Gigolo Joe (smirking, fixing his tie):
Christopher, my friend, people look at us like we’ve got some kind of condition. But I figured it out—
we’re not handicapped… we’re handsomecapped.
Christopher Armstrong (chuckling):
Handsomecapped? That’s a new one.
Gigolo Joe:
Yeah. You see, we’re not limited. We’re just /hm/—so magnetic, so damn fine—that beautiful women can’t help themselves. They demand to be saved by us. Like it’s a duty.
Christopher Armstrong:
(chuckling deeper) So what you’re saying is, it’s not a curse, it’s a calling.
Gigolo Joe:
Exactly. Heroes put out fires, save the world… we? We save women from loneliness.
Christopher Armstrong (raising a glass):
To being handsomecapped. May our burden always be this heavy.
Gigolo Joe:
(smiling, clinking glasses) Cheers to that.
Christopher Armstrong: You know, Joe… sometimes I’d rather be paid in buttons than in American dollars.
Gigolo Joe: Buttons? My dear Christopher, at least buttons can hold your coat together when the wind blows. Dollars? Soon enough, they’ll fly away like autumn leaves.
Christopher Armstrong: Exactly. The Fed keeps printing them like confetti for a dictator’s parade. One day they’ll go full Hitler on us — hyperinflation, wheelbarrows of bills just to buy a loaf of bread.
Gigolo Joe: smirks At least buttons won’t betray you. Sew them on a jacket, or trade them for a favor. Try doing that with paper destined to burn in the fire of its own lies.
Christopher Armstrong: So we agree — currency of the future? Buttons. Stronger than the dollar, more honest than the banks.
Gigolo Joe: And infinitely more stylish. Imagine me, Christopher — a gentleman gigolo, paid in ivory cuff buttons instead of green scraps. Hyperinflation may come, but I’ll always be dressed to kill.