Marriage is stupid.

Let’s look at the facts: 50% of marriages end in divorce. I didn’t research this statistic nor do I care to, but it seems more than reasonable. If going in to something that has a 50/50 chance of failure, what’s the point? I feel the same way about checkers as I do about marriage.

Second point: marriage is stupid. If you love someone, why do you need to throw a giant party and buy a couple of shiny rocks to prove it? Invest in mutual funds and take a trip some place warm. That’s how you celebrate love. Or buy a boat and name it after your significant lover.

“The S.S. Bob Woolsey sank today. All 375 on board perished in the icy waters of the Adriatic Sea. Human error is to blame.”

You may think that my disdain for marriage is deeply rooted in my psyche, that perhaps my parents have divorced and it soured me on the experience. Frankly that’s a little personal and you’re a bastard for prodding me, but since we’re on the subject, no, my parents are not divorced. They have been happily married for twenty five years. They love each other unconditionally and have been nothing but great parents.

Andrew 1, Reader 6.

While marriage is stupid, weddings are not.

Weddings are the opposite of stupid. Weddings are… insightful. (Damn my poorly-lit internal mindchamberthesaurus.)

If you are unfamiliar with weddings (may I also direct you to these simple articles about breathing , Shakespeare and puppies?), I’ll give you a brief run down on what a “wed-ding” is: a wedding is a giant party in which two people come together in marriage (see above). Generally, there are toasts, cake-cutting, and drunken uncles who tell you dirty jokes in the men’s bathroom and then ask if you want to  share a joint and you have to say no even though you really wouldn’t mind getting high but told yourself you’d never do drugs with a relative despite the fact that you know he always has weed and it’s free weed so why not, right?

I excel at weddings. I have been to exactly two. The first, I was eleven. It was my mom’s best friend’s second marriage and I really didn’t do much beyond complain about the shitty cake and fight with my brother.

The second was a fine example of what a borderline alcoholic can do when given a live microphone and seventy-five Americans’ attention. I assume Scott will provide details. I cannot, as I was drunk three days out of four.

As it oft happens in my blog rage, I have come to a moral crossroads. What brash, uninhibited hatred has somehow given way to an understanding, or at least a new view on things.

I hate marriage. I like weddings. You cannot have a wedding without marriage. Well, you could get two dogs together and pretend to get them hitched, but if that’s the kind of excuse you need to crack a case of red wine and do the chicken dance, well you’ve got bigger fucking problems than me, pal.

I’ll probably collapse under society’s pressure and get married, but not anytime soon. When I hit 35, 40, I’ll start to think about settling down. I figure that’s a good age- halfway to death- to choose a mate. But then again, you can always make the arguement that you don’t really know until the right person comes along. The same can be said about pants. I don’t often think about buying pants, but if I pass a pants display and there’s some sort of deal on pants I might hasten to try on a pair or two.

Husband of Yoko Ono and renounded Brit John Lennon said it best: if you love something, set it free.

This blog has been set free.

Things get a little blue when the topic of the Star Wars is brought up.  Bob thinks Chewbacca might be gay.  What does Andrew think? There’s only one way to find out…

Click play to listen or download for your iPod.

Today I oblige by thieving from my cohort and often times partner in crime Bob Woolsey, whom several hours ago made bold predictions about the upcoming year of our Lord, 2009.

I was born February 16th, 1985, on the same pool table in Newark, N.J. where I was conceived. In grade four I got an award for a short story I wrote, mostly because I was the only child to submit theirs into the contest.  I worked at McDonalds for two and a half years, never felt any real trauma or pain in my childhood, and graduated high school with mediocre grades and aspirations. Oh, and when I was three I fell down a flight of stairs and cut my chin on a vase. Nineteen years later I fell down a similar flight of stairs while stoned out of my mind looking for a vase to put stolen flowers in. I guess you could say my life has come full circle.

So it is with great accomplishments already behind me that I look forward to 2009 and the challenge of going farther. Further? Farther? Fuck. Let’s just look ahead.

The first thing I would like to accomplish in 2009 is to find a new haircut. I’ve been contemplating a mohawk or a sideways David Bowie ironic faux-mullet, but I think it’s just time to jump in to the fire. My hair is long enough that I can slick it back like an Italian, so I know I’ve got options.

While Bob wants to wed, I will respectfully disagree with that goal. Marriage is probably the worst thing I could do to another person. I think having a male heir would be a good idea, so I will audition young boys for the role as executor of my estate. However much like Bob, my life savings is also around -$30 000 so there will not be a whole lot of estate to execute until someone invests in my anti-gravity patent.

Sometime during the summer, I’m going to test my endurance by running as fast as I can, as hard as I can, and not stop until my legs give out and I collapse in the middle of the road. This will be a dry run for when I hop the barricade to the Georgia viaduct in 2010.

If I could be involved in some kind of international espionage adventure next year, I would be quite happy. Something with car chases, roof to roof jumping and close quarters fist fighting. To have any role in a coup or an assassination plot would be most thrilling… well, not just ANY role. I don’t want to be the guy on the phone who tells the hero where the double agents are or who can’t be trusted when handing off the briefcase. Nor do I want to be the random thug who has his tibia cracked by a reverse shuffle kick. I should just be bold and say that I want to be Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity.

Hell, I’d even be Matt Damon in The Talented Mr. Ripley.

I’ll do the weird stuff.

bobandandrew.com factors heavy into next year’s plans. Mr. Woolsey barely scratched the surface of what we’ve got planned going in to 2009. I can’t go into detail, but let’s just say in involves Barack Obama, NASCAR, and the kidnapping of an adult horse.

Other Plans for bobandandrew.com in 2009

- More sketches about rape
- Obtain pet monkey
- Finish self-help book
- Join a Fight Club
- Euthanize pet monkey when it becomes too powerful
- Stop drinking
- Apply for tax shelter