The hell with my job. I’m going to perform weddings in an Elvis suit. Roll around the country in a battered van, lurch into shopping mall parking lots, perform Questionably Legal ceremonies and then flee across the nearest border.
Got it all worked out. I’ll paint “Vegas A Go-Go! The lil’ chapel o’ love!” across the van. Well it’s not really a van. It’s an ice cream truck. A decommissioned ice cream truck from my previous failed business venture, Klown-4-Rent. A business which went down in flames mighty quick. I hate kids. Hate those wee freakish bastards. But I still have the ice cream truck, a 1972 Igloo Dominator.
The wedding gig should work because I am all about love, spreading the love, always with the love. And I look good in a flashy cape. Plus my upbringing as a Pentecostal Snake Handler gave me a strong foundation on religious matters. Plus I’m nimble and I drive well. Always drive with your headlights off, it gives the crucial element of surprise. A little edge like that can make all the difference in a career path that is not exactly legally binding in the bulk of our 50 states.
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