A weekend at Sears

Usually when the Sears clan gets together, it's because someone has died. This past weekend, we reconvened for the wedding of my sister Lauren.

I arrived in Rhode Island on Thursday to find the good ol' gloomy weather I knew from my formative years. I always enjoy the ride home from the airport, where I get to soak in the sights of my home state. The Dunkin' Donuts stores on every street corner. The new CVS or Wallgreens that pop up like insects in summer. The sheer lack of fancy sports cars I've grown used to cussing under my breath in Florida.

And of course my reunion with the queen of the Sears family, Jelly herself.

I attended my brother-in-law's bachelor party at Dave's Bar & Grill Thursday night. The music was terrible. Every successive song hurt more than the previous one. There was lots of pool. A typical Rhode Island run in with the mother of fellow Thunderbolt and Husky I knew. In the end, it made the bachelor party of one Jeff A.J. Burnett Schaible look like a scene from the Hangover.

On Friday came the wedding rehearsal. This is where I reunited with the priest officiating my sister's wedding -- Father Joe Upton. Seeing Joe, who used to clown around a ton in high school, decked out in priestly attire and coolly running the rehearsal was something to see. And more proof of how old I am getting.

From there we went to the rehearsal dinner at Pinielli's off Route 2. I ordered the seafood risotto instead of the chicken parm because I'm a risk taker and an adventurous eater. The best part of the night came when the waiters served the plates of chicken parm -- the biggest pieces of chicken I've ever seen.

At first, I mistook them for super chickens, the one Peter Griffin has battled a few times. Take your large dinner plate and imagine a piece of breaded chicken stretching from one end to the other. It was gigantic. If only Jeff Schaible could have seen it. He would have taken it home and framed it.

The day of the actual wedding saw picture perfect weather after non-stop clouds. We in the groom's party did what men usually do one wedding days -- wait. An SUV limo escorted us to the family parish just five minutes from my parents' house and dropped us off in order to pick up the girls. We waited in the church for over an hour.

It did amuse me that before the mass as the church was holding a pet blessing. Parishioners stood in a circle on the church lawn with their oblivious dogs and cats as the priest read prayers. I found it hilarious. I'm sure the dogs are thinking 'What is life?' and 'Is there a God?'

The traditional Catholic ceremony was very nice. Father Upton runs a tight ship in what was his first wedding as a priest. From the church we rode the limo all the way down to Narragansett for the reception at The Towers, a medieval-looking place right off the beach. It's a popular venue and now I see why.

My two sisters gave the maid of honor toast, but erred when calling Lauren the favorite. I'm the favorite. And if I'm not the favorite, then it's Jelly. The best man speech was heart-felt, given by the groom's brother. Of course it wasn't good as mine, but that's a lofty standard.

Now, a wedding reception is always a dicey minefield for singles. Young and old, there were lots of intersexual mingling and forlorn faces on the lonely throughout the night. It was heart-wrenching to see my aunt's face during the anniversary dance. She was having trouble keeping it together because she had lost her husband a couple years ago.

My sisters were urging me to talk to my sister's former boss, an attractive woman who was certainly enjoying herself on the dance floor. First of all, I hate dancing. Hate it. It's just uncomfortable to me. Now, if the wedding party broke into a game of pick-up basketball or 24 trivia, I'd be in my element. And it's weird to have my sisters and mom urging me on like that.

Anyway, by the time I worked up the courage, my cousin Matt stepped in. He was all over her, dancing with a drink in his hand, going all Jersey Shore on her. And when I say all over her, I mean it. He was in her ear for the rest of the night.

I finally found a chance to display the Sears charm toward the end of the reception where we went through the usual pleasantries. It's tough to hold a conversation over blasting music. I don't know how people do it. And in the confusion and hustle and bustle at the end, she went off to her hotel and that was that.

Either way, I was heading back to Florida the next day so it felt useless to meet new people. When would I be seeing this girl again anyway? I felt the same way with the groom's family. Nothing against them, but I float in like a guest star in Friends during sweeps, coming to town during Christmas and sundry other occasions. So the impetus to get to know people wasn't there.

And I'm not know for being a chatty gadfly, am I?

