George Washington and The Rock are stuck in Cabin in a Snowstorm and forced to have a deep conversation.

"This blasted snow! Reminds me of Valley Forge, testing the very limits of a man's resolve," Washington boomed, adjusting his powdered wig slightly askew.

"Indeed, General," The Rock rumbled, flexing his bicep instinctively, "Nature's humbling power, much like the box office."

"Power is a fickle mistress, son. True strength lies not in muscles, but in unwavering principles."

"Respect, sir. But sometimes, a little People's Elbow can persuade folks to see reason faster than a pamphlet," The Rock countered with a grin.

Washington chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. "Perhaps in your… present era, that holds true. In my time, honor dictated the battlefield."

"Honor's good, but providing for your family's better. Can't feed mouths with just principles, gotta hustle, like chasing a Hollywood dream."

"A sentiment I understand, having fought for a nation's very survival. Sacrifice, though, is the price of liberty."

"Agreed, sacrifice is key. Blood, sweat, and respect - earn it, give it," The Rock affirmed, nodding solemnly.

"Let us hope, then, that this storm passes, and we both emerge, our principles and families intact."

"One thing's for sure, General," The Rock declared, a twinkle in his eye, "We're gonna make it through this, because the only thing colder than this cabin is the Rock's stare-down."