“So you’re swordfighting Scooter Libby.”
“What kinda swords?”
“Epeé? No wait — sabre.”
“Nuh-uh. Rapier.”
“Fine. So you’re swordfighting Scooter. His bejeweled rapier has an evil oily sheen on the blade — one nick means slow death!”
“That fucker.”
“But after a long struggle, you finally get him backed into an ornate grotto in the basement of the Executive Office Building.”
“He can’t maneuver so well cause of his broken foot.”
“Right. You see your opening.”
“Lunge!”
“You lunge! He waves one of his crutches at you — a futile gesture. He is skewered.”
“Scooter kabob.”
“His sword arm is pinned behind him against a life-size marble mermaid. He drops the weapon and falls to his knees. He looks up at you, helpless.”
“As I give the blade a gentle twist.”
“And gasping in pain, he gives you that sorta come closer last words kinda motion. So you lean in to hear what he has to say — ”
“The secret identity of Officer X no doubt…”
” — and he suddenly plunges a tiny dagger towards your neck!”
“What kind?”
“One of those little triangular ones that you can hide in your boot. The kind with the sideways handle and the blade sticking out between your knuckles, so you can conceal it in your hand and then punch someone in the eye with it.”
“That’s my Scooter.”
“So he plunges a tiny dagger towards your neck. You catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and dodge just enough so that he misses your jugular — ”
“Yes!”
” — but the blade gets buried deep in the meat of your trapezoid.”
“Well fuck… So then what happens?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Aw, man. That’s bullshit.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh well. Empire was the best Star Wars movie. Maybe I get a robot shoulder.”
