Sneak up on Me

Chapter 7

Snorting, he crosses his arms.

"And what is a small little weakling like you going to do to a big, strong, solid piece of man like me?"

This could be fun. His ego can't get any bigger than it is now, so I might as well play along.

"Ummm..." I pretend to think, acting uncertain. James's smile seems to grow even more and he raises his eyebrow in mock encouragement.

"I will dress you as a lettuce and feed you to snails...?"

Any worry he might have had disappears and he leans back in the seat, slouching down in a vulnerable position. After all, he has nothing to fear from me.

"Too amusing to be a serious insult or threat. Good joke though," he mockingly advises.

Let's try this again.

"I will rip your large intestine out your mouth, your small intestine out your butt and use you as a skipping rope."

Sinking deeper into his seat, he smirks, clearly pleased with himself.

"Better," he says, "but you need to put some more force behind the words, really make them count." Getting really into his speech now, he begins waving his arms around. "Make your threats as elaborate, as utterly random and unbelievable as possible. The more the threatee thinks it is impossible, the more they will believe you are capable of making it happen, resulting in their fear and respect for you, and of course, it could always just make them think you are insane."

In the middle of one particularly violent arm swing, he knocks one of the champagne flutes onto the car floor and ignores it. Apparently finished, he folds his arms across his chest confidently and turns to look at me once more, challenging me with his eyes to try it.

I watch the glass roll back and forth across the floor as the vehicle swerves and turns corners. 

Hmmm... He doesn't think I can do it. I think I can. Should I let him think I am weak? Or should I prove I'm awesome? What to do, what to do, what to do.... I think I should show him what's what.

Clearing my throat, I let the metaphorical barricade fall and let the words tumble out in a burst of randomness and awesomeness, heading straight for his overly confident face.

"You think I need threat lessons from a bumbling primitive sack of schnitzel like you? You do realize that that counts as telling me what to do, right? Why the freaking frick did you freaking tell me what to do, you little insignificant piece of tomato in a 10 gallon jar of salsa? I'm never told what to do. I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 3000 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare as well as beaver wrestling, and I'm the top sniper in the entire Canadian armed forces. You are nothing to me but another target. I will wipe you the frick out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my top-of-the-line-award-winning-fear-inducing-freaking words. You think you can get away with saying that complete and utter bolivian bullocks to me? Think again, sucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the globe and your personal information is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're freaking dead, mister. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred different ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the US Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable derrière off the face of the continent, you little shiitake mushroom. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your freaking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you clueless idiot. I will defecate fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're officially dead, Mr. I'm-a-freaking-butt-rag- James Dashwood."