“Dude I soooo have a boner right now.” That is all I could come up with.
Once my captor stopped chuckling over my clever literary reference to the singing horse, and said, “No. Seriously dude I’m gonna kill you unless you justify yourself” – then I would have to go to plan B.
Plan B would involve directing my interrogator to this message board and my posts in the war against ignorance. I’m probably dead meat, but it wiykd take a while to review thousands of posts and the contexts in which they were written. I might bore them into letting me go.
I’d have a hearty laugh at the very idea of trying to justify any specific being’s life, but mine in particular. I bet the sharks would appreciate my flesh not being stringy as a result of panicky hormones flooding my body.
I’d throw every cliche’ line at him I could. Things like “No life is made just for dying,” and “I’m working to fix society so we can both live without discrimination.”
My death would upset my friends and family who love me. For that reason I would wish not to die today.
I’d use my sex and hope for the best. 
I’d use my sex and hope for the best.