100 men vs 1 gorilla – PLAVE edition
"do you think 100 average men could beat a gorilla?” he blinks at you. slow. composed. like he’s about to say something wise. instead, he flashes you a slow smile. “...i was hoping you’d ask.” because of course he’s heard of this debate.
he’s been in the trenches. deep in the reels. he’s seen every side, every angle, every theoretical breakdown. he straightens up like you just assigned him a thesis. “okay. first: no weapons, right? just average strength? gorilla is adult, male, fully grown?” you nod slowly.
he nods back, eyes already calculating. “they lose.” but he’s not done. he’s just getting started. “i actually made a note on this once. hold on—” he opens his notes app. scrolls past “grocery list” and “gift ideas for you” until he hits a bullet point doc titled:
“gorilla vs 100 men: probability scenarios" you’re staring at him. he doesn’t notice. he’s too focused. “it depends on spacing. if it’s open field, they’re done. gorilla charges, panic sets in. they scatter.” he's taking it very serious.
“but—if it’s tight quarters, and at least 20 of them can dogpile strategically…” he has plans. formations. morale tactics. “they need a leader. preferably someone calm under pressure. someone quick-thinking. someone—” he stops. looks at you. smiles. soft. self-satisfied.
“...someone like me.” you blink, “you wanna be one of the 100??” him: “i wouldn’t let them die clueless.” you are wheezing. “yejun. the gorilla would fold you like laundry.” he tilts his head, disappointed. “so you’d let me die?” “again—why are you in the lineup??” he shrugs
“i’d be the strategist. morale boost. maybe distract the gorilla with a soft tone. a little shoulder touch. maybe... a banana.” you can’t even argue—he sounds so calm. so stupidly confident. he leans in voice low, vaguely scandalized:
“but no, it’s fine. side with the gorilla. hope he writes you a thank-you note when i’m flattened into the dirt like a pancake.” leans back. crosses his arms. shakes his head, slow and theatrical. “i’ll just lie there. thinking about how you chose jungle loyalty over love.”
a pause. then, suddenly: “...actually? forget it. i’m joining team gorilla.” you snort. “and how do you plan to do that?” “i’d bribe him. bananas.” he says it like it’s obvious. “me and the gorilla? unstoppable. you? on the floor. confused. betrayed. banana-less.”
“don’t ask me for help when he’s charging. i’m in the background holding his fruit bowl.”
tldr: he will become the gorilla’s cheerleader (???)
“100 men vs one gorilla?” he doesn’t even let you finish the sentence before going: “obviously the men win. next question.” says it like it’s common knowledge. like it’s embarrassing you even had to ask. you: “...you really think they could win?”
“100 guys? one monkey? that’s free real estate.” you: “gorilla. not monkey.” him: “semantics.” you: “have you seen a gorilla?” him: “yeah. and i’ve seen 100 idiots who’d try to fight one. strength in stupidity.” you: “…so you think they’d win?” he nods. “absolutely.”
and just like that, you’ve activated him. he sits up straighter. eyes lit. already talking with his hands. “okay listen. they circle it. someone distracts it. couple guys go for the legs. someone climbs on top. gorilla’s done.” you bring up the size. the bite force. stats.
he waves them off like they’re rumors. “stats mean nothing in a street fight.” he doesn’t care. “what if they brought ropes? big ropes. just tie it down. easy.” “or like—hit it with something. chairs. metal pipes. vending machine maybe.”
“...you can’t just spawn a vending machine.” he rolls his eyes, “you’re thinking too small. this is why you’re not in the strategy room.” at this point?? he’s on the floor sketching battle formations with crumbs. drafting roles. coaching a team that doesn’t exist.
“group a holds the line. group b attacks from behind. group c? emotional support. we need morale.” but then. you hit him with: “would you fight the gorilla?” he blinks. laughs. leans back like you just asked if he eats batteries. “me?? i’m not stupid.”
“i’m not in the field. i’m in the control room. directing. yelling. i’ll be there emotionally. that counts.” he’s already imagining it like a sporting event. live-streamed. sponsored. merch table. “...so who isgoing in?” “hamin.” no hesitation.
“he’s built for this and he’s basically a bear in a hoodie. honestly? gorilla might surrender early.” “so you’d sacrifice him?” “i’m not sacrificing. i’m delegating.” calls it strategic resource management. uses words like formation, damage output, and cooldown time.
“he’d bring backup meds, a spare plan, and three escape routes.” and then—he smirks. “besides, i’m way more useful yelling instructions from behind a reinforced glass wall.” says you’d be in the panic room with him. calls it a “romantic bonding experience.”
“trust me. i’ve thought this through.” and that’s the problem. he has. actually though? he’s 100% placing bets on who goes down first. talking trash from the sidelines. “look at them. no coordination. gorilla’s about to eat good.” “what?” “i could choreograph this better.”
and when you say, “you know the gorilla would win, right?” he gasps. clutches his chest. mock betrayal. “you’d side with the gorilla? over humanity? over me??” “...you’re not even in the fight.” “yeah. which is why i’m alive to judge everyone else.”
leans in real close, grin sharp and smug: “but if i was in the fight? you’d root for me, right?” “you just said you wouldn’t be.” “doesn’t matter. you’d root for me anyway. look at you.”
you just stare at this man. because what’s wrong with him. but also—because he’s annoyingly right. tldr: pray for hamin?
he blinks. hard. “wait—why are they fighting the gorilla?? what did he do??” completely ignores the actual question. his face twists in concern. genuine moral outrage loading. “he lives in the jungle. he minds his business. why are they going after him.”
you try to explain it's just a hypothetical. too late. he's already spiraling. ignored the whole premise and instead chooses violence on behalf of the gorilla. "they just showed? 100 of them? that's bullying. that's a mob. he didn't ask for this."
asks you to explain the gorilla's side of story like the true empath that he is. "it's not real." "and yet i feel bad anyway" is now defending the gorilla's honor like it's his cousin?? bamby please.
he starts asking the weirdest questions: "do they know each other? are they dudes friends? what's their group dynamic? how are their knees??" eventually, after too much pacing and one near-trip ober absolutely nothing: "they'd lose. for sure. like—badly." nods solemnly.
