In my experience, there are two types of wedding receptions:

• Dry receptions, where you eat food that isn’t very good for you and make small talk with people you don’t know very well or like very much
• Wet receptions, where you eat food that isn’t very good for you and make small talk with people you don’t know very well or like very much, but it isn’t as big a deal because you’re drunk

This one was approximately in the middle because while it wasn’t a dry reception, but the only booze around was mead which is just a little too sweet for my taste.

I arrived late, partially because I had a guest I needed to pick up and partially so I could avoid setting up all of the chairs. I then quickly received an assortment of small tasks which lasted for approximately the next hour and a half while people went through the potluck line and destroyed 95% of the food that was brought.

Overall, though, the reception was depressingly normal. The sprinklers didn’t randomly turn on, there were no dramatic scenes caused by exes, and the musicians didn’t suddenly break out the crossbows midway through the wedding feast. I had held out some hope that they were going to go for a Game of Thrones-esque bedding ceremony, but this, too, proved fruitless. In the end my only solace was chewing my way through scraps of cold chicken and fantasizing about the bottle of Jameson I’d hid in the freezer while trying to avoid people asking me questions about my current religious status.

All that proved more or less irrelevant, however, because what I was really waiting for was the opportunity to tag my sister’s car. As this was my first time being involved in a wedding it was also my first opportunity to do terrible things to the couple’s getaway vehicle. When I was reminded of my sacred duty the night before the wedding, I quickly conferred with the best man. I was under the impression that this was the best man’s responsibility to own, but the best man (who, out of respect for his privacy, I will only refer to as “Matthew” had not prepared anything). I immediately undertook a midnight drive to the local Wal-Mart where I tracked down some window markers, a sizable case of balloons, and some raw fish.

Originally, I wanted to fill the entire car full of packing peanuts, which, in addition to being an absolute nightmare to clean up, would remind the bride and groom of my obsession to detail for years to come. Unfortunately, Wal-Mart was out of stock, and as a second option I decided to fill the car entirely full of balloons. The fish, of course, is a wedding necessity, and is a simple yet fulfilling gag. You cut the raw fish into several pieces and carefully hide them in various places within the car – inside door panels, in the ventilation system, beneath sets, etc. After a few days the fish begin to rot filling the car with the most unimaginable stench. The couple then tracks down one of the sources and thinks they’ve solved the problem, but they actually haven’t because you have six pieces of the fish hidden away. Hilarity ensues!

I also looked for a autobody marker so we could write on the car’s paint itself. I’d written the groom a poem and hoped to write the entire thing out on the body of the car, but was unable to find a marker. The poem is reproduced below, and is what I call a 5%er: it will only fully make sense to 5% of you. That’s fine, your confusion brings me happiness.

Just a few short years ago, when life was full of pain
Existing on a ‘board named TORC, a balrog – known as “Thane”
Crouched low within his southern home, behind a glowing screen
He typed his posts (and I don’t boast) – the finest ever seen

With mighty wit and candy canes the fallen Maiar rose
in stature and in post count and in finely written prose
Quickly his devotees grew – this was no aberration
The moment he’d been waiting for: BT was a sensation.

As he stared at his reflection then he knew he’d hit his peak
(And here he paused a moment to admire his physique
Recently the Thane had done what every man had feared;
He’d asserted dominance and grown a manly beard).

Suddenly the bubble burst and he was heard to moan
Despite his group of fangirls he was crushingly alone
He slumped, defeated, across his desk; his wings were seen to wane
And downward he went spiraling with whiskey and cocaine.

But fear not gentle reader, the story ends not here
A lightbulb sparked one summer day while midway through a beer
There still were things he hadn’t tried – one of them, for instance
Was to go back to his roots and try to work long-distance.

This succeeded swimmingly, and he was filled with glee
His heart had grown two sizes as he carved one on a tree
Now that she was his he didn’t know how he almost missed her
And that’s how Michael fell in love and got married to my sister.

Instead, we wrote some fairly typical messages on the windows, and some fairly untypical messages.

We also tied a number of cans and a pair of disgusting shoes to the back bumper, to add to the effect. And that was it. After some suspiciously well-choreographed dancing, the happy couple fled beneath an onslaught of rice and confetti and jetted off to a hotel to do unmentionable things to each other. Which I’m sure we all can and do support. Of course, the only downside was the officiating minister had unfortunately left the reception before he remembered to sign the marriage certificate.

Which meant that, despite being officially pronounced man and wife, at the end of their first night together the bride and groom were still not legally married.