Chris' Wedding Speech

It was the day he had been waiting for since they broke up in 2005. Adj was finally getting married, and he was free to release all the woe and regret that had been building up and twisting in his heart for these last few years. Some people had never forgiven him for dumping her; namely his mother and Adj’s elder sister, Malaka. Adj was a young woman full of promise and on a trajectory for an amazing career in physics. His mother hoped to show her off as a prize catch. Malaka wanted Chris and his trollish ways incorporated into their already insane family. The two women were devastated by the news of the break up, and time had yet to heal their wounds.

But today, when Adj celebrated her nuptials and wed another man, Chris would be there to lend his support and congratulations. It was the least he could do. Chris and Adj had maintained a friendship over the years, so his presence at her wedding would not be odd at all. He didn’t know much about the groom. Was it a coincidence that his name was ‘Chris’ as well? Who knew. Adj went through Chrises like syphilis went through a Chinese whore house. This Chris  was the fourth she’d dated since him.

One final look in the mirror to pat down his afro and adjust his cravat and he was ready.

“It’s show time,” he said, breathing deeply. Today, he would show everyone that had doubted his decision to break up with her that it was best for all involved.  She was happy and he was happy for her.

The wedding was nice…typical. Adj and her new husband were agnostics, so their vows were pretty general. They had written them themselves and vowed to stay together so long as the one didn’t piss the other off too badly. They released crows when they walked out of the church. One of them took a squishy dump on Chris’ rented tux. No matter. It was rented after all. The reception was even more entertaining. As promised, Adj’s brother sang “She’s your Queen to be” as Adj walked into the reception hall. 3 very black, burly Ghanaian boys threw cassava shavings and hibiscus petals at her feet as she made her way to the high table. After all the guests had eaten and drank to their fill, the MC opened the mic for well wishers. Chris, who had been sipping on vodka tonics all night seized the chance to wish his could-have been bride all the happiness in the world. He staggered onto the dance floor and grabbed the cordless mic.

“You know folks, this is a very happy occasion here tonight, ” he slurred. “I used to date Adj too, like 6 or 7 other men in here did. When we would do it, I used to hit it from the back because that was the only way I could get to her ‘love spot’. My belly is quite rotund, you see?”

He shook his feed sack for dramatic effect. The MC moved closer to try and take the mic from him.

“No, no man!” Chris yelled. “I got this under….control. Anyway, the first time me and Adj did it, I thought my penis was broken. I called the nurse help line because her vaginal walls were so tight.”

The reception guests gasped. Some of them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Oddly encouraged by this response, Chris continued.

“Oh yeah! It was something else. I recall some of our more amusing times…getting a puppy together (and me drowning that puppy), making her push the car down the road when it ran out of gas. She was such a good African girl. She never complained about the manual labor I expected of her…including shaving my back and ass crack. She’s a good woman, that one.”

He raised his fist and shook at Adj’s new groom, Chris.

“You…you take good care of her, hear?”

Suddenly, as if on cue, Ying Yang Twins’ Get Low blared over the speakers at the fin of his fine speech, and Chris stepped off the dance floor like a jolly, drunken gnome. He threw up an obscure gang sign.

‘Aaahhh skeet skeet skeet!’

Seconds later he passed out face first into a bowl of groudnut soup; falling into sleepy oblivion and adding more plumage to his already colorful cap of shame.