The Book of Fate

"Ron, hold up!"

I called out, chasing after the middle-aged man in the navy-blue suit. As I ran, the smothering Florida heat glued my shirt to my chest.

Ignoring me, Ron Boyle darted up the tarmac, passing Air Force One on our right and the eighteen cars of the motorcade that idled in a single-file line on our left. As deputy chief of staff, he was always in a rush. That's what happens when you work for the most powerful man in the world. I don't say that lightly. Our boss was the Commander in Chief. The President of the United States. And when he wanted something, it was my job to get it. Right now President Leland "The Lion" Manning wanted Boyle to stay calm. Some tasks were beyond even me.

Picking up speed as he weaved through the crowd of staffers and press making their way to their assigned cars, Boyle blew past a shiny black Chevy Suburban packed with Secret Service agents and the ambulance that carried extra pints of the President's blood. Earlier today, Boyle was supposed to have a fifteen-minute sit-down with the President on Air Force One. Because of my scheduling error, he was now down to a three-minute drive-by briefing sometime this afternoon. To say he was annoyed would be like calling the Great Depression

a bad day at the office.

"Ron!" I said again, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to apologize. "Just wait. I wanted to-"

He spun around wildly, slapping my hand out of the way. Thin and pointy-nosed with a thick mustache designed to offset both, Boyle had graying hair, olive skin, and striking brown eyes with a splash of light blue in each iris. As he leaned forward, his cat's eyes glared down at me. "Don't touch me again unless you're shaking my hand," he threatened as a flick of spit hit me in the cheek.

Gritting my teeth, I wiped it away with the back of my hand. Sure, the scheduling hiccup was my fault, but that's still no reason t-

"Now, what the hell's so damn important, Wes, or is this another vital reminder that when we're eating with the President, we need to give you our lunch orders at least an hour in advance?" he added, loud enough so a few Secret Service agents turned.

Any other twenty-three-year-old would've taken a verbal swing. I kept my cool. That's the job of the President's aide ... a.k.a. the body person ... a.k.a. the buttboy. Get the President what he wants; keep the machine humming.

"Lemme make it up to you," I said, mentally canceling my apology. If I wanted Boyle quiet-if we didn't want a scene for the press-I needed to up the ante. "What if I ... what if I squeezed you into the President's limo right now?"

Boyle's posture lifted slightly as he started buttoning his suit jacket. "I thought you-No, that's good. Great. Excellent." He even painted on a tiny smile. Crisis averted.

He thought all was forgiven. My memory's way longer than that. As Boyle triumphantly turned toward the limo, I jotted down another mental note. Cocky bastard. On the way home, he'd be riding in the back of the press van.

Politically, I wasn't just


I was great. That's not ego; it's the truth. You don't apply for this job, you're invited to interview. Every young political gunner in the White House would've killed to clutch this close to the leader of the free world. From here, my predecessor had gone on to become the number two guy in the White House Press Office.


predecessor in the last White House took a job managing four thousand people at IBM. Seven months ago, despite my lack of connections, the President picked me. I beat out a senator's son and a pair of Rhodes scholars. I could certainly handle a tantrum-throwing senior staffer.

"Wes, let's go!" the Secret Service detail leader called out, waving us into the car as he slid into the front passenger seat, where he could see everything coming.

Trailing Boyle and holding my leather shoulder bag out in front of me, I jumped into the back of the armored limo, where the President was dressed casually in a black windbreaker and jeans. I assumed Boyle would immediately start talking his ear off, but as he passed in front of the President, he was strangely silent. Hunched over as he headed for the back left seat, Boyle's suit jacket sagged open, but he quickly pressed his hand over his own heart to keep it shut. I didn't realize until later what he was hiding. Or what I'd just done by inviting him inside.

Following behind him, I crouched toward one of the three fold-down seats that face the rear of the car. Mine was back-to-back with the driver and across from Boyle. For security reasons, the President always sat in the back right seat, with the First Lady sitting between him and Boyle.

