It’s Hard Work, the Ascent to Mount Royal

Tom Kostopoulos: All 30 months of planning converging on a single moment in time.

Ryan O’Byrne: Over 3 million people were chosen to cement their moment in history, yet only one is deemed worthy by us to create meaning, to create essence, to create a reason for going on in this pitiful existence.

Kostopoulos: This wretched saga.

O’Byrne: This Samsonovian ambivalence.

Kostopoulos: How long have we been waiting even before the start of the degradation of man?

O’Byrne: Before our decline?

Kostopoulos: Before humanity’s weakness and solipsism?

O’Byrne: Too long.

Kostopoulos: Determined to get drunk?

O’Byrne: I am drunk.

Kostopoulos: You would need to imbibe, filthy swine.

O’Byrne: You’re one to speak, Mr. Ouzomensch.

Kostopoulos: FUCK YOU!! You call me weak? Do you see all of the smutty whores in this nightclub? Any of them is mine if I cared enough about the female dullards that inhabit this pathetic excuse for a peninsula. Let me see you attempt to speak to someone of the opposite sex. Or do you need another Manhattan?

O’Byrne: I ought to beat the living daylights out of you. Who cares about such simple trophies, these walking vaginas? Silly distractions from our goals. If you would like to concern yourself with ejaculate receptacles, consider yourself dismissed from this mission. Only the pure and those jenseits need apply.

Kostopoulos: Whatever. Let us end this verbal squabbling and accomplish our destiny.

Kostopoulos sits next to a woman in a booth

Hey baby, I haven’t seen hips shake like that since my last shootout.

Woman: Oh, uh, thank you?

O’Byrne walks over and grabs her purse

Excuse me, what are you doing?

O’Byrne: Er, uh, hmmmm …

Woman: Security!

O’Byrne: Dammit Tom!! This isn’t part of the plan!

Kostopoulos: Excuse me, but do I know you?

O’Byrne: Don’t play dumb with me!!!

Rupert Cradell: Did you think you were Jonathan Toews, Ryan?

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