Hey, Bill Walton. Who are you wearing?
“Someone gave me this t-shirt for free.”
Great.
Hey, Mickey. Who are you wearing?
“Sailor shirt to make fun of Weir.”
Still doing that?
“Always.”
Okay.
Hey, Bobby. Who are you wearing?
“Everything I have on came from Creepy Ernie’s.”
Yeah.
Hey, Phil. Who are you wearing?
“Shirt Jill bought for me.”
Sure. You wanna maybe do up another button or two?
“I do not.”
Good talk.
Hey, Billy. Who are you wearing?
“Mickey’s crotch-horns.”
Cool.
“Gonna blast ’em at that Leo kid.”
Very cool.
Hey, Josh Meyers. Who are you wearing?
“Oh, interesting that you should ask today; I’ve made some unusual choices with my ensemble. The jacket is Tom Ford, but for my shirt–”
Jesus, I should have known better.
“–I went with Brunello Cucinelli, which is just wild, right? But I figure–”
Please stop talking about your clothes.
“–man can’t live on Tom Ford alone, right?
Ch-KLACK
KABLAMMO!
…
“Did you just blow your brains out?”
I did, yes.
Hey, Pope Francis. Who are you wearing?
“I’m-a wearing da poncho!”
I see that.
“Pope-a can’t-a get wet. Little popes shoot-a off-a da back.”
You’re thinking about mogwai, Your Holiness.
“Can’t-a be too careful. Already got-a one too many popes-a.”
You and Benedict not getting along?
“He-a start with-a da vaping!”
Oh, that’s not okay.
“Every conversation witta da guy.”
That’s terrible.
“Eh. Whatcha gon’ do? I-a forgave him.”
You’re big on forgiveness.
“It’s-a what I do.”
Hey, Garcia. Who are you wearing?
“C’mon, man. Get outta here with that bullshit.”
You’re the only one who gave the right answer.
“What else is new?”
Dead Drapes