I actually won the much-coveted "Asshole of the evening" Award at a wedding last weekend before I even arrived. THAT's true Asshole ability there.

My buddy, Gonzo, was getting hitched to his long-time girlfriend in their backyard last Saturday and it was quite a beautiful white-trash affair. Yeah, I know he's a big, hairy, tattooed Mexican, but at heart he's white-trash and proud of it.

The Groom was bedecked in a black pimp suit with lavender trim and tie, complete with solid black Chuck Taylor's. The Bride, somewhat disappointedly, was wearing a nice lavender dress and looked quite lovely. Especially since she had the dress cut wide enough in the back to display the dragon-circling-the-castle tattoo, and the bloody-thorn-surrounded-rose on her shoulder.

They exchanged vows, said their "I do"s, and then had each other's name tattooed in a band around the other's ring fingers.

It was beautiful, I'm told.

I was a little late.

That morning, I was running my ass off around the house looking frantically for my Utilikilt all fucking morning. I looked in every conceivable area, of the house and garage, that could possibly hold it. After an hour it didn't matter if it would be utterly ridiculous to find it where I was looking, I just had to make sure that I could safely rule everything out.

Like the cabinet under the big fish tank.

Or in-between the couch cushions.

Or in the vanity drawer in the bathroom.

Or the crisper drawer in the fridge.

Or in the microwave.

Or in the Girl's underwear drawer (This one was actually kind of fun).

On my way out to the garage I even lifted the lid to the fucking grill, for chrissake. What's even worse is that the thought that ran through my mind was, "Naw, it couldn't be in there, that would be silly. I mean, you were grilling chicken just Wednesday night and the kilt's been missing for longer than that."

I couldn't find that fucking thing anywhere and honestly thought that I may start crying in sheer frustration over losing one of the coolest things I've ever owned (that the Girl bought me, no less). My other kilt was still dirty from the wedding two weeks ago and I had my heart set on showing off my fine-ass legs for the mullet-lovin', neck-tattoo havin', PBR-drinkin' ladies at Gonzo's wedding.

I was becoming very despondent. I couldn't think of anything but where I would have put it, or who would've taken it, because something must've happened to it for it to be so fucking GONE, it couldn't just be sitting somewhere. I tried thinking of where I would have taken it and it hit me.

*smacking forehead*

The cleaners!

Mr. Cho's English isn't fantastic to begin with and my Chinese is for shit, so it took about 15 minutes for me to describe my beloved missing Utilikilt and for him to tell me that he didn't remember any such thing, he didn't have any outstanding tickets for me anyway, and that he couldn't help me.

I was going to ask if I could just cruise through the pickup rack and see if it jumped out, but then I realized that Cho and Mrs. Cho both have to squeeze to get back there and I'm pretty sure a double-Cho-sized kid like me ain't fittin'. Not gonna happen. Besides, Mr. Cho didn't seem to keen on letting me behind the counter anyway.

He kept asking incredulously, "Skuhr?!? Fo' a mah? Rika dress?� Nah� Naaheeyah."

"Kilt. Like if Carhartt made kilts. You know, Caaaarrrr-haaarrrrtt's."

"Cah-haht? Nah, noh Caaaaahhh-haaaaaahhhhhhtt heeyah."

I drove hastily across town to Saudi Aurora, getting stuck behind every single old person, handicapped person, person eating McNuggets and spilling sauce in their crotch, and complete gotarded fuckbag on my way over.

Rant

Seriously, what the fuck is so dangerous about the goddam speed limit? It was established a long fucking time ago for cars that couldn't travel on roads like these while going very fast. Times have changed, so has your car.

It's the fucking pedal on the right side of the floorboard.

Oh, and the handle sticking out behind the wheel tells others when you're going to come bombing into their lane.

Become familiar with both, fuckhead, and Judd won't try and fucking kill you.

End Rant

I knew the general area of his house (based on Gonzo's proximity to a bar, how sad is that?) so his directions were short, and I waited until I was a mile or so away until I pulled them out. I was already cutting it short on time and needed to make sure I didn't miss any turns, so I pulled the piece of paper close to my nose.

*flutter*

*SHOOP*

Straight out the fucking window.

No problem, I'm a visual learner, Once I write something down I tend to remember it almost perfectly. Lessee, go past the big intersection of the two main roads, take the second right, then 3 straight lefts. Awesome.

Shit, which main road though?

Fuck it, this one looks right.

