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Do you, violence, agree to take this race, human, as your lawfully wedded wife?
Do you say okay to the program in which you will overwhelm the faculties of common sense; disable the mechanism that replaces conflict with conversation; will you kick the shit out of cute domesticated animals,
and push around anyone who blocks the light you pretend to read by, justifying your motives even though they be ugly and irrational?
Oh yes oh yes, pucker up, send us to the conjugal bed, - Reverend, you know it; of course.
Do you, humanity, accept this vile, unmerciful butcher as your number one bud. Will you be there morning, noon and night to nurture, fellatiate and stroke this nastiest of spouses.
Are you prepared to let it lay waste to benevolence, except as a ruse for fostering more pain and/or destruction? Don't bother answering.
The wedding march was marched by solders throwing handfuls of gunpowder, and the open bar served blood on tap. There was laughter in the streets and Yippee-ki-yay behind triggers and cannons.
Serial murderers replaced Gandhi and King on t-shirts and there were protests when there was no war. Satan ran into a dark cellar, fleeing the mob that wanted his horns and tail for fireplace trophies.
Those who had tried to object to the marriage were excommunicated. Rumor has it they're out there, pooling their resources, spreading propaganda to recruit members for their crusade.
An agent of violence who hasn't been heard from since, eavesdropped on one of their meetings. He wasn't quite sure what they were discussing, but he heard them chanting something that sounded like di-vorce, di-vorce, DI-VORCE.