I made that up in a column: You swear because it's a side-effect of your genius swing
"No, I'm just a motherfucker," Paxton answered, stepping back a little bit.
"What's wrong? The fire? Don't stress it! I don't want to get lewd here, but let's just say I've got a little something in my pants that controls the world. I won't spell it out."
He looked, if anything, more apprehensive.
"It's a haunted dream cock-ring," I assured him.
Let's just all pretend I ordered a really big size.
He turned to flee, but only ran headlong into the man behind him. The stranger was unsettled as well; sweat collected on his ruddy face like condensation.
"Watch where you're going, buddy!"
Bill Paxton shrunk away timidly from the man, but I rattled up between them, and placed a hand on Pax's flinching shoulder.
"Don't worry, Bill! I'm telling you, I got this shit. For real: I'll light this guy on fire later, if it makes you feel any better."
"W-what?" The stranger jumped at the word "fire," it was obviously heavy on his mind.
"Nothing personal," I held my hand up before him, "up top."
"I'm not gonna high five you! You just threatened to burn me!"
"Wow, hey, for a guy who supposedly doesn't wanna be on fire you sure are stingy with the high fives."
His palm flashed up and impacted mine, but I could tell there was no joy in it. I shook my head at him sadly, and he bolted for the rear of the train.
"What do you want from me, assblaster?" Paxton's voice shook when he spoke. Though the smoke had yet to enter the car, you could see it billowing just beyond the windows, like a roiling storm. You could almost hear thunder.
"I don't know, man," I answered him, "the last time I had one of these dreams it was me and Scott Baio, and we had superpowerful legs that we couldn't control. Eventually we had to chop them off each other to stop the jumping. I'm not sure what we're supposed to do here."
Obviously, I went first.
"Shit, I've got to get off this train," he said, mostly to himself.
"Hey yeah, you're probably right! Good job, Pax!" I held up my hand for him, and his own answered soundly and immediately, with the ease of a long-held muscle memory. There was enthusiasm in that five, I could tell, chased by just a touch of mirth. Class act, that Paxton.
I searchingly slapped about my legs, reached inside my coat, and laid one hand on Nocturnal Emission. The other rubbed my dream ring, just in case.
"I'll get us outta here, K-Pax," I swung the barrel up out of the trench coat, and a bolt of fear ran through the passengers. They surged away, clearing a bubble around us.
I blew out the nearest window. In that contained space, I could feel the shockwave as a physical force. And then the smoke was pouring into the car. People were screaming, but it sounded small and diminished through the ringing in my ears. Such tiny voices, like little gnomes. Ha! We've come full circle. I pushed back through the crowd, grabbed the stranger who'd hassled Paxton, and dragged him forward with me, toward the shattered window.
Bill Paxton was shouting monosyllabic protests: "Stop! Man! Fuck! Why?"
"Chill, homey. I'm just making an example out of this little guy, otherwise the other gnomes will know I'm weak and I'll never fully control this kingdom."
"Yes, hail me! Hail me, and together we shall have the world!"
The man kicked a few times as I shoved him through the jagged opening and into the black churning miasma beyond, but it was way less struggle than you'd have thought.
"See? The fight's going out of them already!"
Most of the passengers had given in to smoke inhalation when the rescuers finally pried open the doors. I tried to get off a shot at them, but my gun jammed. For a weapon built out of bed frames and match-heads, Nocturnal Emission sure didn't have much staying power. I opted for that old standard, the Hasty Dropkick, but the Vertical Bed's buttcushion and metal leg-braces limited my run-up, and I ended up doing a strange little hopping dance, then just kind of toppling over at the firemen's feet.
All in all, I would recommend every single one of these products whole-heartedly. It was easily the best dream I have ever had. Hell, it was so convincing that I still kind of smell smoke, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear my bedroom looks remarkably like a burn ward.
You can buy Robert's book, Everything is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead, or follow him on Twitter and Facebook or you could attack him for his blatant size-ist agenda with all of your tiny, adorable little sense of injustice.