Caroline snorts and gives a brief little half bow. "Thanks, but I'll never bring home the gold now." She sighs and stares mournfully into the distance for a moment. "So much for all those brand deals." Caroline shakes her head. "I was really counting on those." How will she ever win her Olympic pageant mother's love now? Life's hard.

"Yeah, but does it come with a nice big air dryer or just those giant swiffer duster looking things?" Caroline Lichfield: asking the important questions. Now that she can actually see Mister Lurker here, he looks like some kind of hilarious redneck-hipster hybrid. Hillster? Hipbilly? Something like that. She figures that's probably a demographic she should get used to seeing since she lives in fucking small town Oregon now. (In a home! That she's gonna own! That's still weird.)

At least he doesn't have one of those really obnoxious neck tattoos. Or stretched ears. God, stretched ears are the fucking worst.