Marry Me A Lot
Anyway, here are the tallies:
Bridal gown: $100,000
Food and drink: $155,000
Wedding cake: $15,000
Gift bags: $30,000 (steal two and you can be on Page Six!)
But wait! Don't even bother with the pesky chore of pulling up the calculator! Damn the Accessories Menu! Papa Fleiss took care of the math as well! The grand total for just these very selective expenses is $3,778,000. And that's not including the million-dollar fee the couple was paid just for the "rights" to air the event. And the cost of renting those helicopters! ["Far be it from me to tell the Walt Disney Corporation what to spend its money on -- like, employees' salaries, for instance, or, like, charity -- but that amount of money is really obscene and gross. Particularly when you hear the shitty off-key flutist performing at the wedding and think, 'They paid some part of $105,000 for that? Damn, Next, shop around!'" -- Wing Chun]
A fabulous moment over in the bridal suite, where a few seconds of feed find Trista looking all pissy and put out until you can practically hear the "and...action!" of this totally unplanned, spontaneous "real" event. Then the two flower girls run in and Trista gives them a big hug. Because she's all heart and loves a good spontaneous moment. And...cut.
Trip to the spa. Pink robes. Expensive gift bags. Lavish presents. Massages. I know that watching television is supposed to be about wish fulfillment to a certain extent, but it sure is hard to undertake an exercise in wish fulfillment when my wish is that I were no longer alive.
The men, meanwhile, hate pink, massages, and not looking like the frat boys they prove they aren't when they won't look at hot, skanky strippers in catsuits. You guys? Any dude cred you had was so exceedingly blown last week you might as well just put on the pink robes, enjoy a pedicure, partake in a pillow fight, and write mean things about each other in your slam books. ("Ben looks like he was named after the rat he so closely resembles from the song about the rat named Ben!" "Pete's head is shaped like a rhombus!") Instead, the last-ditch efforts of the faulty Y-chromosome make one more dire pitch for supremacy, as Ryan and the boys march onto a basketball court with the backwards baseball caps and the ripped tank tops. Only Trista's feminized-by-his- nine-wives-and- sixteen-daughters father seems unable or unwilling even to try; he's tucked his shirt into his khaki shorts, and I believe his belt may even be braided. Charlie goes flying after them with his microphone and tries another round of interviews. We learn that Ryan's gift to his groomal party is in the form of a mountain bag (whatever that is, but it's black, because that is the grimy color of dirt and men!), some ski passes, and a watch. Charlie, crack journalistic skills honed as an embed in the First Acting-Like-Infants Infantry division during the gory Bachelorette Wars, surveys his situation and brilliantly thinks to ask Chris, "So, what are you guys gonna do today? You gonna play some basketball?" I'm just gonna leave that one riiiiiight there.