Hey, you! Yeah, you, holdin' on to your booze like there's no tomorrow! Closing time, haul your ass out of my bar. You've been here for two friggin' days; haven't you heard of showers?

"Depressed"? You're depressed? Hell if I care.

Listen, jackass. I used to know a guy like you back in the day, when we were scavanging junk to build generators. Those days, we couldn't step outside a bunker without some idiot gettin' himself shot.

We had this kid on our team, real piece of work. His mother got knocked up one night when she was too drunk to notice. So the kid kept whining 'bout how hard it was without his daddy and how his mother- who was a grade A lunatic, by the way- kept tryin' to off herself.

Most depressive kid I'd ever met. He'd just walk into a room and sap all the joy out of people. He was an emotional black hole, y'know? But he was troubled and, hell, we were trying to cheer him up because he deffinitely had some issues and we were afraid he'd do something stupid.

Anyway, one day, he steps on a landmine. Kablooey, Gothboy dies. He gets his whiny ass blown to smithereens. But, hell, he's not around to depress us, so we were really much happier without him.

The moral of the story is- watch out for landmines.