Note: ( H. Nemesis Nyx) that just before the lovely speech above is the one I love even more but cannot find in video form. It goes like this:

Donald, I’m gonna quietly cross my fingers before I ask, but what blood type are you?
And you thought we had nothing in common.
There’s only 2% of us, you know?
What are you doing?
You need a blood transfusion.
Or we’re gonna have to open that door, which will likely be the end of both of us.
Give me a gun.
These bastards want to go. Let’s go.
The concept of a last stand sounds so heroically romantic, doesn’t it, Donald?
But there’s a good reason why we didn’t see what happened to Butch and Sundance.
Being riddled by bullets and left to rot under a scorching Bolivian sky does not a sequel make.
And if you’ve surmised nothing about me by now, know this.
I’m gonna be around for the sequel.
You’re really gonna do a field transfusion?
Oh, come now, Donald.
Think how much smarter you’ll be afterwards.
Why the hell are you doing this?
It’s pretty obvious I hate your guts, and I can’t imagine you hold a whole lot of warmth for me, especially after hearing about Brussels.
I knew about Brussels.
Then why save me?
Because that’s what you do when someone is dying in front of you.
Allies today, enemies tomorrow… The world is a complex place, further complicated by man’s fickle nature.
Years ago, I saved a man’s life under a beautiful old cedar tree in Lebanon.
A month later, he tried to kill me in a hotel in Damascus.
I understood.
Allegiances shift.
A month later… I broke his neck with a shower caddy.
It’s this job today, another one tomorrow.
That needle in your arm becomes the one in your neck.
It’s just that fast.


I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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