Crap, I must've been out in that neighborhood once before because every fucking street looked familiar.

How much time do I have? Hmmm� the directions took flight at about 10 to 2, the ceremony, though promised to be very short, is scheduled for promptly at 2. It's now 2 'til 2. Fuck.

I guess I'll just sit here and listen to the Oklahoma/Oregon football game and thumb my s@ck (purposely misspelling means the sick fucks that Google for that shit will miss me).

I'll wait until about a quarter after, then I'll call somebody's cell phone. Shit, I've only got one guy's number, El Capitan, and he's more than likely IN the goddam wedding. I know it's going to be very casual, even for white-trash, but I'm pretty sure a cell phone ringing wouldn't be appreciated. Then, I figured El Capitan SURELY wouldn't have the ringer on, so I can just leave him a voice mail.

*Ring-ring*

*Ring-ring*

*Ring-ring*

El Capitan answers, in a very hushed, whispered tone, "can't� talk� now�"

*Click*

Sweet. I'm not even there and I've fucked up the wedding. Oh well, it's like, 20 after, they've got to be wrapping things up by now. Certainly I didn't disturb their nuptials or anything. Capitan calls back a minute and a half later and gives me directions to the house. Turns out that I passed the turn for his Cul-de-sac twice and am now a mile and a half away. Awesome.

Yeah, because I didn't feel like a complete numbnut before.

The Cul-de-sac is packed with cars and I can only remember the colors "blue" and "white" and the words "house" and "trim," not necessarily in any particular order so, since one house is white with blue trim and two are blue with white trim, I just head towards the music into the first backyard I come across. It's not the best neighborhood but I figure that, if it's the wrong yard, I can just jump the fence and avoid the killer Rottweiller's altogether.

I head around the house to find 3 full-sized grills, all covered with a variety of charred flesh, and a lone black dude spritzing them with a squirt bottle and running a sauce-covered brush over them quite Picasso-like. Despite my 4 years in hated Texas, I've never understood any of the secrets to good barbecuing, so I sat transfixed for a minute and watched him work.

"Hey goalie! What the fuck are you doing?" the Groom yelled happily from the next yard. I stared at the dapper Gonzo thinking, "Boy, he does clean up nice," and also, "why the fuck is his neighbor grilling an entire pig and cow when Gonzo told me there wasn't going to be any food," and then, "I wasted 3 bucks on a fucking Big Mac and I'd only saved room for cake."

Eating beforehand turned out to be a not-very-bad idea as "Wedding Cake" turned out to be "Wedding Brownies" and by "brownies," I mean dry, crusty, brown squares of avoidance.

Also, I learned that my inopportune phone call didn't happen to have bad timing.

I had the worst timing ever.

Capitan may have been the asshole for forgetting to turn off his phone, but he knew that anyone that could possibly be calling him for a non-emergency would know not to call at that exact moment. You know, like I did.

"Do you Tracy, take this tall, hairy, tattooed Mexican hockey-playing goon to love and honor, til death takes you?"

*sniff*

"I do," she replies shakily.

"Do you Gonzalo Rodrigo Esperanza Chimichanga Burrito take Tracy as well?"

"I�"

*RING RING*

"�do�" turns and glares angrily in general direction of cell-phone menace.

"Then, as a dude that can do this shit in the state of Colorado�"

*RING RING*

"Answer that fucking thing will ya?!?"

It's too bad that I manage to fuck with one of the few holy unions that I'm firmly behind. Why couldn't I have pulled that trick during ShitHead's wedding. Or my brother's? Or my adopted Cousin's? Man, those fuckers sure needed it.

It's all good though, I heard the bald dude with the 10-inch goatee, in the cut-off desert-camo pants, knee-high, black, leather, jackboots and black T-shirt with a flaming skull on it, got pissed when they wouldn't let him do a keg stand with the New Belgium 1554.

Maybe he and I could share "Asshole of the Evening."

I've got two weeks until one of the other hockey buds is getting hitched and it's at the Brown Palace downtown (where the Beatles stayed), so I'll certainly get my chance to be a complete ass there.

Heh, Gonzo'll be at that one too.

Maybe he'll bring keg-standing Baldy.

Betcha I can get him to do a keg stand before the Brown Palace's security staff forcibly remove him.

If that doesn't work, then I'll do one too.

In my kilt.

True Scotsman-style.

Meh, who needs that dump just 'cause them hippie Brits made it famous?

Wish me luck.