"unless the gorilla gets distracted. or... feels bad for them. but why would he. he's seen things." you: "...what things?" him: "...i dunno. jungle trauma?" and when you try to bring logic into it—"but 100 people is a lot"—he just nods.
"yeah. it is. but he's strong. i believe in him." he says it like a war general saluting a fallen hero. his loyalty? firmly planted. his allegiance? unwavering. team gorilla till death. ride or die. already planning to knit him a friendship bracelet.
you: “so you’re team gorilla?” him: “he didn’t even start it.” by the end of it, he’s emotionally attached to the gorilla. later, he texts you: “if i was the gorilla, would you defend me?” and then: “nvm. don’t answer. it’s too raw.”
“do you think 100 men could beat a gorilla?” he pauses mid-bite. tilts his head. “huh. why are they fighting?” not upset—just curious. like you asked him to solve a puzzle. he’s already thinking too hard. you try to explain it’s just a question. too late. he’s off.
“gorillas are actually really peaceful unless provoked.” “they eat plants. they’re family-oriented. they’re emotional. i watched a thing on it.” “their arms are like—six times stronger than humans. six.” he holds up six fingers. very serious.
he is now in full geography-channel mode. talking fast. pacing. flapping his arms like wings for some reason. “they can climb. they can break trees. they have dads.” “what does that have to do with anything—” “i don’t know but it feels important..” suddenly claps his hands.
“okay. 100 men. that’s a flash mob. if they rush in together, maybe they get him.” pauses. “…unless he starts swinging. then it’s over. they fold like paper.” he’s flipping sides every two seconds.
“i believe in the gorilla. no—wait. i believe in redemption. maybe the men can bond with him.” “maybe they bring him fruit. and a speaker. and they all dance.” “so... who wins?” “love.” he's serious btw. and when you ask: “so would you be one of the 100 men?” he snorts.
“me?? i’d be riding the gorilla.” you blink.“...what—” “as friends!! unless he lets me steer. then i’m in charge.” somewhere between roundhouse-kicking a pillow and quoting a documentary badly, he casually says:
“i’m sending hamin in first. he’s got this." he’s basically a gorilla but with snacks.” texts hamin: “if the day ever comes, i believe in you. ” it’s a noline thing. pray for hamin. and if you think this is the end if debate? you are so wrong.
five minutes later, he’s trying to climb on your back. “don’t fight it. this is for the bit.” you’re wheezing. he’s definitely bigger than you. you’re hunched over, wobbling, laughing— “eunho—get off—” “no. i’ve bonded. this is my home now.”
“shh. you’re sturdy. and so graceful. like a four-legged forest beast.” “i am not a gorilla—” he gasps. “why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?? gorillas are cute! haven’t you seen donkey kong? he wears a tie.” “are you seriously comparing me to donkey kong?
he grins. “he’s powerful. misunderstood. excellent posture. honestly? i see it.” you collapse under him, sob-laughing. he’s grinning so hard he can barely breathe.
and later? he makes you watch a gorilla documentary with him. narrates the whole thing. badly. midway through: “okay but look at his eyes. that’s a soul. that’s a man with taxes.” whatever that means.
"can 100 average men beat a bloodlusted gorilla?" he pauses. glances at you. “how average?” “like… average height, weight, strength—just normal guys.” he nods. chews his protein bar. then says, completely straight-faced:
“they’re all going to die. that gorilla’s walking out of there with a new coat.” you: “what? why??” “it’s a wild animal. it’s not fighting with logic. it’s fighting to end the threat.” you blink. you try to play the devil's advocate, "not even with a strategy?"
he gives you the driest look imaginable. “especially not with strategy. because they won’t have one.” says it like he’s already seen the footage. like he’s the last survivor giving a post-battle interview. “what if—” “no.” immediate shutdown, he's set on his answer!
you bring up ropes. coordination. team morale. he just raises one eyebrow. “do you really think 100 men are going to cooperate under pressure?” you have no comeback. he’s right. but then—you mention noah and eunho said they’d send him in. he blinks. once. then again.
sets down his protein bar. “...i’m sorry. they’re volunteering me to fight a gorilla?” “…yes.” “…of course they did.” sighs. pulls out his phone and sends a text: ‘i am not your gorilla proxy.’ “do they want me to win, or stall it while they escape?” “unclear.” “figures.”
“so you wouldn’t do it?” he glances at you. calmly. “…i’m not stupid, i value my life.” a pause. then—quietly, “but if i had to...” and that’s when you see it, that spark of competition. the subtle shift of idiocy.
“wait. hold on. are you saying you could actually beat a gorilla?” he pauses. like he’s deciding whether or not to say it. and then, casually: “…maybe. depends on the terrain.” no elaboration. you stare at him. “...i’d aim for the legs.” he says it with confidence.
"100 men vs a gorilla, what do u think?" he looks up. not amused. not confused. "idk. do you think 100 job applications could beat you?" he doesn't stop there, "that's the real battle. from the look of your bank account... the gorilla's not the only threat."
he's calling u broke and unemployed. "let me know if you want to fight something real. like taxes." tldr: u asked a silly question and ole boy hit u with a career evaluation. thank you for coming to my ted talk, good night
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