I’m gonna whomp you so hard, they might as well cue the sad French horns.
Hello, soldier. Before you attempt to charge this bunker, I’d like to tell you about the sad french horns. You know, the sad french horns that play every time a soldier dies, and the camera shows his rifle standing upright in the dirt with his helmet on top? Now, I’m not trying to smack talk. I’d just like to point out that I am shielded behind a concrete and sandbag bunker with a hard-mounted machine gun turret. You are hiding behind a cow corpse at the bottom of a hill. Somewhere – and I’m not saying where – a large orchestra is wetting their mouths, making that puckering face, and raising lots and lots of sad french horns to their lips in choreographed glimmering bronze unison. Now, ask yourself. Who are those sad french horns getting ready to play for? Are those sad sad horns for me? Do I look like a sad horn kinda guy?
I’m not trying to tell you to back off. I just want you to know the facts. And before you shoulder your rifle, tuck a grenade in your palm, and hit the voice command menu to shout, “I’m going in…” I want you to take a moment. And think about those sad, sad horns. Thank you.
Never before in the history of the human endeavor have so many owed so much to a bunch of french horn lips.
Score: 7.27; Total Votes: 1735 as of 2009-12-09.