This is a piece I did when I imagined what it would be like if homosexuality was a literal attack on marriage. It might be a bit too ridiculous, but I like it. There was more to it, but I doubt I'll be able to find the original drafts.

The sultry affair was remarkably diverse, as far as wedding receptions went. Reconnaissance gathered from idle chatter and a cursory glance at the bride indicated that the ceremony had been a smashing disaster; allegedly, an ex-lover of the groom had attempted to set the church ablaze before storming the chapel. The room was abuzz with dramatic re-tellings of the event.

"It was fantastically ferverent! The timing was so precise that had I knot known better, I would have believed I had stumbled onto a film shoot!" An energetic young man had gathered a crowd whilst regaling the story, "The ceremony itself was quaint, yet exquisitely tasteful. They ran against the traditional church design scheme, which I thought was absolutely fantastic. I sat at the back. The room was small, though, so I had no problem seeing. As if that mattered; I find marriages to be terribly droll." The audience hung on the words that teetered over his lips, not daring to interrupt.

"Though I was more concerned with my shoelace at the time, I remember distinctly when the priest asked if anyone objected to the marriage. I heard a high-pitched shrill from behind me, and I turned back to find an armed man before the church entrance! He was a regular Spartan warrior: flawless musculature, glistening skin sanded smooth with olive oil, and he was entirely nude. Why, the only thing covering his ripped bod was the rainbow war paint that ran from head-to-toe." As the story became more dramatic, the man began gesticulating wildly. "He stopped shrieking, and with the most intensive glare I have ever seen, he lifted his weapon over his head, high into the air. At this point, it became clear to me that he was, in fact, wielding a dick-sword."

The stunned crowd emitted an audible gasp at this revelation. An Elizabethan woman—who had both attended the wedding and in fact had witnessed the entire scene—asked the fellow, "my word, a sword? Made of dicks?"

The man had a hearty chuckle at this. "Oh, my, no! It was merely a sword shaped like a dick; the effect was all the same though, one of shock and hysteria. When we all realized he had a dick-sword, the party descended into absolute chaos. Whether the culprit had intended for such a cinematic effect, I am unsure, but I do know it was pleasant and delightful. Naturally we all dashed for the exist, prompting a battalion of gay, dick-swinging troops to bum rush the crowd! I attempted to blend in, confuse them, you see, by stripping off all my clothing while they started to hack some of the guests to death, their dongs flapping in the wind..."

Nikolai, who had been listening intently to the story, grew bored at that point and wandered off to find his comrade, Petro. Petro was a professional caterer who had been sighted at the reception earlier. Their friendship was an odd one; Petro was trailer-park nobility who had managed a moderately well-paying job through meticulous refinement of his craft. He was able to produce elaborate presentations using only food, even works of art. Nikolai, on the other hand, was a wealthy ad executive who had migrated to the United States from Russia as a young child. His work relied on the methodical manipulation of the masses. The two men contrasted each other in almost every way; Nikolai was a tall, strong, Slavic man who enjoyed intellectual debates over the validity of Cartesian Rationalism, whereas Petro was a lanky, dark-haired rat of a human being who detested such frivolities, dismissing them as pretentious. Their method of meeting is of particular interest to those familiar with the pair because it is believed that they somehow had met on a pirate ship sometime during the fall of 1997.

"Petro! My friend! How have you been?"

"Terrible!" Petro slumped in his chair, he had been sulking alone at a small table juxtaposed against the northeastern corner ever since the festivities had began. When Nikolai approached, he invited his dear old friend to sit with him by kicking a chair out from under the table. "These monkeys can't even begin to comprehend what kind of detail goes into creating my sculptures. I wonder if they even look before shoving their faces full of my work."

Nikolai dusted off the seat with a silk handkerchief before joining his companion. "That is because the work is ordered with the forethought of its destruction. Your effort lives on in their memories, I assure you; and you already know that your spit lives on in their digestive systems."

Petro gave Nikolai the evil eye, sizing him up carefully before saying, "You're too comfortable with these people. They'll turn against you, Nikolai, with not even a moment's notice."

"Oh, I don't debate their pettiness, not for a moment. But they are simply not caustic as you suggest. They squabble, but it is out of stupidity, not malice."

"As if it's utilitarian?"

"I suppose so."

The pair had not noticed until he had announced himself the steely-eyed slim man in the grey tweed suit who had snuck up behind them.

"Nikolai Arsonist?"

"Yes?"

He handed Nikolai a folder that he had been clutching. He informed Nikolai that he had just been served before slinking away as quietly as he came.

"Treason‽"

"Ha! That's right: interrobang, bitches."

"This is no time for your typographical humor Petro! I'm accused of being an enemy to the state!"

"I shall help you, Nikolai, because you have been kind to me for many years." Petro furnished a business card from his wallet, giving it to Nikolai. "This is the best attorney in all of Manhattan. If anyone can defend you, it is this man."

Nikolai took the card and kissed Petro on the forehead before running out of the building. In the beat between the two acts, he stopped to tell Petro, "You are a very good friend, and I am lucky to have known you."