Truth, you can't handle the Truth. Son, we live in a world that has walls and those walls need to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Noosa? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Yardenlavy and curse the Big Footy Hawks; you have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Yardenlavy's suspension, while tragic, probably saved lives and that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall.