Duggar Themselves Into a Deep, Deep Hole

As a rule, I do not enjoy reality television any more than inmates enjoy cavity searches. I don't like watching alleged grown-ups fight for the title of Most Meaningless Asshole, and Winner Of $1 Million Which They Will Neglect To Pay Income Tax On So They Can Go On Oprah Later And Whine About Their Issues. (WOOMDWTWNTPITOSTCGOOLWATI for short, or as seen in Swedish)

I make an exception, when LB isn't looking, for shows involving babies, because I love babies when they belong to someone else and can't get their goo-goo and what-not on me. I also will sometimes lower my expectations and gag reflex, and watch shows that make me feel surprisingly normal by comparison. This is cheaper than paying to ride the city bus, which is usually the only way I feel normal when compared to other humans. It's hard not to, when you're seated between Sammy the iPod Sing-Along, and the woman who has either a lazy eye or active hepatitis.

Fortunately and for free, the Duggar Family provides both babies and squirrel-shit nuttiness on their TLC show, 18 Kids And Stop Inseminating Me Every Time I Turn Around, You Reckless One-Man Stud Shop. I don't normally spend my hard-earned free time taking fashion tips from the family that 18-handedly supports the Jean Jumper Industry, but last night I stumbled upon the Duggar Family Wedding Special and, train-wreck aficionado that I am, I handed over my eyeballs and dignity and settled in.

For those of you who missed the headlines in Bizarro Baptist Weekly, the Duggar's 20-year-old first-born Joshua married fellow Crazy In The Lord, 19-year-old Anna, in September. (Yeah, I'm behind--it's just how I roll.) This made news because train wrecks always do, and also because Josh and Anna decided to "court" instead of dating, which means their agitated, frustrated, sweaty outings to Applebee's to share Cheeseburger Sliders (but not that slippery; we're Christians!) were always supervised by some adult complaining about how his glass of Tang left a water ring on his bring-along Bible.

The weirdest part about courting is that Josh and Anna wanted their Chastity Charlie around at all times to prove that they did not kiss before their wedding. As Josh said, "We wanted proof that, yes, we did exactly what we said we would," showing the world that third graders in the back corner of the playground get more action. Well, I too have proof that I did what I said I would, mostly in the form of pictures slathered all over Facebook during college, evidencing the nights where I stayed true to my pledge to go shot-for-shot with my fratty friends, and to go home wearing at least half those used shots on my platform Candies'. (Shut up, it was the turn of the century!)

The whole day of the wedding, leading up to the Ceremonial First Kiss and Face-Mauling, poor Anna looked like a lamb being led to slaughter--probably because there was no glass of bubbly to take her mind off the fact that that night, she would be the placid victim of an extreme, but extremely short-lived, sexual monsoon. Yeah. No booze, 25 miniature squawking rednecks in short-sleeved formalwear, and at least twice that many references to the fact that Josh was about ready to nail the nearest mailbox if they didn't get this sideshow on the road, pronto. Oh, jitters!

They fiiiiiinally made it to the altar, once their 10 bridesmaids and 6 bottles of hair gel had oozed down the aisle, and they pledged to love, honor, and dress each other in poor taste so as to discourage others from looking, so long as they both should live. It was lovely and touching and when they fiiiiiiiinally went to kiss, Josh all but chowed her mouth and snapped her neck, much like I assume a kiss would go down in "Twilight," had I not been so frat-party drunk when I saw that stupid movie that I can't remember if they ever kissed or just stuck with skulking around the screen, being emo and husking, "whatever, Dad" for two horrid hours. That movie blew like a dry wedding.

Which brings me to my next point: This was a dry wedding, which I 100% believe should be illegal worldwide, so the party was basically a bake sale in the church gymnasium. Before the wedding one of the camera guys had been talking to Daddy Duggar about the party, and when the camera guy said, "So there's no alcohol?" Jim Bob Duggar (sadly, his real name) said, "Nope, no booze, no dancin', just havin' a great time!"

No alcohol? No dancing? And people are expected enjoy this? How now, church cow?

I guess I knew they didn't drink, but I had never really thought about the fact that a lot of whack jobs don't dance--I mean, clearly the mom can't dance, since it's impossible to get down with your bad self when you're constantly standing in a field giving birth. But no wedding conga line? No celebratory Macarena? I guess to be fair, I have to be real and admit that if there's no bar, there sure as hell will be no Macarena.

Watching all the Duggar merry-makers celebrate their newlyweds with pleated skirts and really bitchin' chicken salad rolls, I was reminded of my own raucous wedding reception, and I felt so blissfully normal in comparison. Because clearly you're normal if your wedding doesn't involve pleated skirts and sherbet punch, but does involve one of your aunts wandering into the garden, stripping off her "uncomfortable" panty hose, stripping off her "uncomfortable" underwear, and trying to get some of the other guests to "smoke weed" with her.

Hey man, it's all relative.