You don't tug on Supeman's cape/
You don't swim in front of the ferry/
You don't pull a gun on the Cisco Kid/
And you don't mess around with Perry ...
You don't pull a gun on the Cisco Kid/
And you don't mess around with Perry ...
But one of many, Kid, and the nicest example. In the words of Current Occupant of the White House: Bring it on ...
10 comments:
"The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge."
See, the problem here (aside from my so-called "friends" selling me up a river...I need not ask which ones gave you this, they're all bastards to a man) is that you perpetually grab the many-available photos of me scattered all over cyberspace, and I am left unarmed because you simply don't "put it out there" the way I do. Ooooh, brave man.
I have a way to settle this, if you're man enough to rise to the challenge, O image of antiquity:
I hereby challenge you, writer to writer, to a DEATH SCENE.
Two characters, manifested avatars of ourselves, under ANY conditions the author sees fit. The winner is the one who best disposes of his nemesis. And THE NEMESIS MUST DIE. No sacrificing yourself at the last minute to save him for the good of all mankind, or some sappy bullshit like that.
We agree to publish simultaneously at a certain time, on a set day. Let's say...This Saturday, at noon. Our readers can be the arbiters of our works.
The glove is in front of you, Old Man. How fast is your gun?
-Bobbe the Kid
Gun? Who needs a gun?
So you want me to make you look even worse than I have?
You are right -- in a battle of wits, you *are* unarmed. A pity.
Okay, here's mine:
"Perry listened to Edmonds's challenge. Halfway through, much as he he tried to keep a straight face, he started to grin. Once it got started, he couldn't stop. First was a small chuckle. Then a polite laugh. A full-out, uncontrolled bray burst forth, and the tears started to flow. Soon, he was laughing so hard he had to sit down. Then lie down. He laughed and laughed and laughed, harder and harder and yet harder, until of a moment --
-- he exploded.
It was messy. No glory would ever be attached to it, but finally, Edmonds had achieved victory.
Victory. Such that it was."
WHAT DID I SAY?!?!?!?!??
You may not die in favor of me, nor may I save you. You have to kill me, full stop.
If you can't do it, just say so. No shame there. I'll understand.
You really need to develop some precision in your language skills, Kid.
Re-read your post.
One writer *did* dispose of his nemesis. Perry died, didn't he?
Two characters, you said? Avatars? Yep. Got those. ANY conditions I saw fit? Uh huh, yessir, did that.
You didn't SAY that I had to have Perry dispose of Edmonds, so I reversed it, which satisfied the challenge you actually made.
Even if I lose, I win.
And if you would stamp your feet and have it that *I* had to do *you* in, which might be what you *meant*, but which you DIDN'T SAY, then I'm still good. You have been made into sport, and thus disposed of; and, unless you have Ponce de Leon's map to the Fountain, you will eventually die.
Once again satisfying your conditions.
Oh, did you mean, die immediately as result of actions by ye olde nemesis? Well, then, perhaps you should have, you know, *SAID THAT* instead of wandering around in the fog calling out mindlessly.
No, it's too late to rephrase it now. I have moved on.
Better luck next time ...
Steve, will you play fair?
Harsh.
This picture is clearly taken from Bobbe's profile on NAMBLA's website. No, I swear, I'm not a pedophile. Hooters, I love 'em, not little boys. Candy?
Fair?
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHHAAAA ... !
You're asking a silat player to play fair? What are you thinking, man?
You're asking a professional author to play fair? What are you thinking, man?
Yo're asking a man from Louisiana to play fair? What are you thinking, man?
Actually, Bobbe and I spent a pleasant while on the phone this evening, and toward the end of our conversation, I was laughing so hard I came close to a self-fulfilling prophesy here ...
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