Here’s where I want to tell you that I drew a glowing sword, and he drew a sword made of fire. I want to tell you our mighty blades clashed above our heads as our elbows and faces met. I think it would be a really cool thing to say that I then pushed him back with a kick to the chest and swung my blade down upon him as he tried to deflect it with his own, my sword shattering his, causing him to burst open with white light and doves, and order returned for good to Night Vale. But what I’m going to tell you is: I don’t own a sword.