Rocky Shallows and Survivable Falls

If girls don't scream and hide their face against their boyfriend's shoulder when you hit the water, then you obviously haven't fallen from a sufficient height.

It is not our intention to steal girls away from their boyfriends. All we really want to do is stoically stagger broken and bleeding across rocky shallows and forever implant that shard of doubt in her mind - the sneaking suspicion that the man she has chosen could never be so tough as to swim to shore unassisted through roiling rapids after plummeting from a crippling height.

We don't want the fall to be the result of our own stupidity or ill luck, but rather the result of some incredibly heroic choice - the saving of a child's life, knowing full well the personally disastrous consequence, or what-have-you.

We are: The Squinty-Eyed Gunslingers Who Were Born Much Too Late and Aren't Legally Allowed to Shoot Very Many People Even if They Deserve it and Whose Thoughts Have Recently Turned to How Tough and Sexy it Would be to Stagger Broken and Bleeding Across Rocky Shallows Society.

Our Organization may actually only have one member. There is a distinct possibility his name is Latigo Flint.

We want to manage to grin sardonically at searing pain. We want to be extraordinary. We want never to be forgotten.

We want some of those female white-water rafting guides to be there to witness our heroism - the lean, tawny ones with sunscreen on their noses who wear cutoff jeans over one-piece swimsuits.

We know we could bear stitches unanesthetized. We'd relish the chance to prove it.

(And we wouldn't mind a blow-job either.)