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Rise Of The Wedding Planner

Dulma Dawson had just been hired to plan Lucy Lucky’s wedding. He called her from his home office to update her on his progress.

“Good news, Ms. Lucky! I think I just might have found the perfect husband for you!”

“What?” Ms. Lucky said, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I always like to start with the basics. Can’t very well plan a wedding if you don’t have a groom, can we? Now, I think my son Morlf would make a perfect candidate, he rarely cries and only occasionally wets the carpet.”

“Wait,” Ms. Luck said. “Morlf? I just heard you say his name and I still don’t know how to pronounce it.”

“Oh don’t worry about all that,” Dawson said. “He won't hear you anyway. He’s deaf. Hasn’t been able to hear a thing since he shot himself to the moon in his cannon. I think he also suffered a little brain damage. He says everything backwards and can light candles simply by staring at them. I mean, at least he’d be useful when the power goes out.”

“I’m sure he would be,” Ms. Luck said. “But I already have a fiance. I don’t need your assistance in that department.”

Dawson paused. “Well, why are you paying for my services if you don’t need them? Don’t tell me you’ve also purchased a ring.”

“I have.”

“Well this is just silly,” Dawson said. “All that leaves is the planning of the actual ceremony. And that’s just fluff and pageantry. Who needs it?”

“I’m so sorry,” Ms. Luck said. “You’re right. I skipped ahead. Don’t you feel like a sucker? Now there’s barely any point in your existing at all.”

She was right. “Madame, soon I shall find the largest bridge in the land and heave myself off of it. But first, won’t you answer me one simple question: Why did you do it? Why did you want to torture me so?”

“Because, silly,” Ms. Luck said, “Morlf is my fiance! Who do you think had a trampoline waiting for him when he fell back to earth?”

“Oh, that’s still no good,” Dawson said. “Not at all. I still haven’t planned your marriage. You still did it on your own. Guess I’ll have to go find that bridge.”

“But there’s still so much to plan!” Ms. Luck said. “You think that finding a great pig snout carver is mere fluff? You think that finding an octogenarian mudfish that plays the bagpipes is going to be easy?”

Dawson swelled with pride. “Well, I suppose it’s not all pageantry. There’s a real art to planning a ceremony. I mean, maybe I could also find you a whistling yak or an uptight clown with wheezing fits. Would you like that?”

“That would be wonderful - Dad!”

“It’s going to be great having you as a daughter-in-law,” Dawson said. They talked pleasantly for another thirty minutes or so before they finally hung up.

Dawson went outside, got in his cannon, and shot himself to the moon.


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