Tm 164: What are you waiting for?
Posted via StarkNotes Personal Digital Assistant, from the bar at the Providence Summit, where Tony has knocked back quite a few drinks, and is generally pleased with himself
I'm waiting for Jeannie Grey to wake up and smell the. . .well, the Bvlgari for Men, I believe, was the scent young Miss Richards most recently detected on my collar.
Let's be honest about this, my friends. Miss Grey has long been the jewel in the X-men's crown -- stronger than any of them, smarter than most. Charlie Xavier knew what he was doing when he recruited her as a teenager. Someone with those skills - and, let's face it, those looks; if it didn't matter, would we put that kind of effort into our costumes in the first place -- someone with those skills wouldn't have stayed on the metahuman market very long.
Not entirely by coincidence, there was another guy who made sure Jean didn't stay on the market. Personally, I always found the whole high school sweethearts arrangement they had going to be unspeakably cute. (Unlike some men who make a habit of sniffing around spoken-for redheads, I have great respect for the institution of marriage.) And I don't have anything against Mr. Summers himself. After all, his current is my former. . .et cetera, et cetera. You certainly can't fault the man for his taste.
But life goes on, history is history. Personally, I'm a futurist. At the moment, Jean, I know your son has -- for reasons of his own -- locked you in a room with several members of your extended family (as well as my former et cetera et cetera). But soon enough, this fruitless exercise in puppet show diplomacy will be over, some people will go back to trying to live in the past, and the rest of us will move on to the future.
When we get back to New York, Jean, you'll want to have a drink with me and talk about it.
So, come on. Wake up and smell my very expensive cologne. Scott Summers and the X-men, with all due respect, are strictly Old Spice.
Though at least they're better than this stuff.
I'm waiting for Jeannie Grey to wake up and smell the. . .well, the Bvlgari for Men, I believe, was the scent young Miss Richards most recently detected on my collar.
Let's be honest about this, my friends. Miss Grey has long been the jewel in the X-men's crown -- stronger than any of them, smarter than most. Charlie Xavier knew what he was doing when he recruited her as a teenager. Someone with those skills - and, let's face it, those looks; if it didn't matter, would we put that kind of effort into our costumes in the first place -- someone with those skills wouldn't have stayed on the metahuman market very long.
Not entirely by coincidence, there was another guy who made sure Jean didn't stay on the market. Personally, I always found the whole high school sweethearts arrangement they had going to be unspeakably cute. (Unlike some men who make a habit of sniffing around spoken-for redheads, I have great respect for the institution of marriage.) And I don't have anything against Mr. Summers himself. After all, his current is my former. . .et cetera, et cetera. You certainly can't fault the man for his taste.
But life goes on, history is history. Personally, I'm a futurist. At the moment, Jean, I know your son has -- for reasons of his own -- locked you in a room with several members of your extended family (as well as my former et cetera et cetera). But soon enough, this fruitless exercise in puppet show diplomacy will be over, some people will go back to trying to live in the past, and the rest of us will move on to the future.
When we get back to New York, Jean, you'll want to have a drink with me and talk about it.
So, come on. Wake up and smell my very expensive cologne. Scott Summers and the X-men, with all due respect, are strictly Old Spice.
Though at least they're better than this stuff.