The jump seat directly across from the President-the hot seat-was already taken by Mike Calinoff, retired professional race car driver, four-time Winston Cup winner, and special guest for today's event. No surprise. With only four months until the election, we were barely three points ahead in the polls. When the crowd was that fickle, only a fool entered the gladiator's ring without a hidden weapon.

"So she's fast, even with the bulletproofing?" the racing champ asked, admiring the midnight-blue interior of Cadillac One.

"Greased lightning," Manning answered as the First Lady rolled her eyes.

Finally joining in, Boyle scootched forward in his seat and flipped open a manila folder. "Mr. President, if we could-?"

"Sorry-that's all I can do, sir," Chief of Staff Warren Albright interrupted as he hopped inside. Handing a folded-up newspaper to the President, he took the middle seat directly across from the First Lady, and more important, diagonally across from Manning. Even in a six-person backseat, proximity mattered. Especially to Boyle, who was still turned toward the President, refusing to give up his opening.

The President seized the newspaper and scrutinized the crossword puzzle he and Albright shared every day. It had been their tradition since the first days of the campaign-and the reason why Albright was always in that coveted seat diagonally across from the President. Albright started each puzzle, got as far as he could, then passed it to the President to cross the finishline.

"Fifteen down's wrong," the President pointed out as I rested my bag on my lap.


Albright usually hated when Manning found a mistake. Today, as he noticed Boyle in the corner seat, he had something brand-new to be annoyed by.

Everything okay?

I asked with a glance.

Before Albright could answer, the driver rammed the gas, and my body jerked forward.

Three and a half minutes from now, the first gunshot would be fired. Two of us would crumble to the floor, convulsing. One wouldn't get up.

"Sir, if I could bend your ear for a second?" Boyle interrupted, more insistently than before.

"Ron, can't you just enjoy the ride?" the First Lady teased, her short brown hair bobbing as we hit a divot in the road. Despite the sweet tone, I saw the glare in her leaf-green eyes. It was the same glare she used to give her students at Princeton. A former professor with a PhD in chemistry, Dr. First Lady was trained to be tough. And what Dr. First Lady wanted, Dr. FirstLady fought for. And got.

"But, ma'am, it'll just take-"

Her brow furrowed so hard, her eyebrows kissed. "Ron.

Enjoy the ride.


That's where most people would've stopped. Boyle pushed even harder, trying to hand the file directly to Manning. He'd known the President since they were in their twenties, studying at Oxford. A professional banker, as well as a collector of antique magic tricks, he later managed all of the Mannings' money, a magic trick in itself. To this day, he was the only person on staff who was there when Manning married the First Lady. That alone gave him a free pass when the press discovered that Boyle's father was a petty con man who'd been convicted (twice) for insurance fraud. It was the same free pass he was using in the limo to test the First Lady's authority. But even the best free passes eventually expire.

Manning shook his head so subtly, only a trained eye could see it. First Lady, one; Boyle, nothing.

Closing the file folder, Boyle sank back and shot me the kind of look that would leave a bruise. Now it was my fault.

As we neared our destination, Manning stared silently through the light green tint of his bulletproof window. "Y'ever hear what Kennedy said three hours before he was shot?" he asked, putting on his best Massachusetts accent.

"You know, last night would've been a hell of a night to kill a President."



!" the First Lady scolded. "See what I deal with?" she added, fake laughing at Calinoff.

The President took her hand and squeezed it, glancing my way. "Wes, did you bring the present I got for Mr. Calinoff?" he asked.

I dug through my leather briefcase-the bag of tricks-never taking my eyes off Manning's face. He tossed a slight nod and scratched at his own wrist.

Don't give him the tie clip ... go for the big stuff.

I'd been his aide for over seven months. If I was doing my job right, we didn't have to talk to communicate. We were in a groove. I couldn't help but smile.

That was my last big, broad grin. In three minutes, the gunman's third bullet would rip through my cheek, destroying so many nerves, I'd never have full use of my mouth again.

