DIRK: Yes, you got me. 

DIRK: I would love to have a long talk about horse nudes and xenobreasts with you. 

DIRK: Unfortunately I'm wearing pantaloons and flying through the middle of goddamn nowhere

TT: Take it easy, bromide.

TT: Just about the only way I could salvage endearment from this perilous slope of horseshit would be to discover, really fucking soon mind you, it was a preamble to some floundering invitation for me to rush to your vicinity as nakedly as possible.

TT: But since we've already shot that wad's eventuality on so many dry runs of flustered ambivalence that were as hilarious as they were one sided,

TT: That leaves only one hope for this message to avoid spiraling toward qualification as a critical fucking defect in the hull of the Mach 10 rocket that is my precious spare time.

TT: Mine and DS's. It's a joint proposal. I'm always authorized to speak on his behalf, because I'm basically fucking him.

TT: And try not to take those last four words as a clustered literal sentiment. That would be lame and unfunny.