Frink of televisual renown, thou sees socks at every turn. I wonder good sir, are thine feet cold?
But oh dear lord in heaven I writeth my next with no jest, as I remind ye of the sad death of poor Rush Clovis the young and chiseled. Fallen and splattered from heights lofty in episode the seventh of The Warring Clones Tales final whimper this very year.
Sadeth for fickle Padme at least, who else among us mourns for dull bags of tools such as these?