When it comes to poo, Pete is the opposite of me. Where I would refuse to go, he would; where I would be quiet, he would make a point of making a lot of noise. In short, he is the most shameless shitter in existence. One of the first memories I have of him is at a party deciding that it would be a damn good idea to lay a cable on a quite active fire outside. This in itself is not unusual for Pete -- I've seen him shit and piss into many containers, such as the famous "danger piss" into a freezer in a supermarket; somehow, that time, he didn't get caught.
This time, he had just started to force out the turd on to the fire; but, due to the fire being, well, on fire, flames were licking his arsehole, singing his ass hair. His yelps could be heard from all around, drawing a crowd from the party and beyond. This in itself did not bother him until he glanced upwards towards next door and saw two little girls. Two little girls watching him from their bedroom window. For the first time a look of shame graced his face. But then it was replaced by determination -- if he is going shit in front of an audience, young and old, he might as well put on a good show. He pushed and pushed until a log fell and flecks of fecal matter sputtered out like an old car starting in the winter. The log sizzled like a sausage in the fire. Smoke began to rise and suddenly it was like being in the middle of a bull run with what seemed like hundreds of people trying to run away from the smell of the brown bull of Barcelona.
For Pete, that was normal behavior.
So how does Eric fit into this story?
For a long period of time, Eric used to relentlessly say, "Shit happens and then you marry one," whenever, to him, that phrase seemed necessary. Getting sick of this, me and my friends decided that yes, shit does happen, and yes, Eric will marry one. Thus the Poo Bride was born.
We told Eric that he was getting married. Since I am an ordained reverend (thanks to the great people at Universal Life Church of California), I was to be performing the ceremony the following Thursday. Eric was told that his wife was a surprise; no matter how much he asked about it, nobody would give any clue as to who (or what) she was.
Immediately Pete decided that he wasn't going shit until next Thursday, when he would effectively give birth to the Poo Bride. He altered his diet accordingly: in the final days before the ceremony he consistently ate whole nuts, sweet corn, and many other indigestible items. If Eric is going marry a shit, the shit has got to have character.
The entire week preceding the ceremony we were all bombarded with questions from Eric regarding his bride. Some were easier to answer or ignore than others, but it's very hard not laugh when he asked things like, "So where does she come from?" "Do any of you know her?" and, "She better not look like shit -- if I'm gonna get married, she may as well make an effort." And especially when he mutters the now immortal line of "shit happens and then you marry one" -- trying to suppress a giggle was harder than trying not to fart after a curry.
Finally the wedding day arrived. Eric was blindfolded and taken to a secret location (read: our old college car park) while Pete was in a supermarket toilet giving birth to Eric's bride and getting her into her dress. After the event, the shit was described as "the most painful thing I have ever done in my life -- even more so than getting my ass waxed and my nipple pierced. Man, those nuts cut my ass to ribbons." I felt his pain -- I too know how bad it is not to shit for a week. All I could do was nod in empathy.
Yan, Eric's best man, was reassuring him, telling him that it's alright and if he thinks she's shit then he can get a divorce. Ironically, Eric was nearly shitting himself. As the makeshift wedding carriage arrived there was a great sense of anticipation in the air.
Everybody exited the car towards Eric. No woman was to be seen.
"What's going on?" Eric asked. "I thought I was marrying someone today? And what's that smell?" Eric didn't see the open shoebox behind Pete's back until Pete showed him his bride.
"Look!" exclaimed a giddy, almost hysterical Pete. "It's your bride!"
Words can not do justice to what was in the box. A very chunky stick figure, with peanuts for eyes, finer poo for hair, even brown breasts, encased in a wedding dress made of the finest toilet rolls Tesco had to offer, all topped off with a veil of what looked like silk (but turned out to be a single ply of toilet paper).
To say Eric's face dropped is like saying Iraq was only slightly bombed.
"What. The. Fuck! I AM NOT GOING TO MARRY A SHIT!"
"But she's so pretty! And you've always said, ‘shit happens and then you marry one!' See, your dream has come true!"
While this was going on I was busy reading the vows and performing the ceremony, tricking Eric into saying, "I do." He really only started listening when I said the line,
"You may now kiss the bride." He gave me a look as if I came into his house on Christmas Day and pissed on his parents.
"You can fuck off if I kissing that!"
"But she loves you! And anyway, you're married now."
With that he lost it. He punted the box -- and the bride -- into the air. People ran and screamed, dodging the rain of the Poo Bride. As the fecal matter settled on the floor, somebody shouted, "Whoa, you just kicked the shit out of your wife! Married for a minute and already you had a domestic!"
Eric did not see the funny side of this.
All in all, it had everything a wedding needed -- a nervous groom, a beautiful bride, and a fight. And to this day, Eric has never again said, "Shit happens and then you marry one."
