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 fiancé 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.