You wake up 8:38 AM on 9/11/2001...

SBSP wrote:

Cam wrote:

SBSP wrote:

Sean wrote:So did I kyro

Me too.

Come on. What would you do?

I'm flying the plane.

ZlatanFabregas wrote:

No problem.

SBSP wrote:

Cam wrote:

SBSP wrote:

Sean wrote:So did I kyro

Me too.

Come on. What would you do?

I'm flying the plane.

El_indian wrote:I would take the elevator the the top floor, stand on the edge (the outside bit at the top) and just as the plane is about to hit I would jump off - perform a drop kick through the front window the the plane into the cockpit, bump the terrorist off and steer the plane away.

SBSP wrote:

El_indian wrote:I would take the elevator the the top floor, stand on the edge (the outside bit at the top) and just as the plane is about to hit I would jump off - perform a drop kick through the front window the the plane into the cockpit, bump the terrorist off and steer the plane away.

It said you wake up.

SBSP wrote:

El_indian wrote:I would take the elevator the the top floor, stand on the edge (the outside bit at the top) and just as the plane is about to hit I would jump off - perform a drop kick through the front window the the plane into the cockpit, bump the terrorist off and steer the plane away.

It said you wake up.

Moorzy2911 wrote:I'd ring the U.S authorities and tell them to shoot the motherfucker down and get serious evacuation.

Dean wrote:Take a deep breath, loosen my tie, roll up my sleeves, whisk my hair back, assemble my team together (The people in my office), tell them the news and then say 'Right, now, let's get the fuck out of here, balls to the lift, we make for the stairs, we run down as fast as we can, try and get as many people as you can along the way, inform them, plead with them, but only to a point, don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable, we stick together, no one leaves anyone, come on people, they'll be a time for grieving and crying, but not at this time, we have to get out of this alive, no time for tears (The fit blonde bursts into tears and hysterics) Sally, don't cry, give me your hand'

'Right people (Clap) lets go, go, go.' Me leading the way, one of the alpha males at the back of the pack making sure no one falls behind. I'd be desperately trying to collect people along the way, there'd be a few people who'd tag along, the mad one's who believe in shit like this, would you believe it? Would you believe an office full of people bursting in 'your' office shouting 'attack on the world trade centre, get your ass out the building right now' Me? I'd probably laugh and tell them to: "Fuck off ye' bunch'a loonballs, I have work to do'. And that's probably what fat Mr.Durnen would of done, that 40 year old fat bloke on the 37th floor, who's drinks 45 cups of coffee a day, who's smokes a billion cigarettes, he's 'old skool' he's old New York, proper New York, I burst into his office, he's on the phone with a cigarette in his mouth, laughing away on the phone with his dark, dull, but yet squeaky gangsterism vocal chords. You tell him the situation 'Mr.Durnen, Mr.Durnen, attack on the world trade centre, you've got to leave building right now' He looks bemused and gently puts his hand over the phone and tells the receiver to 'excuse me for a second' and in true Joe Pesci style: "What, what, I have a business meeting here, what da' fuck you want kid, you got 13 seconds to tell me what's going on before I shuv' my right foot right up your puney' little ass' You initially go to tell him the situation and then realise to yourself 'Don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable' Sadly, Mr.Durnen is one of them, not that I blame him though. I give him one sharp look of despair and then disappear down the dark tunnel. I here him: "Sorry about that, coupla carry kids, carry on" My heart feels anguish and despair, it rings through my head, that that's the last conversation Mr.Durnen's ever gunna' have.

After a grave struggle, we make it down stairs, with more people we picked up along the way, but not enough, unless everyone survives, it'll never be enough. We ring the fire alarms, there's a big panic. But it's too late. I hear the screams of thousands people dying, I ever hear Mr. Durnen's scream somehow.

I wake up everyday telling myself how I could of done more, what I could of done better, why I didn't do enough, why I didn't do enough, why it should of been me, why it should of been me.

Forgiveness is the economy of the heart, forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.

