"Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass."
*ahem* from Heat Rises, by Richard Castle, page 244
[Stipper talent agent] Podemski sized up Rook and tugged at his orange Yosemite Sam mustache. "Sure, I guess I could give you a bullwhip and a fedora. We'd market you as Indiana Bones. Or maybe go sci-fi. You sorta look like that guy who roamed outer space everybody's so crazy about."
"Malcolm Reynolds?" asked Rook.
"Who? ...No, I'm thinking we give you a space helmet and some assless chaps and call you...Butt Rogers."
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And not compare him to Michael Keaton.
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suspect my years? O that he were here to write me
down an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an
ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not
that I am an ass."
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[Stipper talent agent] Podemski sized up Rook and tugged at his orange Yosemite Sam mustache. "Sure, I guess I could give you a bullwhip and a fedora. We'd market you as Indiana Bones. Or maybe go sci-fi. You sorta look like that guy who roamed outer space everybody's so crazy about."
"Malcolm Reynolds?" asked Rook.
"Who? ...No, I'm thinking we give you a space helmet and some assless chaps and call you...Butt Rogers."
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WHAT.
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