Hi, I’m Chris Christie, governor of New Jersey. Many of you heard I recently dropped my appeal of same sex marriages in my home state. Political ramifications aside, I feel I can no longer sit in judgement of my brothers and sisters, pursuing only what their hearts desire. So while I look the other way on this issue I personally feel strongly about, I ask that everyone look the other way while I announce my engagement to a delicious double bacon cheeseburger.
I know what you’re thinking: Governor Christie, aren’t you a staunch Catholic Republican? I may have strong, traditional beliefs, but who am I to judge what love is? Who’s to say it can’t exist between a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or a man and two succulent, all-beef patties topped with crispy bacon and gooey cheddar? Who among us hasn’t yearned to look deep into the eyes, or iceberg lettuce, of another and know you’ve found your soulmate? And then take that greasy concoction and do unmentionable things to it in the confines of your own bedroom, making sure to bring plenty of those napkins McDonald’s gave you?
I’ll tell you who might have done all that: Jesus Christ, if they had cheeseburgers back then.
Many of my fellow conservatives disagree with my decision, and I respect that. It wasn’t an easy one. But I knew that if I was to going to pursue my perverse desire to join a greasy, decadent cheeseburger in holy matrimony, it would be hypocritical of me to stand in the way of gays doing the same with other gay people. I won’t judge homosexuals when they do what they do, and hopefully they won’t judge me when I get down on one knee to sing Boyz 2 Men’s “I’ll Make Love To You,” to something that came out the back of a Fuddrucker’s.
One argument you’ll often hear from those on the far right: “If we let gays marry, who else can get married? Do we let animals get married? Where’s the line?” The line is cheeseburgers, that’s where. Let me put it another way: you shouldn’t be able to marry a cow grazing in a field. But a dead cow, cooked and slapped onto a Kaiser roll? Yes. You should be able to marry that. I should be able to marry that. Dear God, please let this work. Please let me be able to marry this piece of food. I hate my wife.
Oh, and for those of you who may claim this represents polyamory because it’s a double cheeseburger? Now you’re just being patently ridiculous.
I can even see the ceremony now, in my mind’s eye. On one side, my friends and family. Even my soon-to-be ex-wife, bedgrudgingly admitting that the love between me and my double bacon cheeseburger cannot be denied. On the other side, the bride’s family: some cows. A block of cheddar cheese. A bottle of ketchup, mustard, and mayo. Maybe a few sliced onions. Everyone sheds tears as the bacon double cheeseburger enters, looking beautiful in a full wedding dress, to Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Both of us weep tears of joy as I lift the veil over its head. Since it doesn’t have a father, some fat cook wearing a greasy apron gives it away, telling me to take good care of his creation. I tearfully assure him I will, and that I will wait until at least after the reception to eat it.
I ask all my friends on the right: look inside your heart. Our forefathers told us all human beings deserve the right to pursue happiness. Let’s not stand in the way of two people’s love for each other. And while we’re at it, just let me convince a judge to officiate a ceremony between me and a burger and then aggressively ravage said burger to the point where everyone else at Wendy’s gets uncomfortable.