A zany network television sitcom about Dave, a late 20s middle class urbanite, and his roommate, Karl Marx:

Dave: Kaaaaarl, do you have to host another International here tonight?!
Karl: (shouting) The tyranny of the Bourgeoisie is unceasing!
Dave: But it’s Tuesday and I have to be up early for work in the morning…
Karl: (shouting) You have nothing to lose but your chains!

    It was noon, and the center-most part of this large area of jungle still smoldered.  The chest-high grass and thin, looping trees had just been through 7 straight hours of landscaping by high powered, 21st century artillery.  Uncharacteristically, at this moment Grabber realized he never got to enjoy a quiet moment with a pristine jungle forrest.  His “moments with nature”, if he even had any, always had to come at times like this: when the smells of gunpowder, blood, piss and fear were still in the air… the last earthly remnants of whoever it was that had just crossed his path.  Grabber took all of this in with a gigantic inhale, and turned around to find the worshipping gaze of thousands of indigenous eyes, all joyous in their new found freedom and also silently pleading for their hero to stay and lead them.  But Jack Grabber isn’t a leader.  He much prefers landscaping.

    “Fuck these guys,” was the last real thought he had before making his move.  Sure, he kept on thinking, but it wasn’t anything that could be expressed in words.  A man can realistically only devise how to disable 6 men by himself, 7 tops, depending on their alignment.  Grabber knew beforehand how to take out the first 11 of these bastards, but after that it would be all improvisation.  At this point things would be totally out of his control, just the way he liked them.  The 4 or 5 bullets he’ll have inevitably acquired wouldn’t mean squat, he’d barely notice them.  It was what to do about the 12th, 13th, 14th, and so on.  But you can’t think about them.  Well, maybe you can, but it’s just, “Fuck these guys.“