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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
From duh what:
Hannibal and the...Girl Scout
What happened: So I was walking into a grocery store and I happened to walk by a group of girl scouts selling, what else, cookies. One pig-tailed girl about as tall as my golden retreiver came up to me and in a squeaky voice asked if I wanted to buy some Thin Mints. Now, I don't like Thin Mints. I don't even like chocolate.
What I said: *sigh* Okay I'll have five boxes.
What I SHOULD have said: You know what happened to the last girl scout who asked if I wanted some damn Thin Mints, huh? Everytime she tries to win the fire patch I blow smoke out of my ass!
The French call it l'esprit d'escalier, "the wit of the staircase," those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way out of the room-or even, to tell the truth, days later. It's happened to you: you've suddenly thought of just what would put your foe in his or her place, but past the time when the arrow could sting its victim. You've stewed in your own juice ever since, and the chance for singeing repartee is gone forever.
Or is it?
Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde may have had the rapier wit to tweak their tormentors on the spot, but for the rest of us, we offer the Internet's only L'esprit d'escalier web site!