Why, yes, I am trying to avoid working on the novel. Why do you ask?
Let’s say you’re walking along one day, minding your own business, not bothering anybody, whilst training for the a weight-lifting competition. Your perambulation takes you along the banks of your local body of water, which you happen to know is, oh, twenty, thirty feet deep. No one else is around. This body of water is often used for fishing, and occasionally people go swimming hereabouts.
So there you are, walking, thinking about quantum mechanics and stuff, when you hear a cry. “Help, help!” the voice says. “I’m going under!” Whirling around, you see Anne Coulter in the water, five yards away, struggling against the current. Perhaps she’ll be able to save herself; perhaps she’ll go under. It’s hard to tell.
Before you can move an inch, you hear another cry for help from another direction. Whirling agan, you spy Fred Phelps in the exact same quandary as Ms. Coulter. Perhaps he’ll be able to escape unaided; perhaps not.
You look at down at your hands and curse yourself. You are not Batman; you are not properly prepared. When you left the home, you only brought one anvil with you.
Drop the anvil. Those things are damned heavy. Can’t throw it at either party, as that would be murder, or at least attempted murder. However, there is no duty to risk harm to save a stranger, so if you let the fates do what they will, you’re in the clear. Being me, I’d probably attempt to save Coulter. I don’t like her, but I am a Southern Male, and we are genetically designed to respond to a Damsel in Distress…even if the Damsel happens to be a toxic bitch, with whom I would not hit it on a dare. Can’t really see myself lifting a finger to help Phelps, as long as I know it’s him.
Xena, Warrior Princess, smiled while slapping me with a trout once. Once
'Course, she did it again about five seconds later, and I couldn’t do anything about it as she was the world’s greatest mortal warrior and I was just a guy with a fish on his nose
I don’t know why I keep bringing this story up, anyway.
I too am a Southern male and share that genetic imperative. (It also forbids asking for quid pro quo even if the girl is hot. Stupid imperative.) But might I remind you that people FISH in this body of water? Can you IMAGINE what Coulter’s corpse–let alone Phelps’–would do to the ecology of the region?
Use my call phone to call for emergency assistance for both. I’m unlikely to do anything but contribute to the problem if try to recue either of them. Nor do I want to touch either of them, assuming I can recognize these individuals in their highly bedraggled state. Though it’s pleasant to imagine Phelps having to publically thank God for sending a lesbian to rescue him.
I’d try to save Phelps first. Since he’s an old man, he’s probably more likely to need my immediate help. Once I got him safely on land, I’d go back for Coulter- she seems to be in pretty good health, so I hope she can tread water a little longer.
Knowing how pissed off they must be to owe their lives to a Democratic lesbian would make me feel warm all over, without the pesky guilt of letting them die.
Probably Coulter. She may be mouthy, but she stays away from funerals and just toots her own horn a lot. Plus Phelps is more of a religious loony than she is. I’m Canadian, I’ve found it easy to ignore Coulter, but Phelps is everywhere.
Shit. I have lifeguard certification. I HAVE to try to save them.
Drop the anvil. Call 911 on the cell. Rescue Coulter. Pray she doesn’t need mouth-to-mouth. Rescue Phelps. Sue Phelps for $60 million for getting my shirt wet. Parlay Coulter’s rescue into a job with Halliburton that pays 6 figures yearly. Donate most of salary to Democratic Party.
After a brief moment wondering why the Republican National Convention is a) at the beach and b) at the beach in England, I’d probably try and save Phelps first, for the same reason FisherQueen gave; he’s not likely to last as long. Then Coulter. It’s totally against my moral code to save Phelps, but i’m weak like that.
I can’t swim, so I’m off the hook. I’d probably make an attempt to call 9-1-1, but I’ve been having cell phone problems, so it probably wouldn’t help much.
Incidentally, am I going to Hell for laughing at pretty much every sentence in this thread?
I believe, I would have to explain to them both, that I would never presume to interfere with God’s will. If God meant for either to live, they would have grown wings or gills.
Would Phelps, if rescued, disrupt Coulter’s funeral?
Speaking entirely as a hetero male, I’d have to say the sheer pleasure of watching Phelps realize I gave him mouth-to-mouth would be well worth all the scrubbing with Phisohex.