The-Reporter wrote:

Dean wrote:Take a deep breath, loosen my tie, roll up my sleeves, whisk my hair back, assemble my team together (The people in my office), tell them the news and then say 'Right, now, let's get the fuck out of here, balls to the lift, we make for the stairs, we run down as fast as we can, try and get as many people as you can along the way, inform them, plead with them, but only to a point, don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable, we stick together, no one leaves anyone, come on people, they'll be a time for grieving and crying, but not at this time, we have to get out of this alive, no time for tears (The ugly blonde bursts into tears and hysterics) Sally, don't cry, give me your hand'

'Right people (Clap) lets go, go, go.' Me leading the way, one of the alpha males] at the back of the pack making sure no one falls behind. I'd be desperately trying to collect people along the way, there'd be a few people who'd tag along, the mad one's who believe in shit like this, would you believe it? Would you believe an office full of people bursting in 'your' office shouting 'attack on the world trade centre, get your ass out the building right now' Me? I'd probably laugh and tell them to: "Fuck off ye' bunch'a loonballs, I have work to do'. And that's probably what fat Mr.Durnen would of done, that 40 year old fat bloke on the 37th floor, who's drinks 45 cups of coffee a day, who's smokes a billion cigarettes, he's 'old skool' he's old New York, proper New York, I burst into his office, he's on the phone with a cigarette in his mouth, laughing away on the phone with his dark, dull, but yet squeaky gangsterism vocal chords. You tell him the situation 'Mr.Durnen, Mr.Durnen, attack on the world trade centre, you've got to leave building right now' He looks bemused and gently puts his hand over the phone and tells the receiver to 'excuse me for a second' and in true Joe Pesci style: "What, what, I have a business meeting here, what da' fuck you want kid, you got 13 seconds to tell me what's going on before I shuv' my right foot right up your puney' little ass' You initially go to tell him the situation and then realise to yourself 'Don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable' Sadly, Mr.Durnen is one of them, not that I blame him though. I give him one sharp look of despair and then disappear down the dark tunnel. I here him: "Sorry about that, coupla carry kids, carry on" My heart feels anguish and despair, it rings through my head, that that's the last conversation Mr.Durnen's ever gunna' have.

After a grave struggle, we make it down stairs, with more people we picked up along the way, but not enough, unless everyone survives, it'll never be enough. We ring the fire alarms, there's a big panic. But it's too late. I hear the screams of thousands people dying, I ever hear Mr. Durnen's scream somehow.

I wake up everyday telling myself how I could of done more, what I could of done better, why I didn't do enough, why I didn't do enough, why it should of been me, why it should of been me.

Forgiveness is the economy of the heart, forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.

Hello.

ResurrectionRooney wrote:Hold on, what happened on the 9th of November 2001? Which North Tower am I in?

Dean wrote:Take a deep breath, loosen my tie, roll up my sleeves, whisk my hair back, assemble my team together (The people in my office), tell them the news and then say 'Right, now, let's get the fuck out of here, balls to the lift, we make for the stairs, we run down as fast as we can, try and get as many people as you can along the way, inform them, plead with them, but only to a point, don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable, we stick together, no one leaves anyone, come on people, they'll be a time for grieving and crying, but not at this time, we have to get out of this alive, no time for tears (The fit blonde bursts into tears and hysterics) Sally, don't cry, give me your hand'

