Here in Hollywood you can actually get a marriage license printed

“Here in Hollywood you can actually get a marriage license printed on an Etch-A-Sketch.” So quipped Dennis Miller, with the sharp tongue of the satirist. Though spoken in jest, his words reveal a deeper commentary on the impermanence of love as it is often portrayed in the glittering world of fame. The Etch-A-Sketch, a child’s toy known for its fragility of line—where with a single shake all drawings vanish—becomes a symbol of how unions in that realm are often drawn hastily and erased with equal speed. Beneath the laughter lies a warning: what is sacred in origin may be treated lightly when clothed in vanity and spectacle.

The ancients revered marriage as a covenant, not a convenience. In Greece and Rome, the household was the cornerstone of the state; in Christendom, the wedding vows were considered sacred before both God and man. To treat such a bond as fragile or disposable would have been deemed folly, a weakening of the very order of society. Miller’s satirical strike at Hollywood is, therefore, a modern echo of this ancient wisdom: when marriage loses its gravity, when it becomes something scribbled like lines on a toy, it ceases to hold the power to shape lives, families, and nations with stability.

Consider the stories that pour from Hollywood’s history—marriages begun in flashes of passion, crowned with diamonds, yet dissolved within months. Famous unions like that of Elizabeth Taylor, who married eight times, or Britney Spears’s fleeting 55-hour marriage, reveal how quickly vows can be spoken and then shaken away, like lines on an Etch-A-Sketch. To the world outside, these tales seem glamorous or amusing, but they also carry sorrow. For when vows are emptied of meaning, hearts too may be emptied, and the children of such unions often inherit the weight of instability.

Yet Miller’s jest is not only criticism but also a call for reflection. The laughter it evokes reminds us that we must ask ourselves: do we, too, sometimes treat solemn commitments lightly? Do we sometimes write in sand what should be carved in stone? For what he says of Hollywood may be true of society at large, where convenience and haste often overshadow patience, sacrifice, and fidelity. His humor shines a mirror upon us all, asking us whether we approach the bonds of love with permanence or with the fragility of a toy drawing.

But let us not despair at his mockery; rather, let us find wisdom in it. The Etch-A-Sketch metaphor reminds us of what must not be: that sacred vows should not be erasable at whim. If marriage is to endure, it must be written not on toys but upon the tablets of the heart, engraved with sacrifice, patience, and the will to endure storms. The laughter, then, becomes medicine—an invitation to turn jest into resolve, folly into wisdom.

The lesson is clear: in a world that glorifies fleeting passion, we must recover reverence for lasting commitment. To those who marry, let your vows be iron, not chalk. Let them withstand the shaking of circumstance, the storms of disappointment, and the fires of trial. To those not yet married, enter not lightly but with eyes wide, hearts steady, and spirits ready to carve permanence from fragility.

Practical wisdom follows: honor your promises, not only in marriage but in all of life. Keep your word as though it were sacred, for it is. Resist the culture of disposability—in relationships, in work, in community. Build foundations, not sketches. And when you falter, as all humans do, choose rebuilding over erasure. In doing so, you will live not with the frailty of the Etch-A-Sketch, but with the enduring strength of stone.

Thus Dennis Miller’s humor, though clothed in mockery, becomes a parable for the ages. It reminds us that when vows are fragile, societies tremble; but when they are honored, generations flourish. Laugh, then, at the folly he describes, but also learn: let your commitments be drawn not on toys, but inscribed upon eternity. For that is the true luxury and sacredness of marriage.