And then I either keep laughing until I bleed out, or until the authorities arrive and arrest him.
Any Last Words?
- Thread starter Lt._nefarious
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And then I either keep laughing until I bleed out, or until the authorities arrive and arrest him.
And to think I was just about to deactivate the explosive I had put inside you will you where knocked out oh well lifes a *****
Walk Helward, coward. But me, for my part? I shall feast in Vallhalla, for the gods shall honor me for this? Can you say the same? A coward, a betrayer, a murderer without honor and without the strength to do anything by himself. I am sure we shall meet again. Upon the final day, the day of Ragnarok upon the field of Idavollr, I shall drive my sword through your rotted chest, and I shall be known to all who come, children of Lif and of Lifthansir as a hero while none shall honor your name.
If this were a comic-book/superhero scenario...
"Okay, look. You're a bastard, we all know that. But why don't we discuss what you've just done. You, the bastard, just shot me, the guy who's partnered up with you for some reason. Now, not paying attention to the fact that that in itself is ridiculously stupid, you've always been a rather self-centered prick from the beginning, haven't you? So, in all honesty, this kind of outcome was never too far from my mind. However, every single wretched time I did expect you to do something, ended up that I was just overreacting about things. Like the time when you asked me to bend over to pick up your pencil holder right next to the knife vendor in India. Hell, I never even knew you had a pencil holder! But what the f*ck, I guess I was wrong. And that one time when we were in that meat factory. You said she had that one thing in her mouth, but when I went to confront her about it, she wasn't even there! And I would've been locked inside that refrigerator room too, if it weren't for that factory's disproportionate door-to-ledge correlation (though I guess that explains the F grade the inspector gave it). Basically, you've always been a psychotic pain in the arse, even when you never knew it. I still remember the day we caught Yitra P'i Marrea's grandson in the middle of an assassination attempt and you SUDDENLY WORRIED that your BROWNIES were getting co -- I-I'm sorry, I..can't even say that with a straight face anymore...regardless, and then there was the 2003 hostage rescue in Finland. Remind me again why you thought running straight to them and untying the ropes while 31 guns that fired lasers over 90°C were trained on them was a smart idea again? Oh yeah, it wasn't. Kind of funny how everytime I thought up of an actually effective plan you'd always try thinking up of another, much more elementary one, isn't it. Plus, you never got the whole 'give for the sake of giving' idea. I couldn't tell you how many times I had to bury my face in my hands everytime you asked for a 50-dollar bill from every person we saved from some sadistic relative or crackbrained criminal. Like that one time when we rescued that one homeless dude from a group of thugs. What the f*ck were you expecting when you asked him for some kind of payment, you idiot. Whatever, it still amazes me that he was actually willing to give you his jeans but that's another matter in and of itself. Anyways, let's not even mention the fact that you've always loved to bask in the spotlight. Every time, every single gosh damn time, after or before we went into let's-save-the-people-because-we're-superheroes mode, one minute you'd be beside me and the next you're in front of a camera. Although, to be honest, this has been a rather pathological thing ever since you were a kid. I don't even recall the full details, but I think....It was in 6th grade, wasn't it? Yeah, it was about 6th grade when you'd started up that ridiculous hitman-wannabe crap, requesting cash in return for beating up their least favorite kid in the school; not even mentioning the fact that nearly 80% of the requests targeted Condoriano, that poor, yet horribly twisted, fellow..but, er, right, aside from that, it was pretty retarded to see how far you took it, man. I admit that the grafiti sketches of you on the cafeteria walls and all of the times people would cheer for you when you said some nonchalant one-liner was not exactly something you had particular control over, but hell, you sure didn't seem to exactly mind it either. It's been pretty over-the-top recently, man; I'm not tryin' to lie here, but you've always fed on positive reception. And because of that obsession, you've stooped down to do some pretty f*cked up things. *harrowing cough* But you know what? *sniff* You know why I'd always watch my back when I'd suspect you're 'bout to do something suspicious but never told you about it? Or when you'd bring up another illogical plan and I chose to run with it and deal with whatever consequences may come on the way? Or every other time something was off because your ego got tangled up with the responsibilities that establish your -- or, what's supposed to be 'your', anyway -- obligations? Because, man; that was my sh*tting responsibility