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?”
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.