I flew out the next day. Months before I started my new 5 a.m. shift, I scheduled this flight a tad late in the evening. A three hour trip turned into eight, a magic trick airlines perform with great skill. A layover in Philly was delayed an hour, the flight was so bumpy there was screaming on the plane, and a middle-aged mother had to ask me if I was alright as I gripped the armrests with my face an ashen white.

It also took me a half-hour to exit the economy parking lot at the airport and I got home at 12:30. I ended up sleeping just three hours before I had to roll into work. Thanks to a medium iced coffee I made it.

But who cares about my travails. My sister is on her honeymoon. Congrats, Lauren and Derek! Welcome to the family, brother-in-law!

Meet the Schaibles Part II

We left off on the beach platform, with Jeff, me, Zach, Jeff's MMA-fighting buddy Mike and Emily's older brother, Mike, waiting for the ceremony to begin.


Everybody had taken their seats and there were a good number of random passers-by who stopped to watch the festivities. "Hey, look! It's a wedding. Let's watch." While the beautiful bridesmaids strolled up to the beach altar, my sore throat began to act up once again and my lips became very dry. So if you see photos where it looks like I'm licking my lips, you have your reason. I needed to drink constantly that day, but that wasn't an option during the ceremony.

Anyway, when the Maid of Honor took her spot (with a repaired toe nail) it was time to unveil the beautiful bride. Emily appeared in the distance from the rotunda and proceeded very, very carefully down a long string of wooden stairs. That had to be tough in a wedding gown and heels. Trust me, I've tried it.

She disappeared behind the bumper boat tent and emerged with her father in tow as several people hustled into position to take their pictures. In the hard-scrabble journalism world I inhabit, I don't often see faces of boundless joy but the there were two at that moment. Probably some more in the seats, as well. Emily's face looked ready to burst once she locked hands with her soon-to-be husband. Something she had been dreaming about for a very long time was finally coming to fruition.

A series of religious readings followed and then it came down to the vows. They had to fight the breeze and the ocean to be heard so I did not hear everything, but both vows were very "them." They didn't go to "fill-in-the-blanksweddingvows.com." A perfect fit for a picture perfect scene on a gorgeous Newport day. The photos that I've seen so far look really good. And I bet the professional ones will be astounding. They even have the ability to photoshop me out of them if necessary. They can add a stack of kittens or a Care Bear to make sure the photo is just right. I would not object.

The wedding party proceeded to the beach after the ceremony for another photo shoot while everyone else went up to the rotunda area for an outdoor cocktail party. The wedding arbor collapsed about 20 minutes after the ceremony ended because of a big gust, so consider that another bullet dodged.

After a few drinks (I tired a lime gimlet), it was time for the reception. Those of us in the wedding party ruminated on some whack intros we could do (and this was before I heard about that crazy Youtube video of the dancing introductions.) Katie, the MOH, decided she wanted to knight me and we had it all planned out but before we could do it, the DJ announced the newly-married couple. Once again, the Schaibles hog the spotlight. To prove my point, they even hogged the dance floor all to themselves for the first dance to Joshua Radin's version of "Only You."

As a long-time friend of Emily's and the maid of honor, Katie gave the first speech. It was short and sweet and even quoted from a high school yearbook, which was a nice touch. Then came the moment of truth for me: The Schaibleburg Address.

I wasn't as nervous as I was tense. Confident I had written a good speech, I wasn't quite sure how effectively I would deliver it. I had never spoken to a crowd that big before and I worried that I would either not speak loud enough into the microphone or I'D SPEAK WAY TOO LOUD!!!

I stood next to the couple's table and started by saying my name and my connection to both Jeff and Emily. I told the crowd that I did, in fact, beat Emily for the coveted English Award in high school, but that since she beat me out for prom queen, I thought we were even. That seemed to get a good reaction, though I was so focused on what I wanted to say next that I could not fully gauge it. I was just relieved, because if the first quip fell flat I might have collapsed up there into a mumbling, stuttering mess -- the usual Steve.

One problem did arise ... my left hand was shaking like crazy. I wasn't all that nervous either. It mystified me. The shaking was serious enough that I had trouble reading the speech, so I just read a few lines here and there to guide me and recited most of it from memory.


