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This is Chess. She’s the other half of Moneypenny that isn’t my friend Jessica. This is our prenuptial agreement. You know, for when we get married* and stuff.
Because you’ve got to have that paperwork, you know? You can’t be too careful.
* I mean, we’ve never really even spoken for longer than five minutes or been in the same room alone, ever, and I don’t think she can pick me out of a lineup, but it’s perfectly plausible that were we to be trapped on say, a desert island after a freak storm overturned the cruise ship we were on (not together, probably), and there were no other survivors but maybe like a bunch of cases of wine and some food and maybe a portable stereo that runs on batteries with a Lionel Richie’s Greatest Hits CD in it, and we had no hope of rescue or anything, she might think about marrying me because I’m kind of handsome sometimes and I can make fire from sticks and I know all the words to Lionel Richie’s Greatest Hits and because there isn’t and will likely never be anyone else to marry on our beautiful island and maybe we’ve had like, a few bottles of wine or something, then I would need this prenup. You know, to protect all my stuff.