Nash often let his mouth get the best of him.
So, he found himself in a lot of duels.
He was a master of the sword.
Nobody was his equal with a sword.
And he never lost a duel of swords.
He relied on this, his sword covering his ass.
Until the day when he was challenged to a duel, and his opponent opened up a pistol case.
“Um, okay,” said Nash. And he chose a pistol.
Ten paces. Nash went down with a bullet in his chest.
His opponent stood over him, laughing.
Nash stabbed him with a sword.