Dammit. This line is taking forever. It’s probably because there’s four old people in front of me. Stupid old people. I could break all of their arms in the blink of an eye. Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! That’s what it would sound like. What the f*ck are these old people doing at the bank at 3pm on a Tuesday afternoon? Do they have nothing else to do? Tuesday afternoons at the bank should be reserved for awesome, aging martial artists.
Man, it’s way too warm in here. I mean, I’m wearing a simple, basic, black leather trench coat with black jeans and a long sleeve, vaguely asian shirt, and I’m sweating like a kitten in a Chinese restaurant. This pomade is burning the shit out of my eyes, too. I’m looking even more bloated and shiny than I normally do. Maybe I should just take my trench coat off. No, leave it on. Gotta look cool, Stevie. That’s the number one priority. Am I squinting enough? Of course I am. I’m Steven f*cking Seagal!
Man, it would be sweet if someone tried to rob this bank right now. Like, if these four old people suddenly turned out to be terrorists. That would be so awesome. I’d kill the old guy in the front with a deposit slip. I could probably do that. Yeah, break his arm, and then kill him with a deposit slip. Then, after I killed all of the old people terrorists, the bank employees would be like, "Oh, Steven Seagal, you’re the greatest! Van Damme never could’ve done that! Please, come to the front of the line!" Yeah, that would be great. I’ll be prepared for that, just in case. F*ckin’ old people.
This is all that fat chick’s fault. I wouldn’t even have to be here if that fat chick at Planet Hollywood hadn’t paid for my autograph with a check. C’mon, you’re telling me that you remembered to bring your VHS copy of Out for Justice to the restaurant to get my autograph, but you couldn’t remember to bring $200 in cash to pay for it? Gimme a break, fat chick. Nobody gets a free autograph from Seagal. Nobody. The only thing I give away for free is arm breaks. Snap!
God dammit. There are so many other things that I could be doing at 3pm on a Tuesday. I could be…..hmm…..well, I could be doing lots of things. Practicing karate. I could be doing that. Doing some of my Esteban guitar lessons. I could definitely be doing that. I could be pretending to be an Italian guy, or an Asian guy, or an American Indian. I could easily be pretending to be any of those ethnicities, thanks to my ethnically ambiguous looks. But instead, I gotta wait in this f*ckin’ lame-ass bank line to cash this fat chick check.
Alright, I’m next in line. Those old people finally got the f*ck out of the way. Am I squinting enough? Of course I am. Do I look intimidating and confident enough? Of course I do. Oh, shit. Did I do the math correctly on my deposit slip? Eh, f*ck it. This is a bank. Math is their job. My job is kicking ass, and looking cool while I’m doing it. Alright, I’m up. I wonder what the other bank employees are gonna do when this teller chick’s panties just fall to the ground on their own. They’re gonna be like, "Damn. Seagal’s still got it!"
Hmm. She’s all business. That’s cool. She probably mispronounced my last name on purpose, because she’s trying to look unintimidated around me. Seriously, though: if my name was Steven Seagull, I’d probably commit Harry Carry, or whatever that’s called. I could kill this teller chick in a heartbeat. Break her arm, and then kill her. Snap! Stupid name-mispronouncing cuntbag. I’m not above breaking a woman’s arm, so I hope she doesn’t think that I am. I will break this f*cking bitches arm without hesitation. Okay, cool. Transaction completed. $200 deposited. Nice. Now I’m only overdrawn by $80. Hmm…I’m gonna have to go down to the Chinese Theater and take some pictures with people. I hope I see that homeless Spiderman again. I’ll f*ckin’ break that guy’s arm like he’s a fat chick cuntbag bank teller. Snap!