![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A friend was married Saturday, and I wish him well of it. But if the priest had talked any slower I might have buzzed up out of my seat and forced caffeine down his throat while shrieking at him to TALK AT A NORMAL FUCKING PACE, YOU SEX-NEGATIVE BABY PUSHER!
In the wake of the ceremony I discovered that punk rock is the cure for sitting through a Catholic wedding. It washes away the aftertaste of shame and barbiturates with rage and heroic fuck-off lyricism. Bless My Chemical Romance down to their punk-ass boots. I arrived at the reception bearing coffee and a sharp-toothed grin, neither helpful in the endeavor of fitting into the wedding party, but worthwhile all the same. :D
And shut it, Nyyki! I will force feed you The Black Parade the next time I see you, and even your snobby nose will have to come down and admit that those boys are good at what they do.
In the wake of the ceremony I discovered that punk rock is the cure for sitting through a Catholic wedding. It washes away the aftertaste of shame and barbiturates with rage and heroic fuck-off lyricism. Bless My Chemical Romance down to their punk-ass boots. I arrived at the reception bearing coffee and a sharp-toothed grin, neither helpful in the endeavor of fitting into the wedding party, but worthwhile all the same. :D
And shut it, Nyyki! I will force feed you The Black Parade the next time I see you, and even your snobby nose will have to come down and admit that those boys are good at what they do.