My wife and I lost faith in the institution of marriage. After forty-five years of happy marriage, the knowledge that gay people could get married caused us to doubt the sanctity and importance of our own wedding vows. I embarked on a string of affairs with women who I met through Ashley Madison, and my wife began having one-night stands with homeless teenagers. We sold our children to ISIS so that we could buy crack — except for the two youngest, who we donated to medical research. The family dog was convicted of bank robbery, and my oldest daughter’s hamster ran away to Vegas to become a stripper. I also contracted venereal tuberculosis (don’t ask) from a hedge fund manager who I fellated in a bus station rest-room. My mother burned to death when I set fire to our house in a drug-induced stupor. Overcome with nihilistic despair, I also attempted to carve a pentagram on my mother-in-law’s forehead while singing Carly Rae Jeppsen songs, and as a result my wife’s family no longer invite us to come over for Thanksgiving. My credit rating is now triple-digit negative, and Wells Fargo have foreclosed on my left testicle.

TL;DR: It hasn’t.