GG: Sometimes your sense of humor seems more impenetrably advanced than your robotics. I'll never understand this tapestry of irony you weave. GG: Maybe I'm just stuck in the dark ages of pranksterism with my funny mustaches corny old joke book. TT: Yes, you are. But that's fine. TT: We come from different traditions. Someone needs to keep that racist southern asshole's legacy alive. TT: There's dignity in taking up the work of our familial predecessors, even if what they did was insanely fucking stupid. GG: Is that a note of bitterness directed at your superstar brother I am detecting? TT: No way. He's awesome. TT: I've told you, I don't begrudge any of his success. TT: I've also told you he isn't my real bro even though I call him that. We're related through an esoteric process of genetic reamalgamation. GG: Oh lordy. Yes, yes, I know. I don't need another ironic lesson in science fiction! TT: Alright. My lessons are rad as fuck, but suit yourself. TT: The point is, obviously his satirical methods have flaws, and whatever tempered brand of hero worship I might be practicing isn't keeping me from seeing that. GG: Flaws?? Talk about understatement. Those movies are unwatchable. GG: Unless your name is Jake English. TT: Yes, spectacularly so. But they will have profound historical significance. Mark my words. TT: And flaws aside, it's a legacy I'm proud to inherit. My duty isn't to appropriate his methods with absolute loyalty, but to apply reason and improve upon them. To leave my own mark. TT: To perfect the art of irony. TT: It's just like what you're doing with the work of your ancestor. You are striving to perfect his hokey vaudeville bullshit, or something. TT: You seek the Zen of a pie to the face. The Tao of falling the fuck down. GG: Ermm... GG: If you say so! GG: I dunno. Call me a simpleton, but I just like funny jokes. TT: Can't fool me. You take your shit as serious as I do. TT: And if I wasn't serious about it, I wouldn't have made you that rabbit. Then where the hell would you be?