I've actually considered expanding the theory. I am now proposing to believe that God—or the universe, or time, or whatever—is all
really just a drunk monkey. Blushweaver: [obviously pushing up her breasts in a seductive fashion]
And, do you think my
title was chosen by happenstance? Goddess of honesty and interpersonal relations
. Seems to fit, wouldn't you say? Lightsong:
My dear, did you just try to prove the existence of God with your cleavage? Blushweaver:
You'd be surprised what a good wiggle of the chest can accomplish. Lightsong:
Hum. I'd never considered the theological power of your breasts, my dear. If there were a Church devoted to them, perhaps you'd make a theist out of me after all.