That's the one,

the President nodded at me.

From my overpacked bag, which held everything a President would ever need, I pulled out a set of official presidential cuff links, which I handed to Mr. Calinoff, who was loving every split second in his folded-down, completely uncomfortable hotseat.

"Those are real, y'know," the President told him. "Don't put 'em on eBay."

It was the same joke he used every time he gave a set away. We all still laughed. Even Boyle, who started scratching at his chest. There's no better place to be than in on an inside joke with the President of the United States. And on July 4th in Daytona, Florida, when you'd flown in to yell,

"Gentlemen, start your engines!"

at the legendary Pepsi 400 NASCAR race, there was no better backseat in the world.

Before Calinoff could offer a thank-you, the limo came to a stop. A red lightning bolt flashed by us on the left-two police motorcycles with their sirens blaring. They were leapfrogging from the back of the motorcade to the front. Just like a funeral procession.

"Don't tell me they closed down the road," the First Lady said. She hated it when they shut traffic for the motorcade. Those were the votes we'd never get back.

The car slowly chugged a few feet forward. "Sir, we're about to enter the track," the detail leader announced from the passenger seat. Outside, the concrete openness of the airport runway quickly gave way to rows and rows of high-end motor coaches.

"Wait ... we're going out on the track?" Calinoff asked, suddenly excited. He shifted in his seat, trying to get a look outside.

The President grinned. "Did you think we'd just get a couple seats in front?"

The wheels bounced over a clanging metal plate that sounded like a loose manhole cover. Boyle scratched even more at his chest. A baritone rumble filled the air.

"That thunder?" Boyle asked, glancing up at the clear blue sky.

"No, not thunder," the President replied, putting his own fingertips against the bulletproof window as the stadium crowd of 200,000 surged to its feet with banners, flags, and arms waving. "Applause."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!"

the announcer bellowed through the P.A. system.

A sharp right-hand turn tugged us all sideways as the limo turned onto the racetrack, the biggest, most perfectly paved highway I'd ever seen in my life.

"Nice roads you got here," the President said to Calinoff, leaning back in the plush leather seat that was tailor-made to his body.

All that was left was the big entrance. If we didn't nail that, the 200,000 ticket holders in the stadium, plus the ten million viewers watching from home, plus the seventy-five million fans who're committed to NASCAR, would all go tell their friends and neighbors and cousins and strangers in the supermarket that we went up for our baptism and sneezed in the holy water.

But that's why we brought the motorcade. We didn't


eighteen cars. The runway in the Daytona Airport was actually adjacent to the racetrack. There were no red lights to run. No traffic to hold back. But to everyone watching ... Have you ever seen the President's motorcade on a racetrack? Instant American frenzy.

I didn't care how close we were in the polls. One lap around and we'd be picking out our seats for the inauguration.

Across from me, Boyle wasn't nearly as thrilled. With his arms crossed against his chest, he never stopped studying the President.

"Got the stars out too, eh?" Calinoff asked as we entered the final turn and he saw our welcoming committee, a small mob of NASCAR drivers all decked out in their multicolor, advertising-emblazoned jumpsuits. What his untrained eye didn't notice were the dozen or so "crew members" who were standing a bit more erect than the rest. Some had backpacks. Some carried leather satchels. All had sunglasses. And one was speaking into his own wrist. Secret Service.

Like any other first-timer in the limo, Calinoff was practically licking the glass. "Mr. Calinoff, you'll be getting out first," I told him as we pulled into the pit stalls. Outside, the drivers were already angling for presidential position. In sixty seconds, they'd be running for their lives.

Calinoff leaned toward my door on the driver's side, where all the NASCAR drivers were huddled.

I leaned forward to block him, motioning to the President's door on the other side. "


way," I said. The door right next to him.

"But the drivers are over


" Calinoff objected.

"Listen to the boy," the President chimed in, gesturing toward the door by Calinoff.

