Today, a friend and I were discussing the unerring luck of Sterling Malory Archer. My friend, we'll call him "Not Archer", argued that Archer had to have been born with a golden horseshoe tucked neatly up his...undies. I countered his point expressing the opinion that it wasn't possibly luck because it doesn't exist. Confident skill is what keeps this man alive. This brought about the argument that he was essentially a man child, a ten year old in a grown body with a rampant case of puberty. In this light my mental opponent postulated that Archer was too stupid to have skills like that and therefore was merely lucky. My final argument was that his manchild demeanor did not preclude the ability to be trained. Something his mother did, most likely from birth, every time she were near him. This of course meant that Woodhouse was meant to train him in her absence. Woefully, Woodhouse also tried to give him a childhood as well which caused the mental dichotomy that drives Archer. He's a conflicted, bi-polar schizophrenic with bouts of narcissistic rage, balanced with the world's worst eodipal complex ever. This causes his mind to inwardly race twenty four seven, making him oblivious to everything but his task at hand, that he somehow blunders through, no matter how many bullets insist themselves on him. This gives Archer mind-over-matter, or the power of ignorance. He rarely if ever acknowledges being hurt for very long but will complain about it ad-nauseum. With all this said, one must come to the conclusion, that anyone with these emotional scars, who can take six shots from his mother's Magnum, in the ten ring at point blank and live, is just too stupid to die. But i've been wrong before.
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