Also known as: 'What am I doing with my life?'

It took only three and a half weeks for them to decide to be married.
It was pretty clear that biological melding was out of the question, one of them being a series of withered limbs and flesh locked in a steel suit, and the other one being a mainly theoretical concept.
Soul bonding, too, wasn't possible, because every time they tried it, the resulting philosophical argument locked everyone up, to the point that the shaman had to close up shop for the night and kick them out of his tent.
Dramatically and romantically committing suicide definitely wasn't an option, because Desdendelle's family didn't even hate flies, and stock poetry was born from the collective consciousness of human culture, which, in itself, wasn't known for blood feuds.
It struck him like an angry pinball, and dinged and bounced around his skull, knocking things to the floor, shattering vases and making a general mess.
‘We should get married!' He exclaimed.
Stock poetry agreed.

The marriage went smoothly like a pancake.
There was Key and Capslock, vehemently denying their irrepressible lusts for each other in the front row; Tomash working on the Nameless Admin's ‘software' in the corner; Fasoula passionately caressing a ceramics store just on the other side of the street; Iximaz casually talking up her grilled cheese sandwich, and, of course, Huinesoron, who was still horrifically injured after the Valentine's day incident, when an anomalously large collection of chocolate and romantic gifts flooded through his front door and broke his arms, his legs, his coccyx, his left pinkie, but, fortunately, not his will to live.
They said their vows (well, Des did, anyway, actually possessing a mouth) and rode off into the distance for their honeymoon, which will go unmentioned, except that it involved a replica of the Mona Lisa, two tubs of butter, a fake koala, a real koala, a lot of illegal activities, and a small furred mammal that looked very similar to a koala, but wasn't.

They lasted for nine years before it all started falling apart.
Des missed his old, carefree days of hooking up with anything remotely Israeli, any person involved with tea, or Huinesoron.
Especially Huinesoron.
Everybody in every relationship missed hooking up with Huinesoron.
Stock poetry was tired of him, too.
It was on the eleventh year when she cheated on him with her helicopter instructor.
Des knew exactly what was going on, for he was aware that all evil in the world somehow, no matter how indirectly, came from helicopter instructors.
He barged into the bedroom, tears flowing from his face like a million clumsy maids in a banana-peeling factory.
‘Why, stock poetry?'
‘Dude, am I drunk, or something?' The helicopter instructor hissed evilly.
‘You-you used me!'
‘Damn. Sorry, dude,' The helicopter instructor growled, blood dripping from his jaws, as he pulled himself off the bed and exited the room, presumably to find a puppy orphanage to burn down with a kick from his flaming foot.
'Why? WHHHYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!' Des screamed, using a whole seven exclamation marks, the maniac.

And that's the tragedy of Desdendelle and stock poetry.
Desdendelle eventually went on to become a famous musician, and died after an argument involving the future of the band turned violent. Oddly enough, he never had a band - he was a lone singer.
Stock poetry enlisted in Vietnam, and was killed by Catullus' poetry.
The helicopter instructor continued teaching people how to drive cars. He also continued lying to everybody.
Larfen J. Stocke, esq, did absolutely nothing with his life and officially stopped existing around 2023 after reality decided to replace him with something more useful, like a cockroach.
The cockroach eventually grew up to become a helicopter instructor, and had a brief romantic stint with stock poetry.
The lamp in the corner of the room continued to be a lamp, though, its secret ambition to become an electric torch never left its mind.
The shaman quit his job, tired of arguing with all the couples who wanted soul-bonding, and, also, became a helicopter instructor.
This joke continued to do what it did best, until Larfen got tired of it and stopped typing.
And, of course, Huinesoron continued to be literally the sexiest thing in existence, and a few things that didn't.