All-new, all-different!

The Irrevocable Shackles of Matrimony: The Wedding Album, Part 4
Friday, September 7, 2007 was one of the busiest, most jam-packed days of my life! Read now the all-new chronicle of what happened once our intrepid band of revelers left the warmth and comfort of The Restaurant and ventured into the savage wilds of darkest Ohio...

Here There Be Dragons
We had journeyed from Columbus to the vicinity of Anonymous, OH, on a freeway marked "North;" so, as The Professor (shotgun), K. Steeze (backseat), Brooklyn (ditto), and I plunged into the pitch night in the safe cocoon of Lumi, it seemed a safe bet that our path back to The Shire would require use of a reciprocal freeway known as "South." But, this is Ohio, where madness reigns and ignorance is a virtue, and upon encountering the freeway entrance ramps the choices were "East" or "West." Had I been driving in "Pilot" mode, the logical deduction would have been to take the eastbound ramp, as our trek from Columbus had been not due north but to the north and west. However, I was in "Chauffeur" mode, a mindless automaton utterly dependent on the passenger riding shotgun for all navigation. Here there is some dispute. Later, The Professor thought he had told me to take the east ramp, whereas at the time I sincerely believed he told me to head west, but neither of us was certain about what had actually been said. There were minimal recriminations later as we were all simply relieved to find ourselves still alive.

From the moment we transitioned from the on-ramp to the freeway proper, we knew something had gone terribly awry. Ahead of us and to either side was a great and unbroken blackness. A void. He the noontime Sun, the Moon, and all the stars been snuffed in a single instant by some dread celestial calamity, the resultant darkness would have been no more severe than that with which we were confronted. From time to time isolated lights stabbed throw the ink, but so absolute was the dark that even as the cars carrying those lights pulled alongside they could be made out only vaguely. Ahead, behind, and to neither side could any sign of habitation be found. No lights. No structures. No hope.

We may very well have unknowingly crossed from our world into the Twilight Zone, for though I always thought The Twilight Zone was naught more than the fruit of Rod Serling's peerless brilliance, the impenetrable pitch we faced was unlike anything else I had ever seen. And the Bard speaks true, "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." But all childish spookiness aside, this dark was in truth unlike anything else I had ever seen. I have done my fair share of cruising America's highways and bi-ways at night and I am actually quite fond of it. During the day all is plain and by and large serene, but at night on the freeway the trees have been cleared back sufficiently that there is precious little to reflect the beams generated by your car's headlights. I name damn near everything that is dear to me and thus have I named night freeway driving "Plunging into the Night." But on this night, that careless joy was in short supply. Onward we plunged, an ominous humor descending inexorably upon us all.

And as we began to marvel at the complete and total lack of off-ramps, I chill ran up my spine: Lumi's gasoline gage read very nearly empty. Thrice damn me, how had I not noticed this earlier? We were on a freeway with no exists, drawing ever farther from the relative familiarity of The Shire, and now we were on the very cusp of being left on the side of the road. I could feel my unease reluctantly scoot over to share its seat with a healthy dose of panic. Though I have come to love Lumi enough to have named her Lumi, I do not know her nearly as well as I knew the Mousemobile, my trusty steed for the vast majority of a whole decade. I knew exactly how far I could get on full tank in the Mousemobile, and exactly how far I could go once the needle read empty. True, I once ran out of fuel in the Mousemobile, but that was the first summer I had my driver's license and I was only a couple hundred yards short of my destination, a filling station. Lumi has yet to yield all of her secrets and subtleties, in part because I never went anywhere with less than a quarter of a tank during my Texile. Getting stranded on the side of the road is a hassle; getting stranded on the side of a verdammt Texan road was too horrifying to risk. How far could we get on what petrol fumes remained in Lumi's tank? To my terror, I did not know.

At length and at last, an exit presented itself and I steered for it like a drowning man grabs at driftwood. I should have known that in this kingdom of shadows there was no succor to be found by the weary traveler. Anonymous, OH is home to a large manufacturing facility belonging to one of the large Japanese firms. We appeared to have quit the freeway in the middle of their vast estate. We had no choice but to press forward in desperate search for a vendor of gasoline. All around us, we could make out inky shades of buildings and fences bearing all the falsely cheery trademarks of a large corporate site. But by this late hour on a Friday evening, the workers had all gone home, the gates had all been padlocked, the lights had been extinguished. We found ourselves in a desert devoid of any human presence save our own. To my left, I was taunted by the sight of the company's own gasoline pumps, by all appearances a fully functional station, probably to serves a test track hidden out of sight to casual passersby and industrial spies alike. These were high times for the Dark Bastard as I had given up any hope of avoiding making the call to summon The Bridegroom to drive out to this forsaken void and come to our rescue. Presuming, of course, that mobile telephones would function in this black pit of despair.

