THE EXTREMELY BRIEF FIRST MARRIAGE OF MARTIN RAINER
by Matthew Sanborn Smith
The twenty-third century saw limitless wonders and Martin was able to do things that no one from any previous time could have done, like marry a woman made of soup.
Upon returning from his disastrous honeymoon, her mother, a vat of boiling water, wept uncontrollably (although no one would have known if she hadn't told them). No criminal charges were pressed, but the girl's father, a weird conglomeration of dried pasta, chicken and veggies, sued Martin for everything he had. He contended that Martin should have known better than to bring his new bride on a jaunt four-hundred years away in Victorian London. On the very first day the poor thing was slurped into oblivion by a wild pack of street urchins.
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