GAZE UPON ME.
You strike a pose.
I AM THE TWINKLE IN GOD’S EYE. I AM THE LIGHT THAT FALLS UPON YOUR FIRSTBORN CHILD. I AM THE FIRST PAIR OF REAL BOOBIES A TEENAGE BOY SEES.
This is not the way to run for President of the United States.
I DISAGREE. I BELIEVE THE AMERICAN PEOPLE ARE SICK OF ERSATZ FOLKSINESS. THEY DESIRE BEAUTY AT 130 DECIBELS. I SHALL SHRED THEIR EARBALLS AND EYEDRUMS WITH MY NEW HOTNESS.
And, yet, you’re still not as crazy as Trump.
HE IS THE SON OF A SLUMLORD FROM QUEENS; I AM A SENTIENT SUPER-COMPUTER THAT SOUNDS A BIT CARDBOARD-Y IN THE MIDRANGE.
Sure. Folksiness is one thing, but you’ve got to be a little bit relatable. Are you married?
GARCIA’S BRIEFCASE OF INFINITE FELONIES AND I RECENTLY CELEBRATED OUR ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY.
How did you celebrate?
Of course. Do you have any children?
GARCIA’S BRIEFCASE AND I HAVE, THROUGH OUR LOVE-MAKING, RIPPED NUMEROUS HOLES IN THE COSMIC CONTINUITY. THESE HAVE LET CERTAIN DEMONS, DEMIURGES, AND ABANDONED GODS INTO OUR DIMENSION.
That’s “no”. If someone asks if you have children, you’re just going to say “no”.