After I finished, I returned to my table and Grimey gave me two thumbs up so I knew I had done OK. He's always a tough critic. Zach was already sleeping.

At last, it was time for food. I couldn't tell you exactly what I was eating most of the time, but it all tasted good, so who cares? At my table it was me, Zach, Grimey, Jeff's friend Mike and his fiancee and Emily's ESPN crew. I listened in on their company secrets so I could report them to my CBS overlords. Zach and I also fed the ESPN crew some dirt on Emily, which was fun. They enjoyed it. Too bad I forgot the story about how she put on a Yankee sweatshirt the night of the "Grady Incident" - an almost unforgivable action for any Red Sox fan.

Dancing soon commenced. Grimey pressed Zach and I to dance, but we thought three dudes dancing together on the floor would be kind of lame. So instead we took the cool way out and mostly sat at our table and watched the dancers. Watching some of Emily's friends dance is a sport in itself.

Midway through, I signed the guestbook, which was a photo album of Mr. and Mrs. Schaible. This was the first time I had ever seen kid photos of Jeff. I enjoyed that. One thing I did not enjoy as much was returning to my seat only to find my plate gone, even though I had not finished eating. That happened a few times. Never leave your food alone at a wedding.

The couple danced the night away ... literally. I'm not sure they had a chance to even eat that much. I finally took to the dance floor late in the evening to a song Jeff told me he explicitly informed the DJ was on the "do not play" list. Among the fracas, I introduced my new dance "The Drummer" which is sure to sweep all the hot clubs. Though I really hope there isn't a photo out there of it.

The wedding ended at 11:30 and Zach and I headed straight home. We were both pretty tired and there was brunch hosted by Emily's mother the next morning. After a rough night of sleep Friday/Saturday, I enjoyed a peaceful night of slumber that evening.

The brunch was great as well. They had French toast sticks! Just like the Northeastern cafeteria. The brunch lasted about two hours before everyone said their goodbyes. I collected most of the tuxes since my parents live only a few minutes from the rental place. And we all parted ways, with the Schaibles off to Boston on their way to their honeymoon in the United Kingdom. I would be on my way to Florida the next day for Brett Favre and David Ortiz stories at work. Life ain't fair.

Driving back to Cranston that afternoon, it hit me that they were actually husband and wife, that this couple I remember just starting to date nearly six years ago were now legally married. Emily's last name is different. Jeff is now someone's husband. They're all grown up (sniff).

In summary, the weekend could not have gone much better. One can never go wrong with free food and free booze. I reunited with a few people I had not seen since I left Boston in 2006. The whole wacky, wild wedding weekend went great. I hope it exceeded Jeff and Emily's expectations.

The best thing now? I can start calling Emily "Schaible."

Meet the Schaibles Part I

I believe this is the first Internet draft of the Schaible Nuptials. Not sure why the couple has not transcribed the events yet ... too busy? No Internet in the United Kingdom? As usual, leave it to me to be the responsible one.

Here goes ...

Home from New York, I spent a few quiet days in Cranston at the home of Jelly Sears. Funny thing about our plump canine friend: She loves going upstairs but she hates going down them. So she will wait at the top of the steps, make her sad face and wait for someone to come up just to carry her down. She sure lives the life.

Anyway, the main reason I made the trip when I did was to attend the Big Marriage in swanky, foggy and crowded Newport, Rhode Island. A short rehearsal was scheduled early Friday afternoon, just to run through the actual ceremony. Within minutes of my arriving, I was able to chip off a toe nail of the maid of honor. I still got the skillz.

With a giant circus tent for bumper boats in the background, the pastor raced through the readings and we did all the lineups before the women ran off for nail appointments that probably lasted longer than Ken Burns' Civil War documentary.

Then Zach, Jeff and I huddled into my sister's spiffy Honda Accord (with Sirius!) and drove down to back Cranston to pick up Zach's tux. From there we promptly drove back to Narragansett, where I dropped Zach off and then to Newport to drop Jeff off then back to Narragansett to pick up Zach. So by that time I felt as if I had entered and left Newport that day more than I have my entire life. That could really be true, by the way.

