Note: ( H. Nemesis Nyx) that just before the lovely speech above is the one I love even more but cannot find in video form. It goes like this:
Donald, I’m gonna quietly cross my fingers before I ask, but what blood type are you?
And you thought we had nothing in common.
There’s only 2% of us, you know?
What are you doing?
You need a blood transfusion.
Or we’re gonna have to open that door, which will likely be the end of both of us.
Give me a gun.
These bastards want to go. Let’s go.
The concept of a last stand sounds so heroically romantic, doesn’t it, Donald?
But there’s a good reason why we didn’t see what happened to Butch and Sundance.
Being riddled by bullets and left to rot under a scorching Bolivian sky does not a sequel make.
And if you’ve surmised nothing about me by now, know this.
I’m gonna be around for the sequel.
You’re really gonna do a field transfusion?
Oh, come now, Donald.
Think how much smarter you’ll be afterwards.
Why the hell are you doing this?
It’s pretty obvious I hate your guts, and I can’t imagine you hold a whole lot of warmth for me, especially after hearing about Brussels.
I knew about Brussels.
Then why save me?
Because that’s what you do when someone is dying in front of you.
Allies today, enemies tomorrow… The world is a complex place, further complicated by man’s fickle nature.
Years ago, I saved a man’s life under a beautiful old cedar tree in Lebanon.
A month later, he tried to kill me in a hotel in Damascus.
A month later… I broke his neck with a shower caddy.
It’s this job today, another one tomorrow.
That needle in your arm becomes the one in your neck.
It’s just that fast.
ANYWAY. NOT SURE WHAT THAT SAYS ABOUT ME.