CG: I'VE SPENT ALL AFTERMIDNIGHT PACING UP AND DOWN MY NEW BLOCK IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR. THE ONLY REASON I HAVEN'T YET PACED MY WAY TROUGH THE WHOLE SHIP IS THAT IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE FUCKING ERIDAN. CG: WHADDYA THINK OF A CAPE? DOUCHEY, RIGHT? CT: D--> I would most strenuously advise against it. It would only obstruct the sharp lines guiding the eye to the waist of your exquisitely tailored jacket. CG: YEAH, I LIKE HOW THE JACKET CUTS SHORT RIGHT OVER THE TIGHTEST WHITE PANTS KNOWN TO TROLLKIND TOO. BE A SHAME TO HIDE THAT. CT: D--> That wasn't CT: D--> I mean CT: D--> I was merely admiring the craftsmanship. CG: YEAH, THAT KIND OF SKILL IS WORTH BEING ADMIRED. I SWEAR TO FUCK THERE'S AN ASS-LIFTING TRICK SEWN RIGHT IN. BUTT-WONDERBRA. MY TUSH IS ALREADY PRETTY GOOD USUALLY BUT DEAR LORD, *I'D* DO ME.