When all seemed lost, without in any way doubling back on our post-freeway path, we found ourselves at an on-ramp. Though we were forever and a day from the nearest civilization, this was the first concrete chance we'd had to better our circumstances. No mistake was made this time and soon we were rocketing eastward through that same sky of pure squid's ink. Long after I was certain Lumi would have stuttered into silence due to starvation, we at last came upon the exit for Anonymous, the place where our troubles had began. With rising excitement, as if we could simply will Lumi to continue without fuel, we exited and made our way toward "downtown" Anonymous.

The first filling station we encountered had closed for the evening. We pressed on. Thoroughly chagrined, I eased Lumi next to a pump at an open gas station directly across the street from The Restaurant. Exactly half an hour after after we had left (though it had felt much, much longer), we were back, unsure of where exactly we had been, but resolutely determined to never pass that way again. Brooklyn had drifted off the sleep and hardly stirred as I paid at the pump and Steeze, The Professor, and I collected ourselves after our unintended journey beyond the edge of the world. I had never intended to sail off the edge of the map, and had it been proposed to me that I might do so accidentally, I should most certainly wished not to have done so with a bone dry gas tank. Lumi performed magnificently, going above and beyond the call of duty.

Laden with petroleum, we retraced our initial departure from The Restaurant and when confronted with the choice of "East" or "West," we chose more in line with the wisdom of Indiana Jones than the arrogance of Walter Donovan. Not long into our journey back to The Shire, I received a call from The Bridegroom, inquiring as to our whereabouts. I gave him the Reader's Digest version of our adventure and shook my head at the all-encompassing and soul-crushing darkness with which we had once again been enveloped.

Lobster Bucket: Encore
Back at The Shire, home were the heroes and we who has shared such a perilous voyage in Lumi were joined by The Bridegroom, The Guy, and Bridesmaid X, who had missed the wedding rehearsal due to the vagaries of air travel and caught up with the rest of the company at The Restaurant. All were in good spirits after a hearty, and free, meal at The Restaurant and all were buoyed by the geniality and goodwill inherent to wedding festivities. Still, Lumi's journey into the abyss had taken a toll and I resolved to recuperate with the day's second foray into The Shire's hot tub.

After some little time, I was joined both within the hot tub and without on the surrounding deck. I do not remember which of my fellows joined me in the hot tub; I would like to claim that this is due to the passage of time, over five weeks now, but the truth is far more simple than the subtle tricks of memory. I do not remember because my attention was wholly consumed by the vision of Bridesmaid X in a bikini. She had the pretty face and dark, curly hair befitting her Mediterranean heritage, and though her curves were quite enticing, it was her open, vivacious manner that really caught my attention. It is with no shame but multiple mine trolleys full of regret that I tell you it had been years since I had found myself in the company in a bikini-clad member of the fairer sex, and it was with great fondness that I became reacquainted with just how intoxicating such a creature can be. Mercy. As would be borne out by later events, I was not the only one to be so intoxicated by her charms.

But our aquatic revels soon were ended and with hearts full of glee we set about the grim business of conquering the world.

Risky Business: The Revenge
Though it seemed as if a week had passed since The Guy and I had fetched K. Steeze and The Professor from the airport, it had only been the morning of that same day. Unlike the three-sided war of the morning, this time we faced a table full of competitors, each vying to conquer the world and reshape it in his, or hers, since Bridesmaid X joined us, own image. The Bridegroom departed for Anonymous to see The Bride, even though the plan had been for them to part after the rehearsal dinner and see each other again that evening. So, around the table were gathered, clockwise starting from my left, Steeze; The Guy; Brooklyn, partaking in his first game of Risk; The Professor; and Bridesmaid X, though she wasn't playing. (A girl who loves Risk like a Blue Tree Whacker? That would have been too good to be true.)

The game began inauspiciously enough, with the fundamentals and our peculiar and particular vernacular being explained to Brooklyn and Bridesmaid X. The Professor achieved the Australian Gambit after more blood than he would have liked, The Guy and K. Steeze vied for South America's Pinochle With Pinochet, and I soon found myself in the middle of my favorite strategy, Out of Africa.

