Hang on, crew.

Before we go any further down this musty tunnel and continue hunting the Lost Amulet of Christopher Columbus, let's establish something: I'm going to hold the torch. And it's not because I need to see stuff, or because I think you all can't handle it, it's purely because I'm thoughtful. Ok? I want you to remember that. There's one torch for the six of us, but I'm going to hold it because I'm thoughtful.

Dane, you're clearly the de facto leader and hero. I get that. You get the glory, and the girl (if, Claire, you're consenting). When this is made into a movie you'll probably be like Matthew McConaughey or Brendan Fraser or something. You already have the old-timey pistol in one hand, which means you’ll need your other hand for solving dust-covered puzzles or catching one of us if we step off a ledge. However, I will be close by in case you need to grab the torch temporarily (without asking, by the way) to look at some ancient writings up close. Even if it means you just hand it back to me when an unexpected door opens.

Claire, I think you're awesome. And you bring a lot to the group, like your think-outside-the-box approach to this adventure. I'll admit, we need somebody with your perspective to stop us from making some huge blunders in this cave of doom. But I also love this whole “will they/won't they” thing you've got with Dane. If I'm honest? It looks like you'll need both hands free, in case you accidentally fall into Dane's arms and share a near-kiss (even though you'll actually be examining some cryptic symbols scrawled on the wall behind him, much to his chagrin).

Steven and Brad, I'm sorry but I don't know much about you guys, and I think you're dispensable. You're both rank-and-file soldiers from the unnamed country we've wandered into, and I think one or both of you is going to die. That's not me talking, that's science. And no, I don't want you to die. I'm not looking forward to it. But it will definitely raise the stakes when you do because, oh my gosh, that could have been us! And that's pretty darn good for a foot soldier. Did you honestly think you were going to make it to the end? Frankly, you're lucky you even have names. It makes no sense for you to hold the torch. When you go down, so goes our only source of light.

And Professor, where would we be without you? With your 49 years of research, and spending all your money, and tarnishing your reputation, you must be feeling pretty darn good right now. Look at you, your tail is wagging! But, please don't take this the wrong way—you're gonna be the old crying guy. You’re too amped up about this whole thing, and I'm afraid you'd disregard the duties of a torch carrier. You'll get distracted by your own haunting memories of a love lost, or we'll find the skeleton of a past treasure hunter buddy of yours and next thing you know, bang! You fall down a trap door and we're stuck fumbling around in the dark. We can't afford you running off down an unlit corridor chasing your past with our only flashlight. A good torch holder has to put others before himself (or herself, Claire), and you're just too in your own head. Here, you can hold the old scroll we found that led us here, if that makes you feel better.

So that leaves me. Torch Guy. And yeah, I know my station. I'm the jokey one, right? The “not taken seriously” buffoon. My ideas aren't totally right, but they're right enough for Dane to round them off and then get credit for them. I'm five-foot-six, I am too concerned with being famous, and in the end, I will probably learn some lesson about friendship or wealth or something. I get it.

But know this:  I'm going to carry the torch. I know how to bounce the light off of cave walls so everyone can see. I know it can get kinda hot, so I won't get it too close to your faces. And I will keep it lit consistently the whole time without adding any fuel, even though it's just a bunch of gauze wrapped around a giant bone. I can handle it, crew. I'm going to carry the torch because I've thought this through, ok? Remember that. I'm fucking thoughtful.


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