My space rifle, the snow, these large insecty things... it all reminds me of the halcyon days. You know, when we were young and hopeful, and there was that giant robot.
I wish these goggles could see into the future, and that this 350-pound gun could shoot into the future. Then maybe I could find out if Mom will ever buy me those JNCO jeans that I asked for. Actually, I'm not sure how shooting into the future would help. I wish I could send my soulpatch into the future.
All of this beauty destroyed, so many of my friends dead, leaving nothing behind but weathered and blood-splattered dog tags.... I wonder if that guy's mom ever bought him those JNCOs.
Thanks, but you don't have to warn me. I know it's there - I'm just too awesome to look. Besides, the meteors will take care of it. They always do.
I stick to the shadows. Not because I'm afraid of facing my enemies head on, but because it's the only way to hide my horrible ponytail.
Oh, hi there. Don't mind me, I'm just being pensive and badass in the middle of a crowd of enemies. What a perfect time to reflect on the fragility of life, the nature of man, and my carefully assembled getup. For instance, this scythe is certainly ridiculous, but sometimes I think that it might not be ridiculous enough. Perhaps if it had a larger blade, more vertebrae, or if it was laid across another scythe to create another crucifix. One can never have too many of those.
In case you couldn't tell by all the blood, I'm dangerous - especially when I grow a bit of stubble and tilt my head. Don't let the smirk fool you. That cloth is tattered for a reason, pal! It's because I'm tough, and I keep getting snagged on the kitchen counter.
Oh, I didn't see you back there. Sorry, I was too busy flexing my muscles and glowing.
Still there? Nah, I don't need to turn around. You don't present a threat to me, mostly because I'm so cool.
No, no, you heard wrong. Snipers aren't supposed to lay prone in cover. We stand in the open within range of the enemy, rifles pointing at the ground. I guess you'd think otherwise if you learned everything from watching Hollywood movies or some shit. No, I don't need to turn around. I see you, man. I'm a sniper. I saw you when you were twenty feet away.
No, I don't need to turn around. I'm in a very comfortable and natural stance. Moving would totally ruin it. The weirdest thing about this whole situation is that I didn't even get dressed for the apocalypse. This is just my every day out-about-town outfit. If I would have known I'd be getting all this attention, I would have put on another wallet chain and a bigger bear!
Check out this trick shot I learned from that Top Shot show: Over the shoulder, without looking. I bet you ten bucks I'll hit that Game Of The Year thingie on my first try.
Hey... are you kids lighting my ass up with laser pointers again? Don't make me turn all the way around!
I'll be with you in a second. I'm just lost in thought here, remembering that time I jumped from that rooftop. I wish that the explosion had occurred there and then, instead of on my shoulder right now.
Nah, I don't need to turn around. It's just rocks. Rocks can't damage this beard, or these sunglasses, or this baseball cap. Hold on, I'm getting new intel on rocks... OH SHIT!
True, my arm is broken and I had to use the part of my jeans that covered my buttcrack to make a pair of fingerless gloves, but with this blade I'm ready for any trouble I might run into at the Stevie Nicks fan convention.
Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic follow up to "Baby Got Back" has serious unintended consequences.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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