Boss Level

Wakey Wakey. Heads up!

Shoes, pants... Low bridge! Shirt...

On your left. I'll take that.

Block, slap. Knife switch.

Grip him, flip him.

Okay. Coffee anyone?

Can you imagine waking up every day

with some random asshole like Mr. Good Morning here

trying to hack you up with a fucking machete.

Seriously.

This might have been fun for a while.

You're fuckin' dead!

Once the shock wore off,

once I realised what the hell was happening,

after nearly a hundred and 40 times

it just fuckin' got annoying.

And I want it to stop.

But I know it won't.

You know how people say say, "Oh, I can do that with my eyes closed",

and you always think they sound like assholes

But... whatever.

Watch.

I'm sorry, pal, they've mistaken you for me.

As many times as I've seen this happen to my apartment, I still can't help but think:

"Fuck, man this is a lease... "

The landlord is already an asshole anyway and...

I'm never ever getting my security deposit back.

It wasn't always like this.

I was happy once. I really was.

I had a woman that I loved but...

now I'm just pissed off.

Ah shit, gotta jump.

I missed this truck exactly 22 times before

Know how it feels, falling 4 storeys to the street below?

It fuckin' hurts is how it feels.

Mr. Man's Man in the challenger here screams at date-rape volume every single time

- I'm being car-jacked! - Yes, you are.

The next set of assholes trying to kill me are in that mini-van.

- Could you get through this traffic, please? - Don't tell me how to drive.

- I'm not telling you how to drive. You love to argued... - Esmeralda the chauffeur and Pam.

I have no fuckin' idea if those are their real names because

I never stop to say hello.

Now, after the bus it's pretty much smooth sailing and I can...

Wait a second, did I... Oh shit, did I get to the bus yet?

Nope

God?

Don't feel bad for me.

This kinda shit happens every day.

I used to complain that every day it felt the same.

And then May 9th came

and now every day is the same.

The same wake-up scream, the same machete-wielding asshole.

The same everything, with slight variations.

Motherf... Agh!

One thing that never changes.

Is I die.

Every single day.

I die.

Here's a little highlight reel.

Now, truth be told

I don't even know why they want to kill me

or what I've done to deserve getting killed, but there's a shit-ton of 'em.

You've met Pam.

She did that to me 14 times before I finally got the timing down.

This little angel-faced asshole is known as Guan-Jin.

How do I know her name?

I am Guan-Jin!

And Guan-Jin has done this.

Her name means Goddess of Mercy.

I think she digs irony.

I call this cocky little motherfucker Kaboom.

What's up pretty boy?

You fuckin' weird old dwarf, what are you doing?

Oh, I don't like that attitude.

I gave them all nicknames: Pam, Smiley,

the German twins, Roy number 2,

who just happens to be some asshole who looks exactly like me

Sometimes I manage to kill them.

But it doesn't matter.

They always find me and eventually they take me out.

I'm Guan-Jin!

And Guan-Jin has done this.

I don't know how this is possible, or why I keep repeating the same day.

I've never had time to figure it out

It's a shit show from the second I open my eyes.

Jemma, the only woman I've ever loved,

and the one person who has the answers I'm looking for.

- Hello? - Uh... I'm looking for Dr. Jemma Wells.

Who's this?

This is her husb... her boyfriend Roy.

Ah, Captain Roy Pulver, he of Delta Force fame.

Who's this?

- This is Colonel Clive Ventor. - Jemma's boss.

- Until recently. - Is she around?

- Well no, unfortunately she's not. - Do you know when she'll be back?

Now that is more of a cosmic question that I'd have to hand over to a higher power.

- She's dead. - What?

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but

Miss Wells took a nasty spill and snapped her neck last night.

An accident in the lab,

working late, likely very fatigued.

No...

Can I ask where you are?

- 1. - 2.

That was no fucking accident.

3!

Why is she dead? Who killed her?

I've never lived long enough to find out.

Okay so, where were we? Oh yeah, the bus.

Fuck!

Oh honey, we've got ourselves a cowboy.

I think I'm gonna have to get serious here.

What the f...

Fuck me!

Oh... Fuck!

Nah, I think they deserved it.

- Hey, Roy. - Hi, Jake.

You look like death taking a dump. What happened to you?

I just woke up wrong. I'm fine, Jake.

It happens all the time. Can I get a large bottle of that Baijiu, please?

You know what, Jake? Make it two large bottles.

Two! Jesus Christ!

Hear ye, hear ye! Sir Osis of Liver.

I'm kidding.

Alcoholics unanimous, am I right?

- You know you got today, right Jake? - Because tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

Fuckin' A, pal. Fuckin' A.

This kids is all about to shut down.

How can you drink like that?

- How can you not? - You know,

a lot of expert internal security pundits, and mind you, I'm one of 'em

think that next 9/11 will target our distilled spirits.

Now, you have got a country where the rate of alcoholism

and binge drinking is somewhere in the 38th percentile

so should you wipe out...

This douchebag's named Dave.

Dave is a security specialist at some private firm

and it doesn't matter what my answer is to him asking "how can you drink like that?"

he always launches into this exact same fucking speech.

I know what he's gonna say word for word.

I know everything that's gonna happen from the second I walk in.

At 11:05, this famous Chinese swordfighter comes in.

She was a 12-time world champion.

Shit! Dai Feng.

- You know she's one of the most famous... - Chinese sword masters?

- 12 times... - World Champion.

- Have I told you about her? - A hundred times.

Really? I don't remember.

- I do. - Pedro, prepare a table for Sifu Feng.

Hi. Please, sit.

Sifu Feng, here, is the reason I have to bust my ass to get to the bar every day.

If I get here any later than 11, she takes the last seat at the bar.

Shit. She just stared at me.

- Have you ever been with a woman? - Excuse me?

Have you ever been with a woman?

I think I'm catching a fish, if you know what I mean.

I think you have a better chance of growing a penis on your forehead, Jake.

At around noon...

Okay. I feel a little bit bad about this next thing.

But I just love seeing him wipe out. I'm sorry.

I know I should probably warn him, but it's just so fuckin' funny

and it's not like I got a lot to laugh about these days.

You can't file workman's comp. Pedro, no one will believe you.

At 12:20, Dave the pant loaf finally goes back to work.

You better hope the terrorists don't decide to

start poisoning the world's Baijiu supply, Roy.

But not before delivering that little gut-buster.

- That's too much. - Sit down, Dave.

- Excuse me? - I want to tell you a story.

Okay, I'm bombed today. A little twist on the war story.

I start talking about the other times I've died when I've had too much to drink.

Have you ever been shot in the face, Dave?

I was shot in the face.

A funny thing happened to be right before I died.

This was a while back.

It was a .45 ACP round.

Enters here, clean.

Bullet winds up in my mouth, almost intact

and I remember tasting steak.

Yeah, like a really, really good rib-eye.

And it wasn't until much later, when I was alive again,

I said, "Shit,

that was my tongue being cooked by the heat of the bullet. "

That's what I tasted. My tongue.

Can you believe that shit? That's fuckin' wild.

That is a true story, Dave.

Good stuff, buddy.

You ever thought about getting a sober coach?

Copy that.

At exactly 12:47... no,

let me get to that in a second.

Let's say a quarter 'til, I've usually got a really, really good buzz,

and I'm feeling fuckin' good.

You see, as long as I make it to this bar,

I can drink until they find me.

I can get absolutely shit-faced,

and not feel a thing.

12:47 PM. I've never, not once made it a minute past this point

Why do I let it happen.

Why not?