Years ago, when President Clinton came for a NASCAR race, members of the crowd booed. In 2004, when President Bush arrived with legendary driver Bill Elliott in his motorcade, Elliott stepped out first and the crowd erupted. Even Presidents canuse an opening act.

With a click and a thunk, the detail leader pushed a small security button under the door handle which allowed him to open the armor-lined door from the outside. Within seconds, the door cracked open, twin switchblades of light and Florida heat sliced through the car, and Calinoff lowered one of his handmade cowboy boots onto the pavement.

"And please welcome four-time Winston Cup winner ... Mike Caaaalinoff!" the announcer shouted through the stadium.

Cue crowd going wild.

"Never forget," the President whispered to his guest as Calinoff stepped outside to the 200,000 screaming fans. "


who we're here to see."

"And now," the announcer continued, "our grand marshal for today's race-Florida's own ... President Leeeee Maaaaanning!"

Just behind Calinoff, the President hopped out of the car, his right hand up in a wave, his left hand proudly patting the NASCAR logo on the chest of his windbreaker. He paused for a moment to wait for the First Lady. As always, you could read the lips on every fan in the grandstands.

There he is


There he is


There they are

... Then, as soon as the crowd had digested it, the flashbulbs hit.

Mr. President, over here! Mr. President ...!

He'd barely moved three steps by the time Albright was behind him, followed by Boyle.


