Oh no my friend. What you have given me is fifty cents. Fifty cents is your ice cream money -- it will buy you no meal, here or elsewhere. Now, should you want to walk away from our encounter instead of quietly bleeding next to a giant 10-second continue countdown, I suggest you hand over the rest of the money.

There remains a possibility that I may just have to go forward down down-forward punch all over your ass, and neither of us want that, do we?