I don't get that guy.
Hot Shot is pretty damn hot.
Pretty Boy likes to feel pretty.
I want to mess with that fucker.
Hot Shot can speak two languages, play like five instruments, sing, dance, put his ankle behind his head... y'know, this is gonna get really long, so I'm gonna stop.
Someday Hot Shot will decide being a rock star/lawyer is getting boring and switch jobs to something like quarterback/brain surgeon.
Pretty Boy reminds me of Kimblee.
Without him, it will be a lot less confusing.
Right now, I bet Pretty Boy is thinking about himself.
Pretty Boy makes me want to do something to him.
If I could spend the day with Hot Shot, I'd probably regret it.
Hot Shot is made of magic, apparently.
If I could be Hot Shot for a day, I'd be careful, because I'd bruise easily.
Hot Shot's alter-ego is non-existent. He's full enough of himself to want credit for every single action he could ever do, from breathing to taking a leak.
I want to give Hot Shot a good time or a punch in the gut. Either/or. M'not picky.