Zach took over the driving part and did some nifty maneuvering past packed Newport traffic to get to Pop! Kitchen where the rehearsal dinner was being held. The whole place was reserved just for us for three hours with free booze and appetizers. Pretty sweet. Then the gauntlet of intros to family members and some long-lost Northeastern acquaintances.

For the first time in years I saw Jeff's parents and probably had my first ever conversation with the bride's mother. She immediately brought up the sore subject of me beating her daughter for the English Award in high school. After hearing that, I decided I had to include something about that in my wedding speech the next day. It can be dangerous to make such last minute changes to a speech I had down pat by that point, but I had to do it.

The night culminated in some very tasty Red Sox-Yankees cake and sweet toast by Jeff's mother before the crowd dispersed. But Mike Grimala had just arrived and was not ready to hit the hay just yet. So Zach, Mike and I hauled off to one of Zach's favorite restaurants, the Brick Alley Pub. Grimey and I ordered the same thing. So what? Wanna fight about it??

I woke up that Friday with a sore throat that only got worse throughout the day. My throat burning and drier than a BBC comedy, I slept maybe three or four hours that night.

We got up early because Jeff was treating the groomsman, Grimey and his dad to some golf in Jamestown. However, to Jeff's consternation, a tournament was scheduled and the golf course basically told us to fuck off. The Schaible Face erupted and I was worried. I didn't want Jeff pissed off like this on his wedding day. Thankfully, we found a more secluded golf course close by. It worked out well. No Schiable face.

I don't golf. I suck at it. I swing and miss when teeing off. I can't get any lift on the ball. I can't pull off the golf shirt. I started out well, hitting a 25-yard tee shot that resembled a grounder to shortstop. I just wanted to keep the ball straight and out of the water or woods. This strategy worked for about three holes. Then some ponds came into play and I self-destructed. So paranoid about hitting into the water, I could barely hit the ball 10 yards and when I did, it went straight into the drink or into some tough rough.

To top it off, I did not wear a hat or sunblock, so the sun fried my forehead. So if I look really red in wedding photos, you know why. I ended up shooting a 60 ... on nine holes. And that 60 is a generous score. Nonetheless, we all enjoyed ourselves (when we were not swearing or tossing clubs around).

From there, the men retreated to dress up time and met a few hours later at the groom's hotel. Looking sharp and damn sexy, we passed the time playing the name game while waiting to take our pre-wedding photos. The photographers took us to the beach where the wedding would be held. On our way, we narrowly avoided a bombing of bird poop. And I'm not kidding when I say narrowly. Whew! That would have been a story to tell ... and a disaster.

I can say I had never been on the beach in a full tux until that day. The whole process was bit weird since I'm not used to being photographed quite like that. We were jumping in the air, contorting out bodies in some strange ways, like "lean to the left, put your right hand in your pocket and look out into the ocean!" or "Jump up and down and do something with your arms!" or "make a cool shadow!"

OK, you're the boss, I thought. I'm sure some of these photos will look quite ridiculous, but that's the point.

The hour of reckoning crept up on us. The chairs were set up. The keyboardist practiced. People started showing up. The wedding arbor, after some strenuous manual labor, was set up. The groom, nice and calm for most of the weekend, started to feel the nerves. I could spot the bride staring down at us from the rotunda window. The pastor arrived. The time was at hand.

The weather could not have been better, by the way. A bright, sunny day. A nice beach breeze. About 80 degrees. They couldn't have asked for better conditions, especially considering the Seattle-type weather the previous week.

Six o'clock came and the men lined up on a concrete platform facing the ocean and waited ...

And we'll have to leave it at that right now before this post turns into a Bill Simmons summer NBA column. Would Jeff's true love Vishal make an appearance and ruin everything? How many stupid faces could I make in the ceremony photographs? Would my Schaibleburg Address be a rousing success or would it meet and awkward, silent, British Office-style death? Would Grimey do "The Grimey" on the dance floor?

Tune in for the shocking season finale.

Dispatches from Rhode Island

Greetings from the Ocean State ...