I adopted my current highly successful "Who Dares Wins" (the motto of Her Majesty's Special Air Service) approach to Risk after my former timidity lead to naught by frustration and defeat. I had been playing not to lose; only be embracing the fierce aggressiveness of Who Dares Wins did I begin playing to win. And win I do. Not all the time by any means, but I carry the day in my fair share of games. One of the precepts of Who Dares Wins is the necessity of weakening your enemies, even at the cost of weakening yourself. You must attack the largest army within striking distance, because with the reinforcements at the core of Risk, that army will only get stronger over time. It will never be a better target than it is right now. Attack! Attack again! And after you've done that, attack yet again!

Bearing this in mind, The Professor's next move made perfect sense. With The Guy nursing an Asian Simmer and still contesting Steeze's Pinochle With Pinochet and Brooklyn hampered by his own inexperience (he did quite well for his first time, especially considering the mercilessness of his competition), my Out of Africa possession of a continental bonus made me the strongest player on the board. So, The Professor mustered his forces and launched an all-out assault to deprive me of my continent. It was a brilliant move, a bold strike at the heart of his most dangerous enemy and perfectly consistent with my own much ballyhooed Who Dares Wins philosophy, which makes my reaction all the more inexplicable. The Professor launched his offensive and I went mad.

Quite beyond reason, I roared, demanding to know just who he thought he was. How dare he, I raged. YOU think you can attack ME? YOU THREATEN ME? I turned to him, one of my dearest friends in all the world, and through gritted teeth, with all the venom and hate in my blackened soul, spat out the words, "I will destroy you." Had I been able to look upon myself from the other side of the room I should not have recognized myself, beholding instead a beast, a veritable avatar of spite. At that moment, I really and truly wished The Professor ill. The only small positive I can take away is that I did not resort to violence; I was pleased to learn that even in a moment of all-consuming fury I did not entirely shed the trappings of a civilized man. But my desire to destroy him was genuine, and so I did.

Every roll of the dice was a stab at his heart, and I entreated him to look upon the author of his demise, to pit his wasted strength against mine and thus hasten his own doom. After each roll, as he removed more and more of his men from the board, I shouted "Again!" simultaneously begging and taunting him to try me once more. And at last, in great frustration, he retreated, his attacking armies annihilated, his dreams of empire torn asunder. For the rest of the game, I devoted myself to his defeat above all else. I checked his advance, mustered my strength, forewent opportunities to strengthen my strategic position relative to Steeze and The Guy, and focused solely on The Professor's destruction. And in the end I was as good as my word. I destroyed him, relishing every moment of my revenge.

Revenge against an innocent man. Certainly, The Professor had been trying to bolster myself at my expense, but that's the very nature of Risk. That's why we play the game. As we repeatedly emphasized to Brooklyn, the single most important thing in Risk is to attack for Card on every single turn. Without cards, you're sunk before you begin (witness the earlier game, where I had been undone because The Guy had been able to turn in cards on three consecutive turns, an unheard of feat). The only way to get Card? Conquest! Bloody slaughter. Conquest is the essence of Risk, even moreso when one follows BTW house rules, which foster the marshaling of massive offensive armies through Infinite Colt Fortification. Later on, I apologized to The Professor and indeed all in attendance for my language. Yes, I had been angry, but that was no reason to employ such foul language (multiple F-bombs were dropped, and not in a friendly, casual way). I apologized for my language, but not for my wild pursuit of revenge to the exclusion of all else.

As the hour grew later and the defeated slowly drifted off to bed, my single-minded pursuit of spite proved my own undoing. I was poorly positioned to counter The Guy's strength once he had disposed of first Steeze and then Brooklyn, and I was slowly, inevitably overwhelmed by the hordes of The Guy. I might have been able to save myself had I been able to turn in cards at an opportune moment, but I was not so favored by Lady Luck. The Guy had won two games of Risk in a single day, the first of us to achieve such a feat, I believe. Good on you, my friend.

He departed for the hotel where his ladylove, The Gal, lay slumbering, and I too retired, twenty-three hours after I had woken up to complete the second half of the airport shuffle. Had all that had happened - the airport, Risk, breakfast, the tuxedos, the school girl outfit, the hot tub, the wedding rehearsal, "It's all about the bide!," the rehearsal dinner, the journey into the endless night, the hot tub again, and Risk again - really been one single day? Astoundingly enough, yes. One brilliant, manic, madcap twenty-three-hour joyride.

And in the morning, it would be the day of my brother's wedding. "What a time to be alive."

To be continued...

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "Dare to be Stupid" from Dare to be Stupid (T.L.A.M.)