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1. New denimLong gone are the days of stonewashed and thigh-high skimming Daisy Dukes. Denim shorts in 2019 are an altogether more sensible affair, with long-line and deceptively dark shades prevailing. Try pairing ELV Denim's knee-grazing black jean shorts (£145, with an oversized suit jacket and kitten-heel mules and see if anyone in the office even notices they're denim. Or team Mango's black denim Bermudas with a baggy tee and crochet bucket hat for a Glastonbury look that will go the distance.(£25.99, Off your bikeThe unexpected mega-trend of the year, cycling shorts are as hot in fashionland as they are on the capital's cycle superhighways. Thehelmet and the hi-vis jacket not so much, though. So to ensure you don't spend the day looking like you're mid-commute, the rest of your outfit is key. Length up top is the most flattering proposition. A super-sized shirt and white trainers is a winning weekender, or pair with little heels and a big blazer that finishes somewhere around the mid-thigh for a surprisingly easy wayto don Spandex.(£35, The shorts suitAnyone still pondering the question of whether shorts are okay in the office hasn't met the right shorts suit yet. Thatperfect match may lie with House of Holland's tasty tangerine two-piece, which features a slightly asymmetric double-breasted suit jacket with drawstring waist tracksuit shorts for a Sunny Delight(ful)-hued take on the smart/casual brief (£835, Or perhaps & Other Stories' lovely linen number has caught your eye, with its Mini Milk-pink oversized blazer and matching buckle-belt pleated shorts? Either way, take the plunge in anything but black, navy or grey - summer is no time for staying in the shade.(£158, The boxersProbably the most intimidating suggestion on the list, the trend for wearing shorts that closely resemble a pair of your boyfriend's underpants is actually a surprisingly wearable one. For proof, see J Crew's latest campaign, which showcases a pair of striped cotton, drawstring-waist short-shorts - the sort that wouldn't look out of place while sprawled out on your sofa paired with a Sunday morning hangover - looking effortlessly chic with a crisp white shirt and striped cotton sweater. Or seek out the cotton poplin shorts from Fleur du Mal - the New York label founded by lingerie aficionado Jennifer Zuccarini - which features a bright geometric, embroidered pattern and an elasticated waist, alongside a matching corseted crop top for a cute vacay co-ord (£220, Or for something a little more silky, opt for Stella McCartney's lace-trimmed, pale-mint negligée shorts (£450, and pair with an XXL tie-dye T-shirt for a 2019-approved look.(£55, Cocktail hourWe have Miuccia Prada to thank for many things but most recently it's fashion's infatuation with cocktail shorts. Hers were tailored just above the knee and cut from duchesse satin, some splashed in tie-dye, others embellished with crystal clusters. For another take on the trend, look to label Raey and its glittering pink tinsel shorts, cut from a silk blend but lined with cotton for comfort and featuring a wide-leg fit. Dress them down with trainers and a tee or go all out with velvet sandals and a tux jacket.(£245, The BermudasBermuda shorts are to holidays what piña is to colada. Le Smoking jacket connoisseur Racil has dipped a toe into more tropical waters this summer with its Hawaiian-print shorts, which are definitely more bar than beach when paired with its matching shirt. Or if you've blown the holiday budget on inflatable flamingo pool floats, Zara's flowing, floral-print Bermudas (£25.99, will do nicely.(£412,
My Family Died with My Daughter - Hannah Cornelius' Father's Heartbreaking Testimony
Willem Cornelius believes his family died with his daughter Hannah, and was buried when his wife "walked into the ocean a short time later and didn't come back", the former magistrate testified in the Western Cape High Court on Thursday."Me and my son are not a family - we are the survivors who live in the ruins of what once was," Cornelius said during sentencing proceedings of the three men who raped and murdered his daughter.LIVE: Hannah Cornelius' father testifiesCornelius' body was found on the morning of May 27, 2017, outside Stellenbosch. She was last seen alive with her friend Cheslin Marsh hours earlier, when Eben van Niekerk, Geraldo Parsons, Vernon Witbooi and Nashville Julius accosted the two students in her car in Bird Street.Marsh was stoned and left for dead near Kraaifontein, while Cornelius was raped and later stabbed at Groenhof farm.Her VW Citi Golf was used in two armed robberies, before Witbooi and Parsons were apprehended after a high-speed chase.Van Niekerk, Parsons and Witbooi were convicted on 10 charges, ranging from murder to rape.READ: 'It's not a happy day for anybody' - Hannah Cornelius Foundation after guilty verdictJulius was found guilty of robbery and kidnapping, as he had fled before his accomplices drove off with the students that night.Cornelius, before speaking of his daughter, apologised that he had not been at proceedings before, explaining that the investigating officer had taken him through the docket before the trial and he "did not feel up to going through the evidence again".'Sense of fairness and compassion'Wearing a white rose pinned to his suit jacket, Cornelius spoke proudly of his only daughter, of whom he was "immensely proud"."I suspect all parents believe their children are