Grocery Store: Doughly white guy, probably in his late 60's, at least a hundred pounds overweight. Wearing a brand new "Molon Labe!" T-shirt with a picture an AR-15 and the logo of the local shit-for-brains NRA militia.

Molon Labe. Come and take it!

1/

I followed him around the store. Not stalking, he was just going in roughly the same direction as me.

I'd look up, he'd be there. Molon Labe.

As if Xeres might appear at any moment, right there in the canned vegetable aisle. Come and take it! Oh, 2 for 1 on canned peas!

2/

Wheezing, face red as a baboon's ass, sweating, out of breath, he suddenly sat down on the edge of the dairy fridge. Holding the Hot Gates against the Persian army is hard work. Grandpa Leonidas needs a rest.

Hoplite Junior seemed to take it in stride.

3/

He sat there for ten minutes.

I waited to see if he'd have a heart attack.

Or if he'd have to defend America with his AR-15 assault dildo from a phalanx of spear wielding socialists.

Mostly he just dripped sweat on the eggs.

/4

After a while the kid helped him up. He wiped at the sweat with his shaking hand. No masks, him or the kid. I think I can make it now, he said, and they shuffled off, dripping sweat on the floor.

Come and take it.

The Spartans would have left him on the mountain to die.

5/5

I'm not in the greatest shape either anymore.

Age sucks.

My point wasn't his fitness, it was the message. Come and take it! He sees himself as some Spartan warrior, and he can't even make down the dairy aisle.

But the GUN makes him ten feet tall, you see?