|Scrotum H. Vainglorious |
Request permission to be afraid, sir.
"My brain is evolutionarily designed."
I've never understood why someone who honestly believed that the teleological purpose of life was reproduction wouldn't just go to the sperm bank every weekend and offer a sample.
Instead, we've got this asshole trying to sprinkle magic science dust on his lifestyle to make it more normative.
"Good bye to you all on the count of 3. Please make sure that the sacrifice of my life is not in vain."
This man has a poor understanding of what the human mind is "hardwired" to do.
But check out his awesome beard thing!
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd as AFCs, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to score
The fewer men, the greater share of pussy.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet pussy,
I am the most offending soul alive.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his rashes.
And say 'These STDs I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that flys wing with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That scored with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
I'm beginning to understand why he needs a "method" to get slutty chicks.
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