Back when literal litter littered the landscape, a native Angeleno and master wood-chopper wandered his way into a swarm of bees. A passerby, unfazed by the trauma inflicted on the poor man who reeked of cedar and pine, rushed in to run off the incensed anthophiles.  

Once rid of the pests and the pain of the moment, the swelling man managed to mumble 3 words of gratitude, "thanks, my brother."

That now sibling named soon realized that his figurative relation would soon succumb to shock if he did not get him directly to a hospital. Clenching the ever-expanding man's trunk of an arm with one hand and his limb of a leg with the other, The kinsman hoisted his litter-mate over his back and headed for the road.

The road, however, was clearly one less traveled. They sat there dejected. Have they been made brothers at the moment that they cease to be?

"What's up, cuz," thought on onlooker who approach from down below. He was a quiet man, canoe in hand. The two men turned. (Well, one did. The other struggled to move anything due to the inflamation.)

"One of you clearly needs a medic," the man nearly whispered under his breath. He then raised his head toward his truck and motioned for the two to follow.

It was in that truck, on that day, that it was decided: the neighbor is the man who acts as both brother and cousin, and ugly is the man who has been swarmed by bees. And that they together are then by all rights Ugly Cousin Brothers, as long as they all should live.