America a Golem bride blasphemously wearing white led down the shaky stern of the ship of fools serving as the wedding aisle to a wedding march played with commitment by her father the Wharf Rat who is well over two hundred years old. The groom awaits with arms folded in front of him out on the open deck with Reverend Fear, cloaked head bowed. The groom smiling proudly a toothy smile of perfectly whitened teeth the size of piano keys slight tilt to his magnificently square head, his enormous – corn fed! - body dwarfing Reverend Fear. Anyone paying attention notices he has an actual rocket not quite in his pocket.
Under the sickeningly unnatural light of the apocalypse, the sky roiling in burnt colors of purple, orange and red, lit as if by some unholy fire, the wedding party upon the becalmed ship of fools drifts helplessly on a sea awash in the color of radiator fluid toward the cataracts of the abyss.
When America our Golem bride stands at last before her husband to be, her father the Wharf Rat quiets the keys of his piano.
“America,” Reverend Fear asks in an oddly sepulchral tone - “do you take this ICBM for your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.” America affirms.
“ICBM,” do you take this beautiful Golem Bride for your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” affirms the groom.
Reverend Fear declares, “by the powers vested in me by the state of fear, I now pronounce you man and wife.ICBM you may kiss your bride.”
KA-BOOM!
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