Everything You Need To Know About My Sister's Wedding Can Be Summed Up With This Picture

That is my sister, the bride - on the left, and her new husband Ben - on the right. And nestled between the beautiful couple like a 7-Eleven hot dog in a croissant is Mr. Ron Jeremy, Esquire. If you don't know who Ron Jeremy is, I salute you. You escaped knowing what others have not been so fortunate to avoid. But now I'm about to ruin that for you, because I can't stand people who think they're better than me:

Ron Jeremy is a former porn star who is known for his large endowment (and not to the arts!) and the fact that he can and has literally sucked his own dick.

Oh, the amazing things this blog will teach you, gentle reader.

Ron Jeremy has since retired to a life where he gets paid to go to events and sign peoples' boobs. Naturally, he was present at my sister's wedding.

Actually, he just happened to be at the Calgary hotel where my sister was getting married. When Mel and Ben saw him, he offered to take a picture with them. And then as a surprise treat - and I shit you not - he played them a song on his harmonica. When my father heard that, he made one of the following remarks:

A) I'm sorry, but who is Ron Jeremy?
B) Well, that was ... nice ... of him ...
C) Glad he didn't pull out a different mouth organ!

And now you know the apple did not fall far from the Can't Resist a Dick Joke Tree.

Along with attracting the attention of porn stars, my sister's wedding also caught the attention of a few party crashers late in the evening who were at a nearby event and thought - correctly - that my sister's wedding was a far better party than they one they were at.

The traditional role of a bridesmaid is to thwart evil spirits from attacking the bride. In modern times, it is the bridesmaid's job to thwart evil party crashers from drinking the spirits that have been paid for by the bride. And so I promised my sister that if any of them moseyed up to the bar, I would intervene. Or as I drunkenly told her, "I will go Toronto on them."

I still have no idea what "going Toronto" on them would actually entail.  Eat at an Ethiopian restaurant one night and a Thai place the next? Demand the army comes by to shovel the walk? Buy a 700-square foot downtown property for the price some could get an entire farm for? Cheer for a really shitty hockey team year after year after year? Bitch about how Western Canadians and companies have stolen and poisoned land from aboriginal people while conveniently ignoring the fact that 'Toronto' and 'Ottawa' aren't exactly named after places in ye ol' England?

So when one of the party crashers saddled up to the bar, I was like, "Aww ya, boy! I'm about to get all Toronto on you! It's time for you to hear how much my condo cost! to lay down the law about this party."

With the power vested in me as a person wearing a dress that matched the decor theme, I marched over to the dude and loudly announced that ...

... he wasn't allowed to have a drink unless he paid the full bar price. Smooth. In actuality, I should have asked him to refrain or kindly leave the private party, but I instead thought it was a better idea for my sister to make money. Toronto, represent.

He apologized, saw me for the lush I am and paid FULL BAR PRICE (yah, that's right, I showed him) for a drink for himself and me. And with that act, I let him be. I can tell that the offers for me to be anyone else's bridesmaid will surely be flooding in after that one.

But porn stars and wedding crashers and shitty bridesmaids aside, my sister and Ben had a really, truly lovely wedding and reception that is evidenced by the amount of Facebook pictures I've had to untag myself from. It's clear that they love each other greatly, have surrounded themselves with fantastic family and friends and have a very promising future of happiness and love and laughter ahead of them.

Kisses galore.