Good girls wear white. Bad girls wear white anyway.

We've all heard of wedding-day disasters, like when a jealous ex-lover crashes the ceremony and causes a scene, or the photographer cancels at the last minute.

Now let me tell you about my wedding day - the day thousands of demonic spiders chased my fiance and me off the elevator and into the Devil's den. And don't get me started on hellacious honeymoons. I spent the night shaking horny Monkey Hitler off my leg.

Instead of sipping margaritas on a sunny beach with a rock on my finger and the man of my dreams beside me, I'm demonic and deserted, stuck inside Hell's Hotel with a bad case of fleas, praying our sadistic host doesn't throw us out.

To say my wedding day was a disaster would have to be the understatement of the millennium. I just hope our friends can save us before it's too late, because that squirming thing on my fork definitely doesn't taste like chicken, and I forgot to pack my SPF 10,000 sunblock.

Contains mature themes.

Tara West