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You don't even have to do anything. That's the key component and the most unfair thing I've ever heard of. Eating lunch, picking up milk at a convenience store, generally minding your own business. Whatever. But one shot fired by somebody who is also minding their own business (really, if you think about it, that's what they're doing; nobody invited your dumb ass to participate. You're a bystander. Your job is to stand by) hits you in the temple and just like that, the mayor is offering a moment of silence on your behalf at the next chamber of commerce luncheon.
Man!
What about me? I want some of that sweet action. Do you know how many problems being an IB would solve for me? I can't even list them all but trust me, it's a lot. I think I ever had the opportunity I'd try to help. I can see myself whispering softly to a cracked-out madman waving a gun around wildly, "easy now...breathe...aim and squeeze the trigger, don't pull it...". Because you want him hitting center mass, where your vital organs are. Headshots are tricky and the last thing you want is to be merely wounded and possibly severely disabled. That would suck. That I do NOT want.
Although...they're IBs too, and people love them just as much. Maybe even more. Hell, okay. I'll take wounded. No downside either way. Except the physical pain part. But still. Okay, then. Count me in.
1 comment:
Did you eat too much sugar last nite?
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