exceptional, and we were no different. Almost from birth, Hannah proved to be different from what we believed was the norm. There were no feeding problems, no terrible twos, no teething difficulties - in fact, the first time she cried without an obvious reason, we were so anxious we asked our family doctor to attend to her in the middle of the night."We were mortified when he informed us that she was having her first tantrum."After the birth of her autistic brother, Hannah became in a sense "part of management, with a share of duties and a say in decisions".She never gave her parents any "drama and difficulties" and excelled in school, the proud father said.His daughter was diligent, almost always cheerful and had a sense of fairness and compassion he envied, he reminisced."I recall an incident in her early teens when she gravely informed us that she did not want to attend our church anymore, as it did apparently not make provision for her Muslim friends to go to heaven," Cornelius said.Friends and family of #HannahCornelius as well as community organisation representatives carrying white roses in the gallery. @TeamNews24 Tammy Petersen (@TammyPetersen87) November 8, 2018 'A remarkable child on the cusp of growing into a remarkable young woman'She declined a birthday party for her 16th birthday, because she "could not in good conscience spend money on herself while people around her were living in poverty".Instead, she made up gift packs for children for the children of the Red Hill informal settlement, and continued doing this on all her subsequent birthdays."When she enrolled at the University of Stellenbosch, Hannah informed us - somewhat to our dismay - that she had no interest in pursuing a career in law, but that she wanted to do something that would actually help people," he said.She wanted to major in languages, literature and philosophy and pursue post-graduate studies in France."The theme of helping people was a constant in her life and I understand this may have led indirectly to the reason why we are here today."Even so, both me and her mother were immensely proud of raising a child for the new South Africa, a child without the baggage of our generations, with little interest in money or material things, with no prejudice regarding race, religion or social standing. A remarkable child on the cusp of growing into a remarkable young woman."Sentencing proceedings continue.Sentencing proceedings against the men convicted of the murder of #HannahCornelius and the attempted murder of Cheslin Marsh is expected to commence shortly in the Western Cape High Court.
Jonah Gadjovich, Prospect/blogger
Hello Vancouver!Jonah Gadjovich here, I've been asked to write a blog during Vancouver Canucks Development Camp and although I was too busy over the weekend to collect my thoughts, it's go-time now!I got into Vancouver on Thursday, June 29th and it's my first time to this beautiful city. It was a clear day when the plane was descending and I was amazed. Looking out the window I couldn't believe the mountains, trees, ocean and city itself; I knew it was going to be a great week as soon as I stepped off the plane.Friday was filled with a rink tour, checking out the Canucks dressing room, meeting the staff and getting to know the other prospects. It was a bit nerve-wracking coming in, but I saw some familiar faces right away. Petrus Palmu and I were roommates for the last three years in Owen Sound, Mike Carcone and I grew up in the same hometown of Whitby, Ontario, during this year's draft combine I got to know Michael DiPietro well, Brett McKenzie and I have the same agent, so we're trained together for three or four years, and I grew up playing against Matt Brassard.After going through some medical testing, concussion protocols and getting fitted for gear (which was like Chritmas morning for all the guys!!), we took the bus to Whistler, BC, for the weekend.And I thought Vancouver was beautiful. Whistler is epic!The rugged backdrop is unlike anything I've ever seen and the village was hopping, as it was Canada Day. We had some more evaluations in the morning before taking part in a scavenger hunt.Divided into four teams of five or six guys, we had one hour to complete 26 tasks, with photo proof needed. The list had everything from milk a cow (real or fake) and hold a dog, to take a photo in a hot tub and give a piggyback ride to a tourist. I was not on the winning team, but we sure had a great time. This was exactly the type of fun activity we needed to take part in to get to know each other better.Saturday night we were on our own for dinner and we ate and explored the village more. It was early to bed after a tiring day - with another adventurous day on the horizon.Sunday we were on a bus at 10 am heading to Squamish area for some white-water rafting! What a thrill, it's tough to really describe what a rush it is. We had three boats, six or eight guys in each. Wetsuit, wet suit jacket, life jacket, booties and helmet, we were fully equipped. Paddle in hand - always hold the T grip - we were off down the rapids. I did some rafting like this three years ago in Ottawa, but this was a much different experience because of the scenery. I'd be gazing up at the mountains and we'd hit a class 3 or 4 rapid. That ice water hitting you snaps the daze away in a hurry!I was asked to write about 500 words and I'm at 522, so I'm signing off.Thanks for reading!Cheers,Jonah
Things to Wear for '80s Day
