Why are you wearing all-black. George R. R. Martin? You’re at a beach resort.

“Ah, my good sir! You’ve noted my ebon garb! It represents House Marghalis, who are–”

NO. No. No, no, no. I don’t care. Stop talking.

“You shan’t upbraid me with the all-too-cliched ‘Get back to writing, George,” shall you?”

Shit, no.

“A gentleman!”

It’s not that. I just don’t give a shit about The Dragonfucker Chronicles or whatever it is you write.

“You’re quite rude, you know.”

Shut up and go buy a bathing suit.