I used to be a beat cop a long time ago. And I'd get called out on domestic disputes all the time, hundreds probably over the years. But there was this one guy, this one piece of **** that I will never forget. Gordy, he looked like Bo Svenson, you remember him? 'Walking Tall', you don't remember? Anyway, big boy, 270-280, but his wife—whatever, she was his lady—was real small, like a bird. Wrists like little branches. Anyway, my partner and I get called out there every weekend and one of us would pull her aside and say 'come on, tonight's the night we press charges.' And this wasn't one of those deep-down 'he really loves me' setups. We get a lot of those but not this. This girl was scared. She wasn't gonna cross him, no way no how. Nothing we could do but pass her off to the EMTs, put him in a car, drive him downtown, throw him in the drunk tank. He sleeps it off, next morning off he goes back home. And one night, my partner's out sick and it's just me, and a call comes in and its the usual crap—broke her nose in the shower kinda thing. So I cuff him, put him in the car and away we go. Only that night, we're driving into town and this sideways ******* is in my backseat humming 'Danny Boy' and it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right out into nowhere. And I kneel him down and I put my revolver in his mouth and I told him, 'This is it, this is how it ends'. And he's crying, going to the bathroom all over himself, swearin' to God he's gonna leave her alone, screamin' as much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told him to be quiet, that I need to think about what I'm gonna do here. And of course he got quiet. Goes still and then real quiet, like a dog waitin' for dinner scraps. Then we just stood there for awhile—me actin' like I'm thinkin' things over & Price Charming kneeling with **** in his pants. And after a few minutes, I took the gun out of his mouth and I say 'so help me if you ever touch her again I will such and such & such and such and blah blah blah blah blah.' Of course, just trying to do the right thing. And two weeks later, he killed her. Of course. Caved her head in with the base of a wearing blender. We got there, there was so much blood you could taste the metal. Moral of the story is, I chose a half measure when I shoulda gone all the way. I'll never make that mistake again. No more half measures, Walter.
I think Breaking Bad is already my second favourite TV show ever.