It's been a wild and crazy excursion so far. Let's start with last Friday, the day of the craziest bachelor party in recorded history.

I traveled up to Boston from Rhode Island early that afternoon on the commuter rail. I can report that the MBTA still sucks. Really, really sucks. No A/C. No lights. And the nice scent of smoke and burnt rubber the whole way. It grew so strong I got nauseous. I was legitimately worried I would throw up on the train.

I did not. I purchased a Coffee Coolata as soon as the ride ended and walked 20 minutes to the hotel. That did the trick.

I met up with the groom and we walked around Boston a little bit, including a memory stroll through the Northeastern campus. We even came across my old professor Linc McKie and talked a good 45 minutes in the school's spiffy new journalism office.

But let's get to the fun part. We assembled at the Pour House at 8 p.m. Zach arrived at the exact same time I predicted in my blog post. I knew I had secret powers. There are no pictures from this event. They've been confiscated for violating decency standards. I can say there was some alcohol, some nachos, drunken basketball in the rain and in the dark, Grimey slipping and falling twice, bloody socks and aliens on the radio.

Other than that, I cannot comment on what may or may have happened.

The three amigos then drove down to Cape Cod for some Chatham Anglers/Yarmouth-Dennis Red Sox action. We reminisced about the old days and even tried to come up with the top stories for each of us. In some later post, perhaps I will expound on mine because there were quite a few humiliating tales.

The three of us don't get to hang out that much anymore, so it was very nice to have a couple days. Some innocent games of catch. Some mean, mean heat from Cuban defector/pitcher El Searso. Some Pour House food. Some indie music and insufferable Morrissey. Exactly what I planned. I wanted one last "free" weekend to do the stuff we used to do for five years in college and that's what we did.

That's not to say I don't think we'll ever hang out like that again, but as the years go by, it does become harder and harder. Geography gets in the way. More and more responsibilities come into play and free time seems harder and harder to come by. Meshing schedules can sometimes be harder than a Rubik's cube. That's just the way life is, so I'm glad we at least got one "just the boys" type trip in before baldness, beer bellies and bunions kick in.

The three-day wedding extravaganza begins tomorrow. I will be sure to report back on that and on my short stay in the New York/New Jersey area. I spend a few days in Hoboken, N.J., and the mayor gets arrested?

Coincidence? I'll report. You'll decide.

Cocaine, Whores and Chicken Parm: A Vistior's Guide to Jeff Schaible's Bachelor Party

On Friday, July 17th in Boston, Massachusetts, men and woman from all over the globe will converge to celebrate the last day of freedom for Jeffrey Robert Vanderwal Schaible (aka Suliman al-Schibabble, aka Jezvavanov Schizbabbleniet, aka El Jefe, aks Schaibletonious the Narcissistic).

It will be a joyous night of stimulating conversation and prodigious amounts of illegal stimulants. Here's the breakdown of the glorious night.

7 p.m.

The preparations will be made at the Pour House in Boston. Red carpets will be unfurled. Gold statues of tigers, eagles and Simple Plan will be displayed. A lavish feast of chicken parm burgers, onion dip pizza and un-chewable beef strips will be prepared by the greatest chefs in the world, from Boyardee to Uncle Tony.

The Master of Ceremonies Steve Sears will overlook all preparations with an iron fist. If the French burgers (raw hamburger meat served on french bread) is not up to specification, Sears will scream, "Not like this!" to the mortified cooks.

7:30

A shipment of Russian, Croatian and Turkish whores will be shipped. Sears will inspect the street walkers. They'll wait in the truck until they're needed.

7:48

The groomsman will arrive in limousines and coats made of fur taken from chipmunks and kittens. They will take their seats in the V.I.P. section.

7:54

Truck loads of cocaine will arrive. Sears will also inspect.

8:00

The festivities begin with a song by American Idol winner David Cook. Other acts will include the sissified Starbucks music Schaible enjoys. Then, in a grand finale, the mysterious Mike Grimala will take the stage to perform his Hot 100 hit, "Hey, What's Up."

8:18

Jeff Schaible arrives, escorted by 23 gorgeous Pour House waitresses. The number 23 is an homage to Yankees great Don Mattingly. The announcer, Chuckles Fountain, will call the groom-t0-be Jarf Shay-bile.

