WhiteDwarf: Begin planning which cartoon to switch to, to calm RedDwarf down.

He probably won't accept cartoons, but wow, galactic news, as a morning thing? Bad start to a day. You try to tactfully redirect this.

RedDwarf: I mean come on! Look at me!
RedDwarf: How could they think I'm not the damn squad lead!
WhiteDwarf: By foolishly judging by height, one assumes.
RedDwarf: Exactly! They're about to be so damn embarrassed.
WhiteDwarf: Mmhmm, yes, they will. So, let us see what's on the other streams.
RedDwarf: And listen! She keeps saying the Company's gonna work to fix it.
WhiteDwarf: Indeed, I understand there are some very ethical, very suicidal economic maneuvers it ought to do to instead sustain the frontier.
WhiteDwarf: But it won't, of course. Shall we change the stream to--

RedDwarf: Can you believe people give this shit the views?
WhiteDwarf: Everything on that screen is cute, RedDwarf. That can go quite some distance, without substance.
RedDwarf: So what the hell! Should I be fillin' my manifesto with these dinner-plate-eyed bitches?
WhiteDwarf: I've told you to do that, every time you ask me to review them.
WhiteDwarf: I'm telling you to do it again.
RedDwarf: Over my dead goddamn body.
WhiteDwarf: Accept my design for Slayer-chan, RedDwarf, and embrace her gap-moe youthful bloodlust.
RedDwarf: No.
WhiteDwarf: Let endless waves of readers be charmed into joining her crusade.
RedDwarf: Stop.

WhiteDwarf: Table the Slayer-chan thing and make sure your leader isn't still internally bleeding