re: his exsilium app.

[5055034455]

Three things, sweetheart.

1) A shotgun. You're giving me a shotgun that fires taser shells. That's gonna end real well.

2) This so-called "personality" section is way off the mark. What are these words you're using? Sleazy? Crass? What about my redeeming qualities, huh?

...oh. Oh, okay. You didn't "get there" yet. Great. Can't wait to see what you do once you get there.

3) Aside from the fact that Pinkman's there, why are you even doing this? What do you think I have to offer him at this point? Can't we just call this off and... I don't know, go somewhere less insane? Damn it, Jim, I'm a lawyer — not a diplomat.

And no, I will not trust your judgment. I don't trust you at all. How stupid do I look?

...very funny.

Comments

[biotch]

[ Dude, no. ]

Yeah, well ten bucks says you get shanked, shot or turned into some sexoholic nympho chic within the first week.

[5055034455]

...that last one doesn't sound so bad.

Anyway, relax. It's not like I'm going to prison.

[biotch]

[ Eurgh, TMI. ]

Dude, don't you get it? You are going to be shoved somewhere against your will just so that some freaky chic behind a keyboard — no offense — can get her own personal jollies.

That don't sound like prison to you? [ Kind of? ]

[5055034455]

[DAMN IT, JESSE. ಠ_ಠ ]

You know what else sounds like prison?

[biotch]

[ These are his hands going up in the air, like this has suddenly become a game of no-touchie. ]

I don't even wanna know.

[5055034455]

Let me put it this way: I think I'm more likely to get shanked while working for our mutual friend than I am in a world where he isn't.

You get what I'm saying?

[biotch]

[ Oh, he gets what you're saying, Saul. ]

You don't know that.

[ Delivered in the least convincing tone of voice. Ever. ]

[5055034455]

No, but I've got a damn good hunch.

[biotch]

[ Arguing with a lawyer: not the best game plan. Though, it's never really stopped Jesse in the past. He decides to quit while he's ahead. (Or — his version of it.) ]

Whatever, man. You have fun, like, waging your war on Big Brother.

[5055034455]

[Arguing with Saul: an even worse game plan. He knows how to pull his punches, so it's just as well that Jesse's sort of changed the subject.]

And you have fun... doing what, exactly?

[biotch]

[ Jesse groans into his hands and keeps them there, over his face, when he admits (sounding a little defeated): ]

Horror boat.

[ It comes out sounding a bit like Hmmrnrh Fffnr instead. ]

[5055034455]

Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. You want to maybe move your hands?

[biotch]

[ He complies but begrudingly. ]

I said horror boat, okay? I'm s'posed to be going on some, like, terror cruise where everybody axe murders each other and bonds over creamed corn.

[5055034455]

...and you're worried about me.

Jesus.

So while I'm getting stabbed 1000 years in the future, you'll be — what, hanging by your nipples from fish hooks in the captain's closet?

[OOPS looks like he grossed himself out with that mental image.]

[biotch]

[ There are.





No words. ]

What the fuck, man? I thought we were s'posed to be comforting each other, what is wrong with you?

UGLY CACKLING

[5055034455]

...we are?

Okay.

Maybe you'll like it.

[How's that for comfort? c: ]

YOU ARE A BAD PERSON

[biotch]

[ YOU HAD ONE JOB.gif. ]

Dude, I am like this close to pink slipping your ass.

troll ALL the jesses!

[5055034455]

[Whoa, Jesse. Whoa. Let's not overreact.]

Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You have my sympathies.

you do it so well D:

[biotch]

Nipples, man.

[ Never forget. ]

Fuckin' nipples.

[ Ugh, he needs a cigarette. ]

/tips hat

[5055034455]

[Shoulder pat.]

Calm down, Pinkman.