“Keep to thy stillness, good sir, I beseech thee; my magickal scrivening device captures the stern visage of the patriarch of House Weir!”
…
“What now?”
“Stop moving or the picture won’t come out right.”
“Ah. Hey, uh, loving the show. Great stuff. Everyone tells me I’m a Miranda.”
“That’s Sex in the City, Bobby.”
“And so much of it, too. Those ladies get some banging in.”
“I have nothing to do with Sex in the City. Not my show.”
“Were you Arliss?”
“I was not Arliss.”
“Big-time sports agent, that guy. Always getting into wacky situations. Lotta guest stars.”
“Nope. I write the books that Game of Thrones is based on.”
“Ah. Are there dragons in the book, too?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Hey, it’s Hollywood. They just add dragons into stuff.”
“True.”
“Just dragons?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Any other mythical creatures? What about griffins?”
“No griffins.”
“Jersey Devils?”
“No.”
“Hucklebucks?”
“I don’t know what they are.”
“Zentaur?”
“What’s a zentaur?”
“Half-man, half-zebra.”
“Not in the show. Pretty much just dragons and zombies.”
“Zombies?”
“I call ’em something different, but they’re pretty much just zombies.”
“So the show takes place in a mall that the main characters have turned into a fortress.”
“No. You’re talking about Dawn of the Dead.”
“You take that picture yet?”
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