Surviving the Game

Mr. Mason,
have you ever killed anything?

-My wife and kids.

-You sack of shit!
-John! John!

-You son of a bitch.
-Take it outside.

You`re fucking mine tomorrow,
you sack of shit!

What`s up with that dude?
He lost his daughter
a couple of months ago.

You didn`t kill your family,
did you?

How did that make you feel?
l came in my fucking pants.
l know more about you
than you think, Mason.

You probably do...
but l don`t know shit about you.
Ask me anything you want.
How`d you get that
fucked-up scar under your eye?

l refer to that as my birthmark.
On my eighth birthday, my father
brought me a bulldog--

a fat little bulldog.
l named him Prince Heny Stout.
He was strong.
He would chase my pet turkey.
He would chase squirrels
up the tree.

l trained him, raised him...
fed him, groomed him.
l loved that dog.
More than anything in the world,
l loved that dog.

My father gave me a handful
of chery bombs and M-80s...

and said, ""You`re gonna train
this dog to be a protector.""

So l got behind
a little dummy my dad built...

and l tossed these chery bombs
and M-80s at the dog.

After a while, he`d get angy
and come at the dummy.