This should be a dead giveaway that my body has either been cloned or possessed by some supernatural entity, so please feel free to destroy it immediately.
Making clear-cut commitments to do things just isn't my style, so if you ever hear these words come out of my mouth, something must be wrong. Please do us both a favor and shoot me point blank in the face right then and there.
The robot pretending to be me will regret telling a story that preposterous, as his complete annihilation should be instantly sealed the moment it concludes. Thanks in advance.
I'll tell you who: ME. The real me. And if I ever claim otherwise, know the person you're talking to is not who they say they are and needs to be dealt with accordingly.
I'll tell you who isn't: ME. Anyone who knows me knows the only reason I exercise is because it's something you have to do to keep from looking and feeling like a piece of shit, not because I draw any sort of actual pleasure from it. If I ever ask you to go on a "Fun Run," then, please treat me to a complimentary baseball bat to the temple, because that ain't me, pal. I'd do the same for you.
That's interesting, alien who stole my body, because you know what's sophisticated enough for my palette? FUCKING EVERYTHING. Unless there's a pile of hair I can't eat my way around, I'm not sending back JACK SHIT, and the fact I ever ordered wine in the first place should be a huge red flag in and of itself. Take that bottle of wine and conk me over the head with it ASAP if you know what's good for you.
Nice try, Fake Me. The real me would never THINK about answering a phone call from a number he doesn't recognize, so by even suggesting otherwise you've already blown your cover. Expect a karate chop to the esophagus from whichever of my friends you're currently talking to in 3...2...
Actually, this one raises an interesting point because the older I...NOW! SHOOT THE BASTARD NOW BEFORE HE GETS AWAY! TAKE THAT YOU IMPOSTER! ROT IN HELL YOU SOUL-STEALING ASSHOLE!