THE DJ THAT PLAYED “GOD WHEN” AT A WEDDING
THE DJ THAT PLAYED “GOD WHEN” AT A WEDDING
It was supposed to be the wedding of the century. White roses, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, and Auntie Bisi’s infamous fruit punch, potent enough to rival any liquid investment portfolio. The bride walked in, glowing like a newly launched fintech app with perfect UI. The groom smiled like he had just secured a lifetime ROI on a high-yield savings account. Everything was perfect… until the DJ started his set.
. This was not just any DJ. No, no, no. This was DJ Spinmaster Supreme—the man who had once “accidentally” turned a funeral into a dance IPO and was rumored to have performed a secret remix for a presidential campaign, a move with unquantifiable PR returns. He didn’t just play music; he manipulated emotions like a hedge fund manipulates risk assets.
The first hour was smooth. Romantic melodies flowed like stable dividends, slow jams performed like well-hedged ETFs, and occasional saxophone solos delivered returns in pure emotional capital. Then, in a moment of pure genius—or unprecedented market volatility—DJ Spinmaster Supreme dropped “GOD WHEN.”
For context, “GOD WHEN” exists somewhere between personal prayer, existential stock market panic, and portfolio meltdown. It’s the kind of song that makes you question your life choices while crying into your dessert—your emotional 401(k). He played it at the climax of the reception, right when the bride and groom were meant to showcase their first dance.
The effect was immediate. The crowd froze like investors during a crypto flash crash. The cake table trembled like a leveraged portfolio under stress. Uncle Tunde, mid-bite, nearly inhaled a slice of wedding cake as if it were collateral for a margin call. Even the flower arrangements wilted in financial sympathy.
Everyone knew something was wrong when the best man whispered, “Is this a dance or a market intervention?” DJ Spinmaster Supreme, oblivious, cranked the volume. The first line hit, and the wedding ambiance transformed into an existential audit. Guests murmured: “God, when will my Wi-Fi stop lagging?” “God, when will Lagos traffic stabilize?” “God, when will I recover from this emotional volatility?”
Children were bewildered. Instead of balloons or magicians, they were experiencing a live demonstration of emotional derivatives. Toddlers huddled under tables like high-risk investors avoiding a market crash. Teenagers frantically googled: “How to hedge existential music at weddings?”
The bride panicked. She whispered to her maid of honor, “Is it supposed to make you question your existence?” The maid, a seasoned veteran of three divorces and one mosquito pandemic, shrugged. “Apparently,” she said. “It’s either this or the electric slide. And honestly, at this point, risk-adjusted dance is preferable.”
The groom, optimistic, attempted to salvage the moment with a waltz. But as the chorus hit, his confidence evaporated like a poorly managed mutual fund. His two left feet collided like crashing stock indices, sending him staggering into the flower arrangements. The lilies, naturally, were devastated.
DJ Spinmaster Supreme sensed opportunity. He added trap beats to “GOD WHEN,” effectively creating a fusion of existential dread and bass drops. Auntie Bisi’s fruit punch sloshed in rhythm, simulating high-volume transactions in a volatile commodities market.
At this point, the uncle trio, renowned for legendary drunken debates, began philosophical analysis. “God, when will we understand the global economy?” shouted Uncle Kola. “God, when will Lagos traffic stabilize?” countered Uncle Chike. “God, when will my wife stop critiquing my Chicken Dance?” bellowed Uncle Femi. Financial analysts would have called this highly leveraged emotional derivatives.
A teenage cousin, overwhelmed by life, recited lyrics in interpretive dance style—silent protest meets stock market speculation. The DJ nodded approvingly, as if the kid had successfully predicted the next cryptocurrency crash.
The tipping point arrived when the bride accidentally kicked her wine glass across the floor. It landed precisely on the groom’s polished shoe, leaving a Rorschach stain that revealed all latent marital risks. Guests gasped, someone fainted, and another documented it for social media ROI.
Caterers continued serving canapés, but guests were emotionally hedging each bite. One waiter whispered: “Are they supposed to eat or rebalance their emotional portfolios?” The wedding had turned into a cross between a motivational seminar, a therapy session, and a fiscal risk analysis.
DJ Spinmaster Supreme had achieved something unprecedented: transforming a joyous wedding into a high-yield existential audit. Attendees questioned careers, relationships, and whether their childhood toothbrush usage had been socially responsible.
Even the photographer paused. Each shot now captured shock, confusion, and microexpressions of regret—like candlestick charts in the emotional stock market. The bride’s mother suggested the electric slide, but against the spiritual backdrop, it seemed like attempting a leveraged ETF with negative ROI.
By the song’s end, the hall was transformed. Some guests cried silently; others laughed uncontrollably at the absurdity of existential investment portfolios. A few just sat, staring into the middle distance, muttering: “God, when…?”
DJ Spinmaster Supreme concluded with a casual shrug, leaving a note: “Thanks for letting me enlighten your souls and diversify your emotional assets.” The wedding would never be the same. Bride and groom survived but never viewed dance floors or music in the same risk-adjusted light.
Rumor has it that night, the hall remains haunted by “GOD WHEN.” It serves as a lesson in emotional investment, strategic risk-taking, and timing: like shorting a volatile stock, you must know when to act.
Moral: if a DJ plays “GOD WHEN” at your wedding, prepare for tears, laughter, chaos, and portfolio rebalancing you didn’t ask for. Weddings, like financial markets, require surrender to unpredictable outcomes, emotional hedging, and occasionally, interpretive dance as a risk management strategy.
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