too. How the hell would we actually achieve anything if we were constantly arguing with each other? And, to make things worse, how the hell else would I forgive myself if something happened to the man I once called my friend? Something I knew I'd regret in the future and blame myself for? You know what, man -- I don't know. I don't really f*cking know why I stuck with you as long as I did, and, like I previously alluded to, sometimes I do wonder why I'm partnered up with you from time to time. But that's not something you dwell on; my circumstances were out of my control, so 'dwelling' would've been pointless, as usual. Point is, you may have been the biggest dick on the planet (which is kind of ironic, btw), but you were also the biggest dick I've known for most of my life, and that's the only thing that mattered to me. I didn't have the right to turn a blind eye to what you did or what happened to you; I didn't have the right to do any of that, because I chose to be your partner, I chose to hang with you during lunch, and I chose to be your f*cking friend. And personally, I don't regret any of that; the only thing I do regret, and what this whole speech that I normally shouldn't be capable of saying since I am on the brink of death all culminates to, however, is that the only man on the face of this earth who was willing to stand by his misunderstood friend through the wear and tear and call him his bro, and eat tacos in a Chinese restaurant with him, and engage in conversations over the phone 6 feet away from each other, and attempt to build a giant horseshoe ring, and vacation in the Middle East, hell, even sleep in an oven with him -- bloody long story -- lived to save the world, but died incapable of even saving, and I mean truly saving, him; and that is something that will haunt this pathetic man from beyond the grave or the face of death. *pause* ...Okay, I take that back. Remember that time you snuck into my mother's room and roleplayed one of your fetish-fantasies which I will only say involved a pantyhose and some lubricant a week after we installed surveillance cameras? Yea -- uh-huh, yeah, I remember that you twisted bastard. (sigh)
Yeah, never mind, I don't think any emotional conflict's usurping that anytime soon."
"Okay, look. You're a bastard, we all know that. But why don't we discuss what you've just done. You, the bastard, just shot me, the guy who's partnered up with you for some reason. Now, not paying attention to the fact that that in itself is ridiculously stupid, you've always been a rather self-centered prick from the beginning, haven't you? So, in all honesty, this kind of outcome was never too far from my mind. However, every single wretched time I did expect you to do something, ended up that I was just overreacting about things. Like the time when you asked me to bend over to pick up your pencil holder right next to the knife vendor in India. Hell, I never even knew you had a pencil holder! But what the f*ck, I guess I was wrong. And that one time when we were in that meat factory. You said she had that one thing in her mouth, but when I went to confront her about it, she wasn't even there! And I would've been locked inside that refrigerator room too, if it weren't for that factory's disproportionate door-to-ledge correlation (though I guess that explains the F grade the inspector gave it). Basically, you've always been a psychotic pain in the arse, even when you never knew it. I still remember the day we caught Yitra P'i Marrea's grandson in the middle of an assassination attempt and you SUDDENLY WORRIED that your BROWNIES were getting co -- I-I'm sorry, I..can't even say that with a straight face anymore...regardless, and then there was the 2003 hostage rescue in Finland. Remind me again why you thought running straight to them and untying the ropes while 31 guns that fired lasers over 90°C were trained on them was a smart idea again? Oh yeah, it wasn't. Kind of funny how everytime I thought up of an actually effective plan you'd always try thinking up of another, much more elementary one, isn't it. Plus, you never got the whole 'give for the sake of giving' idea. I couldn't tell you how many times I had to bury my face in my hands everytime you asked for a 50-dollar bill from every person we saved from some sadistic relative or crackbrained criminal. Like that one time when we rescued that one homeless dude from a group of thugs. What the f*ck were you expecting when you asked him for some kind of payment, you idiot. Whatever, it still amazes me that he was actually willing to give you his jeans but that's another matter in and of itself. Anyways, let's not even mention the fact that you've always loved to bask in the spotlight. Every time, every single gosh damn time, after or before we went into let's-save-the-people-because-we're-superheroes mode, one minute you'd be beside me and the next you're in front of a camera. Although, to be honest, this has been a rather pathological thing ever since you were a kid. I don't even recall the full details, but I think....It was in 6th grade, wasn't it? Yeah, it was about 6th grade when you'd started up that ridiculous