The only answer to the question “Who in the hell doesn’t serve cake at their wedding?” has sadly been answered. When Natalie Portman married that French dude who can tickle the air with his pointed feet, she had a strictly vegan menu, she wore an Italian toddler’s communion dress circa 1964 and instead of delicious cake, she served French macarons. Some whores go to weddings to see two hos unite their love in front of God or whatever, but I only go to weddings for the cake (even if the cake is a sheet cake from Sam’s Club) and for the open bar (even if the open bar is a plastic trash can full of ice bags and Coors).
People says that Natalie’s reputation as a snobby leaf-humper of the highest degree remains intact, because she used local wildflowers instead of having flowers flown in and didn’t serve anything that used to have a face on it to her 60 guests, which included Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols, supposed heroin head Macaulay Culkin, Rashida Jones and Ivanka Trump. And again, she didn’t serve CAAAAAAAAAKE!
I can eat a wooden bowl full of dehydrated baby’s breath covered in kale foam as long as I know I’m getting some kind of delicious cake afterward. Yes, one can try to say that macarons are kind of like the French babies of CAKE, but it’s still not CAKE. I wanna eat the mother! If Natalie Portman ever gets married again and you’re invited to the wedding, make sure to call the local pizza place before the ceremony and tell them to meet you in the parking lot about 10 minutes into the reception. You’ll be the one standing by the rented Dodge, holding the box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes your ass bought at the nearest gas station.
When I first wrote about Natalie Portman’s wedding, I was going to say that she probably each of her guests a baby tree as a parting gift. I was close, because she gave them a packet of wildflower seeds. WILDFLOWER SEEDS! That way each guest can plant those seeds in their backyard and every time they look at those flowers, they can think of how Natalie’s cake-hating hippie ass drove them to suck down a log of Quarter Pounders smothered in Duncan Hines frosting at 3am in their hotel room. I mean, she didn’t have CAKE! Illegal!