Written on 26 March 2019
Tim
Cheap. Cheap, is it? From the man who retired at 50, and gives his wife fucking pocket money? I'm a fucking Junior Marketing Executive at a mid weight fucking PR firm. I'm not cheap, I'm just fucking skint. What an asshole. I'll fucking show him. Him and his stupid fucking moustache. I hate him. My fucking father-in-law.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I give you. . . The Groom.”
Tom stumbles a little bit from drunkenness and his jean-clad crotch brushes my cheek as I go to stand up.
“Oop. While you're down there.”
They're all laughing at you Tim. Give me that fucking microphone.
“Thanks Tom. But I don't want to ruin another pair of trousers with your ejaculate.”
Fuck you Tom.
“£250 on a tailored suit for my best man, and he spaffs it up the wall. Literally.”
Fuck you Tom. Why are you laughing?
“Could be worse though. You could be my usher who I'm now not going to see for an entire year. 6 months if he's good.”
Fuck you Pete. I wish you were inside the car when it blew up.
“Or you could be my father, who is currently missing his son's wedding speech. Or my father-in-law, who only respects me enough to call me cheap in a speech and not to my face like a real man would.”
Fuck you Dad. Fuck you Keith.
It's getting a little tense in here now.
“At least I have my darling wife. My beautiful Katy. I love you Katy so much.”
Awwws. Back on track.
“Mum, you're weird, but I love you. And to everyone here, thank you so much for coming. It means a great deal to me. . . Us. So a toast. To you guys.”
Katy looks pissed, but Tom's already taken the microphone away. He's been waiting for this moment forever. To “roast” his best friends. He signals to a waiter who wheels out what must be a 75 inch TV screen.
“Tom, before you begin, I'd like to make a speech. . .”