The Toast at the Anniversary Party, and All I Hadn't Wanted to Say in It

Whosoever jumped out of the cake screwed the groom. Whosoever jumped out of the bride screwed them both, later in life. Screwed them figuratively. And that was a figure formed by happenstance, not an actual happening. Not like whosoever it was jumped out of the cake and the groom. Screwed the groom, I mean. But not jumped out of the groom. Only the bride. Someone jumped out of the bride, that is. And whosoever jumped out of the bride and went and screwed both bride and groom later in life, whosoever that was wasn't me. Though I too jumped out of the bride. Or, slipped out of the bride. Was expelled from the bride. The state I was in. In the bride. Before I "jumped" out of the bride. You expect little from that state. Much silent contemplation. Little occasions of uproar. Inklings of consciousness. An explosion of confusion. Shivering, shivering, complaining confusion. And then there is this lifetime of nothing but anticipation. One anticipation gathers others behind it. They bunch and they clot. And jump from cakes.

That is the nature of our existence. I say.

What was I saying?

Oh. I was on the betrayal of the bride and the groom. Whosoever betrayed the bride and the groom--you who jumped from the bride a few years later than I--please stay seated here next to me. Let us instead introduce whosoever it was who jumped out of the cake and screwed the groom. Bring her forward, invitation in hand. Up to the front, where we can examine her. And let us, for the rest of our time together, in the safe, happy evening no longer available to us, go off our note cards. As I have. Of necessity. In such a circumstance as this. We'll now raise a glass to the circumstance and the cake and the empty, empty chairs before us. Where sat the bride and the groom. Now screwed.

About the author:

Matthew Simmons, the web editor for, lives in Seattle with his cat, Emmett. He is The Man Who Couldn't Blog (