If you find yourself discussing somebody you really dislike, and you’re looking to dismiss him – dismiss him big time – and really let the person you’re talking to know how little you think of the other person (the person under discussion), well, you could do worse than to drop one of these Total Dismissals on that motherf###er (the person under discussion).
I wouldn’t shoot him if he were being dragged by a polar bear into its cave, and I were a crack shot.
If he were being devoured by piranhas, I wouldn’t put a gun to his head and shoot him. (Not because I’d be too squeamish.)
If he were being beamed up into the spacecraft of an alien race known to be utterly sadistic in their physiological studies of the human animal, I wouldn’t waste a bullet on him. (Not because I wouldn’t be sure of hitting him – I’m a crack shot.)
I wouldn’t shoot him with pool water if I were in the process of pumping out my pool for the winter anyway, and he were on fire right there in my yard.
I wouldn’t take his advice, though he were an expert in the field under review.
I wouldn’t give him a dollar for an emergency phone call even if that dollar, having been doused in some exotic, wildly caustic acid by a depraved cashier, were literally burning a hole in my pocket.
I wouldn’t shoot him to spare him some greater, fatal agony. The only way I’d shoot him is if he were doing just fine.
Though I’d like nothing more than to chop him up into little pieces, then unhurriedly feed the pieces into a volcano, I would not do that if it were going to spare him some even worse fate – like if the only way to keep his soul from being consigned to an eternity of blackest suffering in the deepest pit of Hell were for somebody to cube him and toss him into a volcano, then not only would I not cube & toss him, but I’d do my best to convince any would-be good samaritans not to intervene with their cubing blades either.
If he were being carried away by a giant predatory bird, and I had a longbow that I knew how to use, and I was on the verge of starvation, and that predatory bird was the first potential food source I’d seen in over a week on the barren Earth-like planet where we all found ourselves, I wouldn’t fire on the bird.
I wouldn’t waste my brake pads letting him get across the crosswalk.
I would try to follow the predatory bird back to its cave, and once it had dispatched our mutual “friend” using its butcher knife talons and two-foot serrated beak, I’d then put an arrow in its eye, mutter a silent prayer of thanks over its quivering carcass, and sate my hunger, my greater thirsts having already been sated.
I wouldn’t approve of his dating my sister, nor under any circumstances loan him money, nor, probably, should he continue to reference me in job applications.