Whats there to understand about a bunch of men competing to beat wach others brains out?

"Pinochet," repeated Hawkeye, as if he was trying it on for size, "Anyway, you got any plans to head down there and see her swing? After all you're the one who brought her in."

"And the reason why she's swinging." The big man shook his head . "Never was much one for witnessing hang-ings myself, though. Too much of a spectacle for all the wrong reasons."

"After all what she done to you?" Hawkeye said. "All them times she tried to have you killed? Hell, she almost had the entire town destroyed while gunning for you."

Trammel had no desire to relive the complexities of the Madame Pinochet matter with his talkative deputy. He genuinely liked Hawkeye and had come to rely on him. He admired the way the young man handled a gun. He wasn't trigger happy, but he wasn't afraid to shoot when the time came. He was brave and even tempered, and Trammel was glad to have him by his side. But the boy had one failing, it was thaymt he couldn't keep his mouth shut. He'd been born in Blackstone and never lived anywhere else.

Seem familiar? This 8s the second time I've watched Jean Claude Van Damme in ' Bloodsport'. If I'd known my worthlessly in- action hero brother I'd imagine him to be like Van Damme. You know, I'd imagine that if his every action weren't that of a self possessed idiot rich narcissist with a bigger mouth than spine. Back when everyone first started parroting that worthless phrase 'based' I'd even hear it in his voice as my personal definition had more character than any of the sniveling jerk offs who yell it constantly to avoid applying standards to their self image. But that fool, rich and utterly self hating as he is, is only as important as the trouble he causes.

I once posted that there was no future, as there hadn't been one yesterday or the day before. And after all these years of waiting....I'm still being disappointed. However slim the chance, tonight was to be about an act of healing, and eventually love making. A retarded tech obsessed Israeli is somewhere re-enacting memes like an autistic rat woman, believing her clout online is deserved. A mad Australian who has utterly closed herself off from reality silently goads on the ennui of a country on a unique continent, possessed by insane hatred for a man she has never met and will never have the fortitude to turn off her self modified tech and look at honestly. A twin just pities himself, certain he knows human cruelty, what a putz. A girl in China once again let's herself fall into depression, certain a night of love would occur, never mind the absolute information stonewall she hides behind, a false Phoenix waiting to wake up
A distracting optimist.
A walking piece of human sin pretending to be a man pops another bottle of pills and Pat's himself on the dock for being ymthe most hotheaded, vapid, characterless shill of a human being on YouTube, his talents continuing to atrophy, along with his sight. A group of insects on a social media sight Twitter back and forth, drunk on awareness they're too petty to actually control. A pair of closeted suicidal murderers grow old thinking about how they cleverly avoided lives of meaning and accomplishment, destined to be deleted by the visitors who shamefacedly we watch this planet. A triad and his girl just endure, refusing the full of meaning. Several world leaders eye a man they know to intervene upon but cannot due to a bet they themselves always sabotage. The voice of the sun second guesses abandoning a scared child decades ago.
Q is Q.
And a Chinese assassin sits staring blankly at a wall, wondering where her calculations have gone wrong.
And last and unfortunately least, a rich Mexican girl counts her money to distract from the dread crawling all over her and the emptiness knowing at her for a day out "they" skipped and how happy they'd already be if they were at all proactive.
An Indian, a dead soldier and a deceased Seiyuu all have lives again, but who cares they're just cheap imitations anyway and always will be right?
And the writer cries themself slightly to sleep, praying for sanity from the suicidally insane, alone waiting for once to be surprised by any of the insects around them pretending to be people, desperate to have an escape from a game that had already been won over and over against memetic Imbeciles enslaved to the echoes in their heads.
And most especially, because clones aren't people, an alien's appendage hovers over a switch that could amplify a virus' lethality inexpressible overnight, but feels bitter pity.

A killer waits for permission to love, and a child's heartbroken shadow waits to finally learn to kill, but one of them cannot stand up and take action. I don't know why, to take a life is nothing to feel guilty agonizing for years over. I killed my father, you don't hear me whining about it!

And a comic book fan continues to mislead his wife and offer his child no future, because he thinks he's in love with death.

Another worthless night on planet Earth, courtesy Christopher Poole. This is what whiny optimism gets you.

Insanity, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. The world hangs by a thread, and a prude refuses to stop gambling and simply go to bed for the sake of everything.

Meanwhile, at the /inn/... ... ...