“I sure as shit didn’t commit murder,” Tom swore.
“I didn’t screw that up; it was catchable but the quarterback just failed to hold on to the ball,” the center snapped.
“That game is of only marginal interest,” calculated the bookie.
“No, after you,” returned the tennis star.
“I DEMAND to have some BOOZE!” fumed Withnail. [ref. to “Withnail & I”]
“Dammit, you’re not keeping up with the downbeat,” the drummer thundered.
“If you’d bothered to check it yourself, you’d see that the problem is just a bad spark plug,” the mechanic fired off.
“And the nice thing about this shish-ka-bob, is that it’s very Atkins,” she said pointedly.
“I doubt anyone can cut down the largest tree in the forest with a herring,” opined Sir Bedemere.
“Mmm… very good… and one of these… and not to overlook those…” said Moby as he sampled the buffet.
“I do love a man in black latex,” Catwoman purred.
“I’d be delighted to sign this,” said Joe Montana, as he flashed a winning smile.
“I’m a little teapot, short and stout,” whistled Tom.
“Get a handle on yourself, Tom,” spouted his wife.
“You’ve caught me in flagrante delicto!” cried Tom, starkly. “I swear, honey, this was the first time,” he lied, barefacedly.
“FIRE!” cried Tom, alarmed. “Everybody out of the building NOW!” he added, heatedly.
“I have Crohn’s disease,” said Tom, distractedly.
“Would you care to come over to my place?” asked Tom, insinuatingly. “I could give you a massage… I’ve got the oils and everything,” he added, salubriously.
“How, uh, I mean, uh, how would you like to go out sometime with a third-string running back?” Tom asked, fumblingly.
“I’ve got to get my eyes checked,” Tom said, dilatorilly. [Upon his return from the optometrist’s] “These eyedrops sting!” Tom complained, irritatedly.