'Right people (Clap) lets go, go, go.' Me leading the way, one of the alpha males at the back of the pack making sure no one falls behind. I'd be desperately trying to collect people along the way, there'd be a few people who'd tag along, the mad one's who believe in shit like this, would you believe it? Would you believe an office full of people bursting in 'your' office shouting 'attack on the world trade centre, get your ass out the building right now' Me? I'd probably laugh and tell them to: "Fuck off ye' bunch'a loonballs, I have work to do'. And that's probably what fat Mr.Durnen would of done, that 40 year old fat bloke on the 37th floor, who's drinks 45 cups of coffee a day, who's smokes a billion cigarettes, he's 'old skool' he's old New York, proper New York, I burst into his office, he's on the phone with a cigarette in his mouth, laughing away on the phone with his dark, dull, but yet squeaky gangsterism vocal chords. You tell him the situation 'Mr.Durnen, Mr.Durnen, attack on the world trade centre, you've got to leave building right now' He looks bemused and gently puts his hand over the phone and tells the receiver to 'excuse me for a second' and in true Joe Pesci style: "What, what, I have a business meeting here, what da' fuck you want kid, you got 13 seconds to tell me what's going on before I shuv' my right foot right up your puney' little ass' You initially go to tell him the situation and then realise to yourself 'Don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable' Sadly, Mr.Durnen is one of them, not that I blame him though. I give him one sharp look of despair and then disappear down the dark tunnel. I here him: "Sorry about that, coupla carry kids, carry on" My heart feels anguish and despair, it rings through my head, that that's the last conversation Mr.Durnen's ever gunna' have.

After a grave struggle, we make it down stairs, with more people we picked up along the way, but not enough, unless everyone survives, it'll never be enough. We ring the fire alarms, there's a big panic. But it's too late. I hear the screams of thousands people dying, I ever hear Mr. Durnen's scream somehow.

I wake up everyday telling myself how I could of done more, what I could of done better, why I didn't do enough, why I didn't do enough, why it should of been me, why it should of been me.

Forgiveness is the economy of the heart, forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.

Dean wrote:Take a deep breath, loosen my tie, roll up my sleeves, whisk my hair back, assemble my team together (The people in my office), tell them the news and then say 'Right, now, let's get the fuck out of here, balls to the lift, we make for the stairs, we run down as fast as we can, try and get as many people as you can along the way, inform them, plead with them, but only to a point, don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable, we stick together, no one leaves anyone, come on people, they'll be a time for grieving and crying, but not at this time, we have to get out of this alive, no time for tears (The fit blonde bursts into tears and hysterics) Sally, don't cry, give me your hand'

'Right people (Clap) lets go, go, go.' Me leading the way, one of the alpha males at the back of the pack making sure no one falls behind. I'd be desperately trying to collect people along the way, there'd be a few people who'd tag along, the mad one's who believe in shit like this, would you believe it? Would you believe an office full of people bursting in 'your' office shouting 'attack on the world trade centre, get your ass out the building right now' Me? I'd probably laugh and tell them to: "Fuck off ye' bunch'a loonballs, I have work to do'. And that's probably what fat Mr.Durnen would of done, that 40 year old fat bloke on the 37th floor, who's drinks 45 cups of coffee a day, who's smokes a billion cigarettes, he's 'old skool' he's old New York, proper New York, I burst into his office, he's on the phone with a cigarette in his mouth, laughing away on the phone with his dark, dull, but yet squeaky gangsterism vocal chords. You tell him the situation 'Mr.Durnen, Mr.Durnen, attack on the world trade centre, you've got to leave building right now' He looks bemused and gently puts his hand over the phone and tells the receiver to 'excuse me for a second' and in true Joe Pesci style: "What, what, I have a business meeting here, what da' fuck you want kid, you got 13 seconds to tell me what's going on before I shuv' my right foot right up your puney' little ass' You initially go to tell him the situation and then realise to yourself 'Don't negotiate with people who aren't negotiable' Sadly, Mr.Durnen is one of them, not that I blame him though. I give him one sharp look of despair and then disappear down the dark tunnel. I here him: "Sorry about that, coupla carry kids, carry on" My heart feels anguish and despair, it rings through my head, that that's the last conversation Mr.Durnen's ever gunna' have.

After a grave struggle, we make it down stairs, with more people we picked up along the way, but not enough, unless everyone survives, it'll never be enough. We ring the fire alarms, there's a big panic. But it's too late. I hear the screams of thousands people dying, I ever hear Mr. Durnen's scream somehow.

I wake up everyday telling myself how I could of done more, what I could of done better, why I didn't do enough, why I didn't do enough, why it should of been me, why it should of been me.

Forgiveness is the economy of the heart, forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.