[ On his punishment shift, bored as hell. ]

Why are you all so obsessed with parents? All these poor people cry about it. My mother this, my father that. My father doesn't love me anymore, my mother threw me out onto the street.

[ In the background there is a muffled shout from the poor shmuck whose been stuck with his questions all night, 'they just do, you ox-horned prick! Why am I on shift with you?!']

Such dreadful, depressing weather, eh, loves? Fortunately, I have a little something to brighten it up. A variety of dyes for clothing and hair, in a number of shades. I know. I'm utterly glorious. The second-greatest Fereldan of all time. You don't need to tell me; I already know.

[ And, cheerfully - ]

In somewhat related news, I'm running a bit of a competition for best new song. Who here has musical talent?