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Dawns early light, the sound of horns blairing at a stoplight nearby, a new groom awakens to the reality of what he's just done. He stretches in bed, accidently touching the twisted and matted hair of the pillaged bride, he reaches down scratching his sticky wedding tackle and without thinking, sticks a strange smelling finger into his mouth to scrape the fumunda tongue. They must need to wash the ATM because his finger tastes strangely similar to when he's been diggin in his crack.
As the disturbed bride rolls over, she lets loose the thunderous flatulance she was able to control while awake. The first sign of things to change.
"Woman, go make us some breakfast"
"uh, I can't even cook toast, you have any money for a mcMuffin?"
"Go ask my dad"
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