freddyg

the gauntlet has been thrown down, tho it be unknown by my opponent. a duel of wits to the death, for which i am ill equipped. never the less, i shall sally forth wielding the wit i do possess, as a club, to counter my foe's razor sharp rapier. i shall hack and bash like my forefather, the neaderthal, where my adversary slices and pares with a surgeons accuracy.

as the battle ensues, my rival will most likely chip away at me slowly, stealing away my life's blood a drop at a time. meanwhile i shall "swing away" searching for the dull thud, the contact, that signals victory. the victory of my brute force over his disconcerting skill.

if that blow should not show its triumphant face, i shall fall with grace and respect, for i will have fallen under the blade of a respected and cherished foe.

however, if that blow should come, do not expect a personal celebration in me. for i shall slink away in shame at the destuction of a great and honorable man. the world will suffer for his loss.

never-the-less, a challenge has been issued, and shall not go unanswered.

good day.