“Oh, man there's a marathon of Beaches running tomorrow night. Can we go after ten so I can see it once all the way through?"
Everyone in the room turned to the blond-and-black haired guy, who was propped in the corner, massive arms over his chest.
What," he said. "Look, it's not Mary Tyler Moore, 'kay? So you can 't give me shit."
Vishous, the one with the black glove on his hand, glared across the room. "It's worse than Mary Tyler Moore. And to call you and idiot would be an insult to half-wits around the world."
Are you kidding me? Bette Midler rocks. And I love the ocean. Sue me."
Vishous glanced at the king. "You told me I could beat him. You promised."
As soon as you come home," Wrath said as he got to his feet, "we'll hang him up by his armpits in the gym and you can use him as a punching bag."
Thank you, baby Jesus."
Blond-and-Black shook his head. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to leave."
As one, the Brothers all pointed to the open door and let silence speak for itself.
You guys suck.”
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