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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
From Darth Vader:
I AM... not your father.
What happened: I was on serious life support for years. After an unexpected electrical surge, my vital signs were failing, and I was quickly fading.
My son, who barely knew me, was desperately trying to save me. He had just learned that I was his father recently, and we really had no time to catch up.
Anyway, I asked him to pull the plug, so to speak.
What I said: With my last gasping breaths I said, "You were right. You were right about me. Tell your sister ... you were right."
What I SHOULD have said: Wait a minute! You're not my son! I can't see anything from this damned helmet! My bad!
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!