If it weren't cold as Jack Frost's balls out I would give credit where credit is due, but fuck the idea of wearing loincloths right now. [ He is a goddamn Texan, he is not made for this fucking weather, all right. The only reason he's out now is because he wanted to get warmer shit to wear, and not an almost ill-fitting jacket from his shorter best bro.

Dave snorts at that. ] Oh, no, Dick-sensei. You keep your money you earn from this little enterprise you've got here. You're gonna need it when mothers of snot-nosed, tear-stained youths present the psychiatrist's bill for their traumatic experiences. Catch a trip down to Tijuana.

[ There's that shit-eating grin again as Badou prattles on and then sulks, and he keeps his hands in his pockets while his elbows rest on the good ol' Rudolph he's leaning against. ] I prefer my organs intact, thanks. Fighting on rooftops with a collapsed and tar-infested lung doesn't sound particularly exciting. My Bro'd kick my ass if he found out I was smoking, anyways. [ Well, if he was alive. He goes quiet a moment, expression evening out. ]