area.
One might argue, though, that a drive-through marriage with an Elvis impersonator actually pays more respect to the sanctity of the institution than, say, a ginormous ceremony that the couple gripes about if the smallest thing goes wrong. That is to say, like one of those weddings they show on Bridezilla* or whatever that show is.
* I only know about this show because two of my roommates are female.
reaperman
And don't forget...
The Chef
This is true.
On a side note, I'm going to have my name legally changed to Froot Loop Skullet.
reaperman
That's good...
The Chef
Really?
reaperman
Have you never realized...
The Chef
So you're admitting...
reaperman
You're thinking...
And no, this does not mean that I am a lich. It simply means that you are predictable.
The Chef
Yes, but...
reaperman
We all knew.
The Chef
I doubt that.
reaperman
I've never made any claims...
The Chef
Then explain...
reaperman
The Chef
Yes, but...
And you still haven't explained why you campaigned to get Proposition 666 For Legalization of the Dark Arts and Possession of Phylacteries on the ballot.
reaperman
Because...
The Chef
That's because...
reaperman
Never been it...
The Chef
So you're saying...
reaperman
Regardless of what you think I'm saying...
The Chef
Oh, we all know what you're saying.
reaperman
Oh, I think you're far from it...
The Chef
No, I think we get the picture.
reaperman
So then...
The Chef
Which gesture is that?
The Maitre d'
Charlie's undead hunger says "OM NOM NOM NOM."
reaperman
Not that I am a lich...
The Chef
Oh, I believe you would.
The Chef
And you enjoy it because...
reaperman
I contest all of those things.
The Maitre d'
Of course not.
Your violent psychotic tendencies aren't going to risk getting sued over violating labor laws again, after all.
The Chef
And yet...
The Maitre d'
You know...
You know what I hate about tourist traps like that? It's the whole old-timey down-home feel they're trying to portray... which isn't real at all.
It's much like Disney World--if you go for a couple of days, it seems like this wondrous, magical place. But if you could crack through the facade by working there or visiting every day for a month, it would probably make you extremely bitter.
The Chef
You keep using "you"...
The Maitre d'
No.
If you want to read it as a personal reference to you, have fun with that paranoia and narcissism.
The Chef
It's not narcissism...
The Chef
And it's not paranoia...
The Maitre d'
Well then...
The Maitre d'
White Trash Wedding
Let me know how that turns out.
The Maitre d'
Also...
The Maitre d'
For what it's worth...
I love Google, and I love the internet.
reaperman
Wow...
The Chef
Indeed.
The Maitre d'
Huh?
And if me, what did I say?
reaperman
The Chef
I should think it's obvious.
You are indeed a cruel, cruel man, Mr. Maitre d'. If I were as cruel as you, I might say something like, "Well, at the least your sister is going to get married sometime in her lifetime, unlike certain other members of her family", but I won't because, well, I'm not as mean as you.
Wow. That may just be the most sociopathic thing I've ever typed.
The Maitre d'
Actually...
I, however... I'm not even sure where to begin on what you just said.
The Maitre d'
Also...
The Chef
Well...
reaperman