I haven’t kept up on Townhall as much as I should so I was surprised to see that my buddy, The Virgin Ben, had gone Full Metal Conjugal back in July with his new bride, the now Mrs. Probably Not A Virgin Ben. I assume my wedding invitation was lost in the mail. As he wrote in his Townhall column:
I got married last week. Hence my absence from this space for the first time in seven years. It was a beautiful wedding in Acre, Israel, overlooking the ocean at sunset. My father wrote the music for the processional, which brought everyone to tears. My bride looked stunning, of course. We broke the glass, we danced, we ate and we celebrated until deep into the night.
Outside the wedding hall stood a guard. Every wedding in Israel requires an armed guard to prevent terrorist attacks. Only the armed guards prevent the infliction of mass casualties at joyous events; only the armed guards protect the ceremonies that act as the foundation stones to civilization.
In the general war against Islamofascism, civilization requires three elements. First, civilization requires building blocks — families dedicated to teaching traditional values, freedom and liberty to future generations. Second, civilization requires the armed guard — the men and women willing to put themselves on the line to protect those building blocks. Third, civilization requires leaders.
You have to appreciate how Ben juxtaposes the joyful wedding with the existential threat of Islamofascist wedding crashing. This is the circle of life : you become a man, you marry, and then Muslims invade your wedding and try and eat all deviled eggs and knishes before Uncle Saul and Aunt Rose can even get out of the Buick. Ach! Such a world we live in.
Anyway, sometime during the week of July 7-13th The Virgin Ben became a man (How does that happen? Answer here). I like to think that sometime during that blessed day Ben thought of me as he was sweating and thrusting into… his tux. That he thought, "Oh boy. I’m gonna show that tbogg guy tonight! I’ma get me a piece of that. Virgin no mo! Boy I’m gonna give it to her but goo– Oh shit! Shitshitshitshitshit! Not again. Let’s see…what the refractory period for a twenty-four year old? Okay. Calm down. I’m good. I’m good. Where’s my other pants?"
Nowadays, Post-Virgin Ben and Mrs. Ben have moved back to California where he is being harassed by Islamocaltransworkers and we discover that the twenty-something year old newlyweds can’t think of anything to do in a car trapped and not moving on the freeway for three hours in the middle of the night.
How very very sad.