The "pastor" presiding over my aunt's country-fried Arkansas wedding is from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. He's wearing a tutu and quoting from the Princess Bride movie like it is his Friday night stand-up set.

We don't have helmets. I'm a new rider. It is dark. I'm not sure about the wisdom of riding with two women on the back of my motorcycle on these dangerous jungle roads. “Yeah, let’s do this.”