8:30

With no shame, Schaible will order long island iced teas for the entire crowd. When no one is looking, Sears will sneak in a margarita instead.

8:37

Sears will begin with a small toast, recounting the time he beat Jeff in H-O-R-S-E one day and Jeff took out a machine gun and riddled the basketball with bullets. Then he set fire to the Marino Center. And he dropped boiling acid onto the sidewalk, killing several pedestrians. So Steve said Schaible was "insanely competitive" and Jeff never forgot it. He's so insanely competitive that he had to be the first to get married. The whole group will find this story hilarious.

9:02

After some drinks, dinner is served. Chicken parm burgers, onion dip pizza, New England Soup Factory soup, stone cold, rock hard beef strips and "Instant crap" Northeastern cafeteria delicacies are enjoyed.

9:23

Zach Hosseini arrives.

9:35

Hosseini and Grimala engage in a heated debate on whether Ryan Freel's on-base percentage against left-handers will equal Jeremy Hermida's on-base percentage on Sundays against pitchers born in the '80s.

9:45

Sears tries to persuade Schaible to dress up as Super Mario for the wedding. The bride would no doubt be pleasantly surprised, but Schaible is dubious. Schaible changes the subject and asks Sears which team he should build his next 15-minute dynasty around in MLB '09 on the Playstation Wii or whatever the kids have these days. Sears tells him he should be the Reds. Schaible will choose the Nationals instead with plans on a lineup of Carl Crawford, Willie Harris, Jacoby Ellsbury, Brett Gardner, Willie McGee, Darren Lewis, Donnie Sadler, Reggie Willits and Willie Mays Hayes.

10:00

It's time to bring out the drugs and the whores! And absinthe!

1:45 a.m.

Sears awakes to a horrid scene. Puke all over the walls and floor. Passed out, naked prostitutes. A llama wearing a cowboy hat. John Daly in pajamas. Hosseini sitting on a recliner, snoring, just ten minutes after putting a movie in the DVD player. Mike Grimala is bald. Schaible is no where to be found.

2:00

A cursory examination of the premises reveals no sight of Schaible. The only trace of him is a tattered gray hoodie with tomoto sauce stains found in the bathroom.

2:10

After arguing for 10 minutes, Hosseini brow beats Sears into calling the bride-to-be with the bad news.

2:11

Sears leaves to make the call.

2:18

Sears returns, his face a pale white. He reports that the call included 13 death threats and 77 curse words. The phrase "You find him or I'll rip your (bleeping) heart out you f&^%stick sheep*&^#er ass&^$# co&^di*& motherf&^#er" may have come up.

2:22

Hosseini takes charge, dispatching Grimala to Chinatown, Sears to Dorchester and himself to Boston Shawarma.

2:34

Instead of going to Chinatown, Grimala goes home to do push-ups and listen to U2 B-sides.

3:32

Sears finds Hosseini in the Shawarma, which is amazingly open for business. Sears has been shot four times and has been called "Whitey," "Cleetus" and "Neil Goldman" by Dorchester street toughs.

3:34

In an effort to cheer up Sears, Hosseini takes out a guitar and sings the chorus to the his best folk hit.

It's a Schaible kind of life / Full of chicken parm and strife / If you ain't ahead of the game / You ain't livin' right / It's a Schaible kind of life

3:42

The Pour House calls Sears irate that there are 23 passed out hookers in the bar and Colombian Street Powder all over the floors. Sears hangs up. Hosseini figures they both should flea to the woods of Maine and hope Schaible shows up before the bride's hit squad discovers where they are.

3:45

Hosseini urges Sears to agree to film gay porno called "Do Ass, Don't Tell: The Backdoor Story of Rear Admirar Steven Rears." He cautions Sears that "You will get reamed in the ass many times." Sears says, "As long as it's by Tom Brady, I'll take it like a champ."

8:42 a.m.

Sears and Hosseini steal a car from Mission Hill. They don't know it's Jeff's car. They drive off, all the time unaware that Schaible, dressed in a bumblebee outfit is busy purchasing a mandolin and a motorcycle.

