“And if anyone here were to object...”

Carl was an unsightly man, to say the least. Yet, he had so many sexual conquests of beautiful women that he stood as a wonder. Here at the wedding, he was unsurprisingly on the prowl, eyeing the bridesmaids.

He wasn't the best man, although, in a manner of speaking, he had been better than the rest of them.

How scorn and resentment, inherent in gestalting ugliness, mixes with envy is a force of nature. If you see it coming, you should just get out of the way.

And so they swept in, high-T cowboys and posse posers, SWAT'ing Carl and hustling him into the black Suburban. He had been cuffed and--just for good measure--had been tased.

Sexual conquerers everywhere moved up a notch.

Carl's younger brother, Alan, the official best man, said to his corresponding Maid-of-Honor, "Remember when you used to say 'being ugly isn't a crime...yet!'?"

Now Alan stood as the unofficial best man, too. He eyed the bridesmaids, and vowed a law-and-order plank for his platform.