I often wonder how long I would last under the scrutiny of heavy torture. I like to think I'd stick by my friends to the heroic but slightly annoying and no doubt excruciatingly painful death, but I know in my heart of hearts that this is, as they say, falsch. Well, I say they, I mean the Germans, obviously. I don't think we should view our relationship with Germany as us and they*, because there are so many more enjoyable and intelligent ways to be Racist out there (although even more ways to diss racists. Option one, gatecrash a BNP party conference and scream "I F***ING LOVE LENNY HENRY". Two, be black and on a train, wait for someone to tell you to "Go home", then explain to them that's why you're the train. Three, punch the hateful little bastard very hard in the face).
The thing is, I might even view my friendship as being worth some bruises and a cool eye-scar, like Scar off The Lion King has (A slightly self-explanatory name, if ever there was one). Maybe. Depends on the friend, and if I might be able to thus extort money out of them for the trouble. This is only, however, when I'm running little fantasies of me saving the whole world in a dastardly overthrow of the hideous regime ring-led by Bruno Mars and Justin Bieber. I know it won't look so good when someone's actually holding the knife to my throat.
How do I know this? Well, over the last week I've had two dreams. The first entailed a different scenario, in which I was told I had 10 days to live. I asked what my illness would do after that, to which I was answered, and I quote, "It will DESTROY you". Like the torture situation, I enjoy thinking I would be calm and collected and make the most of my last few days on earth, winning the respect of the global community. In reality (well, sort of, I didn't realise it was a dream, so I guess my reaction was sort of genuine) I went completely insane and pushed my Granddad off a boat. I know, what a hero.
My second dream was a scene vaguely similar to my hero fantasies, but with considerably meaner looking interrogators and a more expansive collection of pointy objects of purpose that wasn't obvious, but clearly painful. I was having a bit of an inner pickle about what to do, and I have the feeling my inner wimp was about to win, when it turned out they only wanted a pound. "A pound", I thought. "That sounds quite... reasonable". I can't honestly say I've ever been stabbed, but I can imagine it might somewhat inconvenience you, even put a damper on your evening. And here was this man, offering me the opportunity to forgo such a horrific experience, for a mere pound. I was beginning to like him.
So, aside from the obvious fact that this post has no relevance or point whatsoever, my point is that I might or might not stick by my friends (you lot) in a torture situation. There you go, see, whoever said my posts weren't enlightening?
*Yes, I know it's grammatically incorrect, just trying to keep up the continuity.
IT WILL DESTROY YOU.
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