Friday, September 09, 2005

Party till ye puke. Party till ye die.

Top of the morning gents,

One of my blessed Eskimo constabulary brothers in arms
from the old days working graveyard shifts at KPD sent
me this take-off of the popular movie, "My Big Fat
Greek Wedding", albeit with some minor changes.

Changes that illustrate any gathering on the
reservation or out in Eskimo Territory; our very own
FAZ (fetal alcohol zone).

If you've ever been an event coordinator for KIC or
NANA annual meetings, this'll surely crack you up.

Fuck this is funny shit, I'm chuckling as I write.

Go native dudes.


Karl.

---

MY BIG FAT NATIVE WEDDING

Nobody has invitations, only maps of the reservation.

An average of 12 people attend per invitation. -
Natives never RSVP.

The family orders the invitations 3 months in advance
and mails or hands them out the day before the
wedding.

No one goes to church for the wedding, but everyone
shows up for the reception.

All the centerpieces are gone yet the reception has
just started.

Everyone's kids are running around and screaming and
crying like crazy and all you want to do is throw a
bottle at them, or mistreat them in native fashion,
exactly as their own parents do.

Meal includes fish strips and assaleeaq (fried bread).

Most of the groomsmen and bridesmaids have hickeys and
blackeyes. You can both see and feel the native love.

People are taking food plates home "for those backward
Natives that didn't make home after getting blasted
drunk and passing out at the beach party" next to the
city dump.

People are taking huge pieces of cake home.

Most of the relatives are hammered and pissing drunk,
calling each other 'half-breeds' and 'niggers' and
trying to start fights with the new in-laws.

There are STILL people partying at the reception the
next morning, even though the band has left.

Nobody will go home until all of the kegs are empty
and the bar is drunken completely dry.

Nobody is sure what kind of wedding gifts to get for
the Bride and Groom; they've been shacked up for years
with dozens of bastard children and already have a
trailer full of broken appliances and native
treasures, as in lots of garbage.

---

Kudos to our .45 toting bad ass motherfucker, Agent Octuck.

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