That was actually funny. Cal waits the requisite moment before laughing loudly, all stupid grin and perfectly gleaming white teeth. The pause is short enough that it might seem like he didn't catch the implication at first. It's carefully affected so as to minimize any intelligence he might be seen to have.

"Good one!" he croons approvingly, once the horse guffaws have subsided. The champagne has sloshed around over the rim of his glass, and Cal licks at his knuckles as he recovers. The taste is bitter and now he knows he'll smell like the damn stuff. It's annoying, but also probably not terrible for solidifying an image.

"I try to be positive about it-- I mean, what I have to work with now. But I guess there's always room for culling the herd, too." There's nothing sinister at all about Calendius' tone in spite of the implication. It's perfectly matter of fact. Not everyone can be a winner, that's just how it is.