Possible Positive Outcomes Of Bringing A Knife To A Gunfight
You get a few good stabs in and become a sort of modern day folk hero. Much as we still recount the story of how John Henry battled the steam powered hammer with raw manpower, children of future generations will learn the tale of the man who brought a knife to a gunfight. Your ultimate demise in a gush of incredulous gunfire is not the point. The heart of the matter is that you stayed true to good old-fashioned knifeplay in an era of gunsmanship. And that’s a lesson we call can learn from.
You trade your knife to a gullible gun owner for his/ her firearm.
Gunfire kills you immediately, but kids in the inner city start wearing airbrushed t-shirts of your image and the years you lived.
All of the gunfight participants marvel at your deadpan cool. You become their new leader. By mimicking your poise under duress, the gunfighters learn a path of nonviolence. They form a nonprofit organization dedicated to taking teens into the woods and teaching them survival skills in exchange for their firearms. You write a bestselling book about the experience. Oprah and Phil Donahue come out of retirement to interview you together. You receive a MacArthur Genius Grant to found similar programs across the United States. When you die, the post office puts your face on a stamp.
Your knife is secretly a gun.
Upon seeing your weapon of choice everyone pulls out their own knives. They discuss where to find the highest quality knife accouterments. They share sharpening techniques and safety tips. Those who were once enemies become friends. They had no idea how much they had in common. Everyone leaves together and carpools to a nearby shooting range where they take out their aggression on targets. “Isn’t this funny!” One man shouts. “We were trying to murder each other just an hour ago.” No one hears because of their protective ear coverings, but everyone nods and laughs, assuming (correctly) that their new friend said something charming or pithy.
It’s a Civil War reenactment. Your knife is more powerful than their guns.
You feel embarrassment at your lack of preparation. You vow to get your life together. Upon returning to your poorly kept studio apartment, you order an LSAT prep book off of the internet. You enroll in law school and eventually become a powerful advocate for gun control.
Everyone at the gunfight believes you to be a time traveler and fears/ respects you. (For this scenario to play out, you should probably wear a cowboy hat, a vest, and a floppy fake mustache. Look confused and volatile. Shout things about being both “rootin’” and “tootin.’”)
There’s one other dude there who’s super into knives but too shy to say it in front of his gun-toting cohorts. You guys get to talking and become life long best friends.
All of the guns have run out of ammunition. The remaining gunfight participants are awkwardly fencing with their pistols. They look ridiculous. You have a leg up on them because knives are sharp.
You are a trained knife thrower. It’s everyone’s first gunfight. You dazzle them with your skills. They surrender. You collect their guns in a sack and throw them into the river. The townspeople rejoice, for you have nipped gang violence in the bud.
Someone helpfully redirects you to the knife fight around the corner. You normally hate to ask for directions, but you were running late and forgot to write down the address of the knife fight. Now you’re lost, and your wife Carol is busting your hump, which is a load of crap because you were only late in the first place because she took so long to choose an outfit. It’s a knife fight, Carol. No one cares about your shoes. Women, right?
Everyone has a good laugh.
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