Tell me again why girls like boys.

Fortune tellers have prophesized that I would get married.
At the age of 28, to be precise.
(The plural was deliberate.)

It will most definitely 100% be to a girl.
100-fucking-percent.
NO SHIT.
In a castle.
In Scotland.
And I will wear a red frock.
And she will wear a Steampunk outfit.

And there will be candles and we will ride into the sunset on a pink horse with a cone on its head so it'd resemble a unicorn and our guests will be forced to dress in black to signify the death of juvenile relationships and freedom. And the dinner reception will be a literal bed of crimson roses and we will play Dubstep and do drugs and eventually we will all lie down and when everyone's asleep, I will nick off on my wife's butt for her to remember me by before hopping cheerfully off a cliff.

Because if I do get married, that would mean I am way overdue with dying.