The dirty, dusty, forgotten town of.....Forgotten experiences the Stockholm Syndrome.

Nobody was surprised when Lassiter, the stone cold, professional killer for hire, announced that he was going to get married. Everybody assumed that sooner or later he would finally make an honest women out of Kitty, the rough ridden and put away wet Lady of the Evening, plying her trade at The Hole in the Wall Saloon in the dirty, dusty, forgotten town of.....Forgotten. As successful as Lassiter was as a gun slinger for hire, he hadn't found much happiness in his personal life. You see, Lassiter walked out on his first wife leaving her and their two children poorly equipped to unsuccessfully fend for themselves. With his first wife dead, son Kid Lassiter estranged, and daughter, Minerva, struggling with her own family, certainly Lassiter deserved some happiness in his attempt to start over. On the day of the wedding, the whole town showed up at the small frontier Parrish appropriately named, Our Lady of Perpetual Grief and Aggravation. Father O'Brien, the alcoholic priest, well aware of the importance of this momentous occasion, stopped drinking two days prior and was shaking like a leaf, probably from the DT's, (Delirium Tremors.) As Homer, the freakishly thin, tall, lanky, never married, musician started pounding out the processional on the old chamber pipe organ, the crowd became silent. The doors of the Narthex opened and in walked.......Inge Anderson, Lassiter's bride, a twenty year old, smoking hot, Swedish super model with natural platinum blonde hair dressed in a stunning white satin wedding dress tailored expertly to accentuate every part of her perfect "10" body. The future Mrs. Colton Lassiter proceeded to walk towards the alter. With the sun to her back, the rays bathed her body producing a warm, soft, halo of golden yellow light surrounding her flawless face and head. As if taken over by the Holy Spirit, the men in the room dropped to their knees, prosthelytized. Overcome by her intoxicating beauty, as if experiencing a mass religious conversion, the men began sobbing and babbling in tongues. The prurient interest was palpable. Meanwhile, the women in attendance couldn't help but feel......disgusted, with a sense of nauseating revolt as they witnessed Inge's effect on their simple frontier men. Their feelings intensified as they heard these men say in unison, "Yes sweet Jesus, there truly is a God Almighty." [Note: This mass effect of one person on so many has been extensively studied by professionals and is now widely known as The Stockholm Syndrome.] Inge walked down the center aisle like it was a fashion runway in Paris or Milano and stood next to Lassiter whose face merely expressed, "it is what it is." The now sober, trembling, Father O'Brien, better known for his proclivity for younger members of his own sex, did not seemed to be influenced by Inge's overwhelming presence and after regaining control over the rabble proceeded in a monotone, drab, dull, almost uninterested voice with the wedding ceremony. After the obligatory "I do's" to the question, "Will you Inge promise to honor and obey," Father O'Brien pronounced them "Man and Wife." the newlyweds turned to walk out of the church after being introduced as Mr. And Mrs. Colton NMI Lassiter. Before exiting, Lassiter extended an invitation for all to join them for wedding cake and a dram of cask strength single malt Scotch whisky at The Hole in the Wall Saloon at 5:00 PM sharp. At precisely 5:00 o'clock the doors of The Hole in the Wall Saloon pushed open and in stampeded the anxious crowd trampling over Kitty's body who was passed out drunk on the dirty floor of the saloon. Minerva, Lassiter's daughter, cut and served the wedding cake made by Molly, the proprietor of Molly's Eatery. Lassiter poured drams of Ardbeg, 21 year old, 56.3 vol, with a creamy pale Nordic gold color, firm, taught maritime nose, fruit and pastry taste, and a coal tar, smoke and phenol finish. Inge seemed to thoroughly enjoy the crude accolades as she was fawned over by the filthy, unshaven, uncouth, drooling and giddy frontier men in the receiving line. Sláinte, Tommy Maaltman