The 1980s introduced us to Pac-Man, MTV and a host of trendy fashion styles. Some schools invite students to dress in period clothes for a day by hosting an "'80s Day." Both men's and women's fashion in the early 1980s featured bright-colored oversize shirts and tight-fitting pants. Choosing the right clothes for the day can be fun and somewhat challenging. Consider some 1980s-inspired fashions to wear on "'80s Day."Pop culture, including the television show "Miami Vice," had a big influence on 1980s men's fashions. The leading men, Don Johnson and Phillip Michael Thomas, wore pastel colored suit jackets over casual T-shirts. This trend caught-on in mainstream fashion and young men started sporting similar outfits. Wear a T-shirt under a suit jacket for '80s Day to look like the men of the era. Wear deck shoes without socks and Ray-Ban Wayfarer style sunglasses to complete the look.Madonna, the pop singing sensation, greatly influenced women's fashion in the 1980s. Madonna burst onto the music scene with her song "Like a Virgin" and the accompanying music video. Madonna wore lace bras and bustiers as outerwear and accessorized with over-sized jewelry. She also wore lace gloves, which were sometime finger-less, fluffy skirts made of lace or tulle and chunky belts. Girls started dressing in a similar fashion in the 1980s. Choose this style of clothing for an '80s Day outfit. Wear a lot of lacy clothes over leggings. Accessorize with chunky necklaces and belts and wear stacks of rubber bracelets.Heavy metal of the 1980s introduced both a music and a fashion style. Heavy metal rockers sported "big hair" hair-dos, black leather pants and shredded band T-shirts. Some rockers wore tight, tattered jeans and leather jackets. Create a heavy metal style for '80s Day by wearing theme-appropriate clothing and by sporting a "big hair band" wig. Mullets were also a part of the rock scene of the 1980s.Another way to dress for '80s Day is to wear a T-shirt with neon-colored sayings or images on it. Or wear an oversize sweatshirt with shoulder pads and acid-washed jeans. The 1980s prime time soap opera "Dynasty," starring Joan Collins and Linda Evans, made displaying wealth a trend. The stars of the show wore expensive dresses and suits and accessorized with extravagant and flashy jewelry. The women of Dynasty wore extravagantly adorned, batwing sleeved dresses with large shoulder pads. The men wore tuxedos and business suits with silk ties in a solid color such as red or gold. These were often called "power ties." Look for these types of outfits at thrift stores. Designer names such as Ralph Lauren and Guess became popular too. Wear sweatshirts and other clothing items displaying these names and logos for '80s Day attire.
Reddit Users Share Outrageous Tales From the Tackiest Weddings They've Ever Been To
WE'VE probably all been to a wedding in our time where we've secretly disapproved of the bride's dress or the choice of venue.But some of these horror storiesfrom people's nuptials are guaranteed to make you cringe.Reddit users have taken to the social media site to share tales from the 'trashiest weddings' they've ever been to.One told how the groom turned up in a Hooters T-shirt, adding: "Turns out they had actually been divorced for six months at the time of the ceremony."Another recalled her horror when themother-in-law-to-be turned up to thewedding reception wearing a tracksuit.She joked: "The kicker is the track suit looked like it was from the 90s."One Reddit user confessed:"My aunt married her third husband in Waffle House in Atlanta Georgia."They chose the booth where Kid Rock was once arrested."Another told how they once worked at a very high-end golf clubinSeattle that regularly hosted expensive weddings.They shared a tale of a Samoan weddingin which the bride and groom "got into a fistfight right before the ceremony, delaying it a bit until bruises could be covered with makeup".The wedding party then ordered in Domino's pizza which people brazenly atein the fancy restaurant, despite their nuptials contract stating they must order from the golf club.One Reddit user who works as a wedding photographer told how on one of their jobs, thebest man "screwed the groom's mother between the meal and the dancing".The groom the foundout and punched the best man, breaking his hand. The best man then droveaway and got stopped by the police for drunk driving.Another told how onegroom- a plumber by trade- got his groomsmen to wear a rather strange accessory.They wrote: "The flowers the men wore on their lapels were mini toilets with flowers in them."The centrepieces were plungers. No, I'm not making this up."Meanwhile one shared the story of how theirgrandma-in-law went to a 'giraffe-themed wedding' for a blokewith "three baby mamas and an uncountable amount of kids".They wrote: "The bride and bridesmaids were in giraffe print dresses.There was also a giraffe cake and various sized giraffe ornaments scattered about."Another woman recalled her cousin's 'hunting-themed' wedding.She revealed the groom "wore a camo suit jacket and everything" while his bride ended up "hammered drunk" shortly after the reception started.Have you been to an incredibly 'trashy' wedding?Or did yours put any of these nuptials to shame? Share your story with us by dropping an email to Earlier today we told how a mum who scrounged thousands in handouts by claiming she was a single parent was unmasked as a benefits cheat after pictures of her lesbian wedding were posted on Facebook.