Alf & Laura

27 . 8 . 22

We’re having a wedding and there’s nothing you can do about it, fuckers. That’s right, we’re going to marry the crap out of each other and rub it in the stupid faces of all those we hold dear.

And guess what? We’re going to do it in Portugal, so you’ll have to get on a god damn plane if you want a big meaty slice of this heartwarming action.

3pm, Saturday 27 August 2022.

At Quinta Nova da Carnota, Estrada Nacional, 2580-131, Cadafais, Alenquer, Portugal.


If you like romance, prepare to shit a heart-shaped brick. While some weddings tug at your heartstrings, ours will feel like somebody tied your heartstrings to a herd of particularly skittish wildebeest and yelled LION THERE’S A LION FUCKING RUN! – ripping your heartstrings out at the seams and leaving you unable to ever again feel the warm glow of human emotion. There’ll be music, vows, feelings, all that shit. Not to mention Laura absolutely killing it in a dress so freaking elegant you’ll feel like a boxcar-hopping hobo by comparison.


This place so fucking picturesque your eyes will probably melt and drip gloops of eye gunge all over the ornate ceramic tilework. We’re talking a traditional Portuguese country villa pimped out with palm trees, ornamental horse carts and vinyards. That’s right, vinyards. Those bitching fields of grapes that go on and on for basically ever because if you can grow freaking wine why the hell would you grow anything else?


You’d better invest in some elasticated pregnancy chinos now because your waistline is going bye bye. First you’re going to shovel down enough aperitivos sólidos to dam a river. The waiter will be all, “Are you sure you want another?” and you’ll just look him square in the eye as you smush another fofo de bacalhau against the solid mass of half-chewed food holding your jaw permanently open.

Then the minute you sit down at your table it’s gonna be like BLAMMO! Gorge yourself on this fucking delectable plate of lombinhos de porco ibérico, asshole. And don’t you dare say you’re full because there are 50 gazillion desserts on the menu ready to KO you through the sheer power of cake. Consider yourself warned.

What’s that? You don’t eat meat or dairy? Well get your vego ass ready because we’re coming at you with animal-friendly aveludado de cenoura, salada de frutas and sobremesas ga-fucking-lore. That’s right. Shit just got real.


Ever ordered a drink in the pub and then buggered off without paying? Well then you’re going to fucking love the open bar at our wedding. That’s right, we’re implementing a get-shitfaced-and-save policy wherein you can go full Charlie Sheen on everything from amêndoa amarga to vinho verde without taking your wallet from the trousers you’ll inevitably be sporting as a headband you filthy animal.


  1. Fly to Lisbon.
  2. Get a taxi, train or bus to Alenquer or wherever you decide to stay.
  3. Try not to fuck it up.


Once you’ve had enough of celebrating just how god damn tender our love is and finished basking in the pants-shittingly charming scenery, you can retire to a B&B or something in one of the many local villages. Or you can stay in Lisbon, which is about an hour away and has precisely one metric buttload of accommodation options.


We want every one of you fuckers there so we can have the most badass wedding ever, ever. So whether your answer’s fuck yes or fuck off, put it in the RSVP form below.

    Welcome to weddingtown, fuckheads!