Brian I am going to sneak into your house and cleverly disguise myself as a couch. You'll go along your day and your family will go along with theirs, and I'll be watching everything you do. You won't even notice a thing, other than the peculiarly good-looking new couch. Then, when the time is right, I strike! I will strike with the full fury of a man with nothing to lose but with everything to gain. You'll wake up the next day thinking, "Hey, where'd the remote control go?" but it'd be too late for you, Brian, because I struck your remote down into the ground; into oblivion! You'll search desperately, but you'll never find it. Then, one
night, out of the corner of your eye, you'll find your remote - but it's not really your remote! It is, in fact, a trap! Brian, you'll touch the remote. The very moment you do an anvil will fall on your head, killing you instantly.Brian I am going to abduct you from your sleep, bound you in ropes soaked with smallpox, and etherize you just to make sure you don't scream. I will then drag your unconscious body into a haunted house, lock you in the haunted closet, and then forget about you for a while. One day, when I return to the haunted house to furnish my sprouting marijuana plants, I will hear you screaming and scratching and then remember what I did. I will then laugh an uproarious laugh with the equally uproarious laughter of the ghosts, and then accidentally throw an ant farm at the closet. The ant farm was on fire beforehand.
Brian I am going to use my favors with Denny to stock up on fireworks. Underground, illegal fireworks. With these fireworks, me and Denny will gut open each individual stick and drain it of its gunpowder. Than, with the pile of gunpowder taken from these highly illegal fireworks, we will create the single biggest firework of all time. We will then sneak past your gates. I will drug your dog with catnip, which makes him barf uncontrollably into your shoe, while Denny prepares the fireworks. We will rig your car to explode the minute the engine sparks. When we find out that you don't drive a car, I will immediately find a way to smash your foot with a mallet and then push you over on a stragtegically placed field of mouse traps. The snaps and clacks will be the sweetest sounds of all.
Brian I am going to invite you for an evening jog, just the two of us, past the park and the lake and into the fading horizon. The distance, burning and dissolving, will be an end unreachable by any man, much less two of them whose childhood barely burned and ashed into the wind, but it will not stop us from getting somewhere. We will run for miles for what will feel like an eternity, collapsing and gasping for air when our legs refuse to move for us. At that moment I will chop off your legs and hospitalize you, making sure I hide your legs under a special cloak I bought specifically for this occasion. By the time your eyes open to the realm of the living, tubes will branch off at every direction in your body. All
that's left of your lower section are stumps where your legs once were. A whimper escapes from your lips, and you'll wonder where it all went wrong; when suddenly, you get a visit. It's me, Al Yen, and I will be putting on a show just for you. I call the show "Brian's Legs Go To Broadway," starring, of course, Al Yen and your legs. By the closing curtain, only the steady drops of your tears could be heard.Brian I am going to infect your toothbrush with cancer and then give it to you on your birthday. Knowing better than to accept a gift from Al Yen, you will immediately throw away my gift in exchange for a better toothbrush your cousin gave you. "Boy, my cousin always gives the best toothbrushes!" you say to yourself one night. You'll work the toothbrush to and fro, feeling the tingle of Colgate, murdering the tiny food particles and germs from your teeth. However, that's when your cousin will burst into the restroom, dig into the loose flesh underneath his chin, and pull! It was that scoundrel Al Yen all along! It turns out, I disguised myself as your cousin for the past 17 years just for this very moment, when you brush your teeth with the cancer toothbrush! Six years later, when you get mouth cancer, you'll lock your doors and break down at the entrance - a smoldering pile of sad mush. The doctors tell you that you only have a limited amount of time to live, like, ten years, tops. That's when I jump out of the closet and murder you with a dropkick.
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Al: You got to think, what is respect to these people?
Wake: Well I don't think they have any.
Al: Exactly. Respect to sluts is that guys do the usual "open doors" or "hold chairs" or "give it to them when they feel like being an object." -Alienman
