:: stands in ponderous thought ::
“I didn’t go to David Crockett Elementary School and Robert E. Lee High School for nothing.”
:: Gathers the strength to be associated with someone named “dorkbro” ::
“Some causes are worth sacrifice.”
:: Turns to various idiot teenagers ::
“I do not agree with the music you listen to, but I will defend to the death your right to listen to it!!”
(or maybe to a mild sting, or maybe a minor cut or two. Death is probably taking it too far)
:: High-fives dpr and dials the X-43’s cell phone ::
“All right, folks. I’ve got a hail-damaged '89 Tempo, a broken microwave, and a mechanical pencil. And if things get dire, and we’re sick of volleyball, I can probably get my hands on a 10-year-old Sun workstation.”
:: Executes script to delete Balance’s autoexec.bat file.
“You should know better than to trust Microsoft with your weaponry. That’s what happens when you’re part of the ‘establishment’.”
:: Grabs a beer and sits down on the beach ::
“Just beer? I’m in Aruba!”
:: Notices conveiniently-placed and well-stocked bar ::
“Where did that come from? Oh, well…”
:: Gets a rum and coke, and walks back to the beach. Pops “Selections of the Seventies” into vintage-1993 Discman ::
“Must vaccinate myself…”
:: Kicks back and waits for comrades to return ::
“I think I could get used to this…”
:: Prepares to make love, not war ::