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?

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