Vault: A Discussion About Whether to Piss on Tom Delay
Tom DeLay (on fire): OH GOD! OH NO! I AM BURNING TO DEATH!Me: I don't know, man. What should we do?
My Roommate: It's tough. It's tough.
Tom DeLay: THE PAIN! IT'S UNBEARABLE!
Me: Yeah, but... I mean, we should do something. Shouldn't we?
My Roommate: I guess.
Me: But what?
My Roommate: We could... No.
Me: What?
My Roommate: Well, we could... piss on him.
Me: Piss on Tom DeLay?
My Roommate: We could.
Tom DeLay: SOMEBODY PLEASE DO SOMETHING! I CAN SMELL MY OWN FLESH ROASTING!
Me: Well, let's think about this for a moment. Let's not rush into anything.
My Roommate: Absolutely.
Me: The way I see it, we have two choices. We can either piss on Tom DeLay. Or we could... not.
My Roommate: Shit! It's a tough decision.
Me: It is. Ordinarily, I would piss on Tom DeLay in a heartbeat.
My Roommate: Me too.
Me: But...
My Roommate: He's on fire.
Me: Exactly.
Tom DeLay: SWEET JESUS! THE FLAMES HAVE TORN THROUGH THE FIRST SEVERAL LAYERS OF SKIN! MY NERVE ENDINGS ARE A MILLION POINTS OF INDESCRIBABLE PAIN!
My Roommate: That's what complicates matters.
Me: Because... you know...
My Roommate: Oh, I know.
Me: If he wasn't on fire, I'd be pissing on him right now.
My Roommate: Me too.
Me: It's the fire.
My Roommate: Think of it like this, though. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to piss on Tom DeLay. Fire or not.
Me: You're right.
Tom DeLay: WHY WON'T ANYBODY HELP ME?! ALL OF MY TIME SERVING THE GREAT STATE OF TEXAS IN THE UNITED STATES CONGRESS DOES NOT NEARLY EQUAL THE HORROR OF THIS ALL-CONSUMING ANGUISH!!
My Roommate: It's tempting.
Me: If he wasn't Tom DeLay...
My Roommate: And he was on fire?
Me: Yeah.
My Roommate: Like, if he was Bill Frist?
Me: I might piss on Bill Frist if he was on fire.
My Roommate: Really?
Me: Yeah. I might.
My Roommate: What if he was Rick Santorum?
Me: No, screw that guy. I'd cook hotdogs.
Tom DeLay: EVERY ONE OF MY NERVE ENDINGS HAVE BEEN SINGED FROM MY DISFIGURED BODY! WHY DOES THE PAIN NOT CEASE?!
My Roommate: That reminds me. You still haven't washed the dishes from, like, two nights ago.
Me: I know. I'll get around to it.
Tom DeLay: THE PHANTOM PAIN OF LOST FLESH IS A THOUSAND-FOLD WORSE THAN THE GENUINE PAIN I WAS EXPERIENCING MERE MOMENTS AGO!
My Roommate: You say that all the time.
Me: I'll wash them.
Tom DeLay: WHY DOES MY BRAIN NOT GRANT ME BLISSFUL UNCONSCIOUSNESS?!
My Roomate: When?
Me: Tonight.
Tom DeLay: WHY DOES NO PERSON COME TO MY RESCUE?!
My Roommate: I'm skeptical.
Me: Whatever. Anyway, what were we talking about?
My Roommate: Hotdogs.
Me: Before that.
Tom DeLay: THESE FLAMES! THESE TONGUES OF FIRE! FROM WHAT DO THEY FEED?! THERE IS NO TISSUE LEFT TO BURN!
My Roommate: I can't remember.
Me: It's on the tip of my brain.
My Roommate: Oh! Tom DeLay. He's on fire.
Tom DeLay: I PRAY FOR THE MERCIFUL EMBRACE OF DEATH!
Me: God, yeah. I'm so stupid.
My Roommate: You can't remember everything.
Me: I guess.
My Roommate: Do you know what we could do?
Me: What?
My Roommate: We could beat the fire off of him with a baseball bat.
Tom DeLay: AND YET DEATH DOES NOT ARRIVE TO COLLECT ITS DUE! WHY?! WHY??!!
Me: That's an interesting idea.
My Roommate: Would you be willing to beat the fire off of Tom DeLay with a baseball bat?
Me: I might be willing to beat the fire off of Tom DeLay with a baseball bat.
Tom DeLay: THERE IS NO FATE ON GOD'S EARTH THAT CAN POSSIBLY BE AS BAD AS THE ONE THAT I AM EXPERIENCING THIS VERY MOMENT!! PLEASE! MAY THE GRIM REAPER BRING THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH!!
My Roommate: Do you know who I'd like to beat the fire off of with a baseball bat?
Me: Trent Lott?
My Roommate: No, but that's good.
Me: Thank you.
My Roommate: Karl Rove.
Me: Of course you would. Who wouldn't want to beat the fire off of Karl Rove with a baseball bat?
My Roommate: Well, I would.
Me: That's not original.
My Roommate: I would.
Me: Fine.
My Roommate: Anyway. Tom DeLay. On fire.
Tom DeLay: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Me: I'm still on the fence.
My Roommate: C'mon, man. He's on fire.
Me: I'm thinking. I'm thinking.
My Roommate: Don't you want to be the morally better man?
(Tom DeLay finally collapses to the ground, a smoldering charred corpse.)
Me: You're right. I know you're right. We should piss on Tom DeLay.
My Roommate: It's the decent thing to do.
Me: Alright, let's do this.