hitman-wannabe crap, requesting cash in return for beating up their least favorite kid in the school; not even mentioning the fact that nearly 80% of the requests targeted Condoriano, that poor, yet horribly twisted, fellow..but, er, right, aside from that, it was pretty retarded to see how far you took it, man. I admit that the grafiti sketches of you on the cafeteria walls and all of the times people would cheer for you when you said some nonchalant one-liner was not exactly something you had particular control over, but hell, you sure didn't seem to exactly mind it either. It's been pretty over-the-top recently, man; I'm not tryin' to lie here, but you've always fed on positive reception. And because of that obsession, you've stooped down to do some pretty f*cked up things. *harrowing cough* But you know what? *sniff* You know why I'd always watch my back when I'd suspect you're 'bout to do something suspicious but never told you about it? Or when you'd bring up another illogical plan and I chose to run with it and deal with whatever consequences may come on the way? Or every other time something was off because your ego got tangled up with the responsibilities that establish your -- or, what's supposed to be 'your', anyway -- obligations? Because, man; that was my sh*tting responsibility too. How the hell would we actually achieve anything if we were constantly arguing with each other? And, to make things worse, how the hell else would I forgive myself if something happened to the man I once called my friend? Something I knew I'd regret in the future and blame myself for? You know what, man -- I don't know. I don't really f*cking know why I stuck with you as long as I did, and, like I previously alluded to, sometimes I do wonder why I'm partnered up with you from time to time. But that's not something you dwell on; my circumstances were out of my control, so 'dwelling' would've been pointless, as usual. Point is, you may have been the biggest dick on the planet (which is kind of ironic, btw), but you were also the biggest dick I've known for most of my life, and that's the only thing that mattered to me. I didn't have the right to turn a blind eye to what you did or what happened to you; I didn't have the right to do any of that, because I chose to be your partner, I chose to hang with you during lunch, and I chose to be your f*cking friend. And personally, I don't regret any of that; the only thing I do regret, and what this whole speech that I normally shouldn't be capable of saying since I am on the brink of death all culminates to, however, is that the only man on the face of this earth who was willing to stand by his misunderstood friend through the wear and tear and call him his bro, and eat tacos in a Chinese restaurant with him, and engage in conversations over the phone 6 feet away from each other, and attempt to build a giant horseshoe ring, and vacation in the Middle East, hell, even sleep in an oven with him -- bloody long story -- lived to save the world, but died incapable of even saving, and I mean truly saving, him; and that is something that will haunt this pathetic man from beyond the grave or the face of death. *pause* ...Okay, I take that back. Remember that time you snuck into my mother's room and roleplayed one of your fetish-fantasies which I will only say involved a pantyhose and some lubricant a week after we installed surveillance cameras? Yea -- uh-huh, yeah, I remember that you twisted bastard. (sigh)
Yeah, never mind, I don't think any emotional conflict's usurping that anytime soon."
"Any last words?
- Yeah. Start running."
The FBI/Interpol/NSA/RCMP guys drop in just then and arrest his ass. I win.
- Yeah. Start running."
The FBI/Interpol/NSA/RCMP guys drop in just then and arrest his ass. I win.
Last words? No, I'm going out with a song!
If saved by my worst enemy:
<youtube=-yo99b5G8bw>
If my lover kills me:
<youtube=kvnIFo3xMfY>
I don't care if it is not humanly possible, I'm doing it!
If I can't sing, then a simple poem.
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On with the show!
If saved by my worst enemy:
<youtube=-yo99b5G8bw>
If my lover kills me:
<youtube=kvnIFo3xMfY>
I don't care if it is not humanly possible, I'm doing it!
If I can't sing, then a simple poem.
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On with the show!
"Well except these four"OlasDAlmighty said:
OT: "AURGRGAH! FUCK YOU SHOT ME! FUCK! AHHHHHHG! THIS HURTS! FUCK! YOUR AN ASSHOLE!" is the most likely thing I would say at this point. I say this considering my severely short temper. In the event that I still have my wits about me after the bout of swearing, and he is still within earshot, I would also probably indulge in one last bout of a meta conversation and discuss how cliche it would have been had I said something that made me sound better than him, or cursed him with my dieing breath, followed up by the recognition that this very conversation could be construed as me showing off my intellectual nature and therefore is an attempt to make me sound better than him.
Of course, this can only occur if he hasn't murdered me on the first night in response to my constant nattering.
