JOHN: here we are.
JOHN: ready everyone?
ROSE: I guess as ready as one can be, to initiate lethal combat with the extraterrestrial founder of a nefarious baking good syndicate.
JOHN: wait, what?
JOHN: i thought we were fighting the condesce.
ROSE: We are.
ROSE: The Condesce is Betty Crocker.
JOHN: she is??
ROSE: Wait. John, are you telling me you're only realizing this now?
JOHN: hey, nobody TOLD me, ok?
ROSE: There's this thing called inference, John.
ROSE: Examining a large body of evidence, putting the pieces together, making certain logical leaps, drawing conclusions...
JOHN: sorry, i guess i was too busy saving everybody from dying horribly, to solve a very stupid mystery about a shitty cake woman. :p
ROSE: I guess so.
ROSE: So what do you have to say about that?
JOHN: about what?
ROSE: About the alias of the Condesce.
JOHN: it's fine, i guess.
JOHN: what else am i supposed to think about it!
ROSE: I don't know.
ROSE: I guess I thought you might be floored by this stunning revelation, given your irrational hatred for that particular dessert corporation.
JOHN: eh, it's alright.
JOHN: sorta makes sense actually. what's the big deal?
ROSE: John, you're kind of letting me down here.
JOHN: i just think we have bigger fish to fry, than... heh heh, fish...
JOHN: i mean more important things to do, than get down on the floor, and have a melodramatic tantrum about a ridiculous and stupid fact that doesn't matter.
ROSE: John, stop it.
ROSE: The degree of maturity you are showing here is really bad for morale.
JOHN: oh, shush.
JOHN: listen, whatever she is, cake mogul, or alien empress, or queen of derse, or sexy sea lady with too much hair...
JOHN: let's just fuck her up!