Fucking fuckers
- me: (out shopping, looking all fly with my Marvel comics tote bag featuring several characters)
- dude: nice bag.
- me: thanks. (keeps on shopping)
- dude: do you even know who all those characters are?
- me: uh... yeah?
- dude: ok then, who's that guy? (points at a character on the bag)
- me:
- me: wait, are you asking me to prove that I'm enough of a fan enough to carry this bag?
- dude: (smirks) that's what I thought. He's called the Silver Surfer. I bet you don't even know his real name.
- me: does it matter? (starts to edge away before I start punching throats)
- dude: psh, you're not a real fan.
- me:
- me: (slowly unsheathing my Wolverine claws)
- me: how many pairs of chromosomes do humans contain in their cells?
- dude: uh... what?
- me: explain the function of cellular mitosis?
- dude:
- me: what is the purpose of myelin sheath with regards to the formation of new neural pathways?
- dude: what are you even talking about?
- me: oh, well it seemed that you were implying that if I don't know as much about the Marvel universe as you do, then I can't possibly be considered a real fan. This is me implying that because you don't know as much about the human body as I do, you can't possibly be considered a real human being.
- dude:
- dude:
- dude:
- dude: Um, I... wow. You're right. Have a nice day. (starts to shuffle away)
- me: his name is Norrin Radd.
- dude: (looks extremely embarrassed)