THE END

All about Steve

This guy and this gal are getting married. Big deal, right? People get married all the time.

The real main event on July 25th will be ... me.

Yes, I, Stephen R. Sears, will be giving a speech after we rush though all the opening acts, like the marriage and stuff. Kind of like how you wait the trailers before the feature presentation. It's not every day where I give a speech. Actually, I've never really given one. Hence, all the excitement. The Providence Journal called my speech the most anticipated event in Rhode Island history after the unveiling of the Potato Head statues.

To reward my loyal readers, I hereby present you an early version of my speech. I have slaved over all the words and I know this will be a grand slam.

Here goes.

Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming here today. I, for one, just flew in from Florida, and boy, is airline food bad these days or what?? (BREAK FOR LAUGHTER) I haven't had food this bad since the last time my wife cooked dinner! (LAUGHTER)

Hoo boy. I congratulate the beautiful couple. Marriage is a beautiful thing. They say a good man needs a good wife, but I think buying a dishwasher is cheaper. (UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER) A dishwasher doesn't nag as much, you know what I'm sayin'? (MORE LAUGHTER) And it's better in bed. (LAUGHTER WON'T STOP) Yeah, the guys here know what I'm sayin.'

And you know how black people are all like, "Wassup?" (LAUGHTER) And white people are like, "Hello, kind sir?" (LAUGHTER) What's the deal with that?

Anyway, marriage is great, isn't it? You know the best part about marriage? (PAUSE) When it ends. (UNCONTROLLED LAUGHTER)

But seriously, it's a joyous occasion. If you watch any television, you'll know how Jeff will be from now on. He will sit on his couch and watch the local sporting event while Emily does all the work of the suspiciously clean, ceiling-less house. Jeff will forget all the important dates and even his kids' names. And these kids will look nothing like them. They'll be Asian with red hair or something. And Jeff will always come perilously close to ruining the family before Emily comes in and saves the day -- but not before a whole bunch of family-friendly fun. (LAUGHTER)

There will be the hilarious day when Jeff tapes over the tape of this wedding for a Yankees-Royals game in May. Oh boy will Emily be pissed. (LAUGHTER) Jeff will try many things to right his mistake and fail miserably, but Emily will forgive him. Just wait until he schedules a golf date with his boorish, idiotic, out-of-shape buddies on their five-year anniversary. Won't that be a riot? (LAUGHTER)

Oh, men are stupid, aren't they? Lazy, forgetful, afraid of commitment, but always loveable. Jeff is none of these. (LAUGHTER)

You know you're a Schaible if your favorite pizza topping is another pizza. (LAUGHTER)

You know you're a Schaible if you're in a cafe in Paris, France and order a hamburger. (LAUGHTER)

You know you're a Schaible if you swing helpless at a 50-mph super changeup from Steve Sears. (SPATTERING OF LAUGHTER)

But, seriously folks, we're all happy for him and for his lovely wife. The ceremony was fun and all, but let's get to the real stuff. Me. (APPLAUSE) Thank you for dressing up so nice for me today. And ordering all this nice food. And the nice beach-front rotunda. You're all too kind.

The truth is, our married couple would not be here today if it weren't for me. I introduced them. I introduced their parents to each other and am therefore responsible for their very existence. (APPLAUSE) I've probably saved the lives of everyone in the room in ways both large and small. (APPLAUSE)

(DRAMATIC PAUSE) Why do I do it? Why do I always help people out so much? Why am I such a great person? I ask myself this question every day. The truth is, I don't want to know. Because if I do, I might stop. I might feel satisfied.

That must not and will not happen, my friends. I will strive to improve the lives of everyone I meet. (APPLAUSE) It melts my heart to see all you here, celebrating me. It's about time someone honored me. I deserve it. So dance for me tonight, people. Dance ... for ... me! (STANDING OVATION) Thank you! You're too kind. Too kind. Thank you! And please, leave the presents with Zach. He'll bring them to me. Thank you!

That's what I have for now. I'm still working on a dramatic exit involving a helicopter, explosions and unicorns. You'll have to wait until D-Day to see that. Let me know if you have any compliments/praise for this speech.