I'll be damned if I'm gonna pitch to a room full of people who are all wearing Armani and Vera Wang while I'm standing there with 2-year-old breast milk crusted on my lapel.
" What has your southron god to do with snow" ? demanded Artos Flint. His black beard was crusted with ice. " This is the wroth of the old gods come upon us. It is them we should appease" .