Matrimony in the Motherland

Two days ago, I detailed the vigorous defense of my Kim Jung Un collection of captioned photos and the ridiculous charge that I was somehow guilty of being a racist.

I'm stepping back in the pool, perhaps unwisely, with a politically incorrect review of odd Russian Wedding Photos.

I've never been accused of playing it safe or muzzled myself in situations that clearly called for muzzling, so why afters 44 years on this Earth would I stop now?

Besides, while 50% of my DNA originated in the cold, wet highlands of Scotland, the other 50% is derived from the muddy and bloody shtetls of Mother Russia, where my ancestors were regularly robbed of their lunch money and always picked last for the village soccer team.

I've poked fun of Russian dating sites before so it only seemed natural to follow those amorous adventures to their natural matrimonial conclusions.

Behold...

This young groom may be losing his hair, but what he lacks in follicle growth will more than be made up for in some amorous romping around. I think it's clear to see Mrs. Chrome Dome-ski is going to rock his world. You know, after they leave the reception at the art museum. BTW, you curators at the Louvre, I'll bet you don't have a collection of paintings of angry elephants toting watermelons. I'll bet you wish you did.

Americans aren't the only ones with a misguided sense of patriotism and an odd jingoistic streak. "Let's get a picture of you two lovebirds in front of the Kremlin, our national treasure. Scoot over closer to the fence so we can also get the bride's father in the picture."

Marriage isn't always the blissful journey. It will have its ups and downs. Its good times and its bad times. Nothing will make that journey smoother, or even more bearable, than a good sense of humor. That, and a photo of the two of you with your hands on the ass of an oversized plastic cow. 

I thought I was getting good with the photoshop skills. I was starting to master the Lasso tool, the mask and even that blurring thing-a-majig. But clearly, I've got a long way to go. Note the opening in the sky and how the bride, nestled in the obscenely large hands of the groom, is blessed with the light of Jesus. Do Russians call him Jesus?

"Ok, Igor and Igar, smile for the camera. Come on, big smile."

"We are smiling."