“I need something to get more air into this fire before it dies out!” Tom bellowed.
“I just can’t get motivated to film myself in the act of finding a random person and killing him,” said Tom, not feeling up to snuff.
“That’s why they call it a “boom”, for the sound it makes when it smacks your head. Next time, keep your head down while I’m turning the sailboat this way!”, Tom gibed.
“Off we go to San Francisco, everybody!” Tom said gaily.
“You know, I might maybe run for President in 2020,” said Mike, pensively, but with perfect vision)
“I might do some trimming out in front of the house today, but maybe not,” Tom hedged.
“That’s… odd”, said Tom unevenly.
“My superadvanced deathbeam will use neither A-rays nor C-rays!” Tom brayed.
“That comes to 33 dollars even,” said Tom, oddly.
“And that purchase comes to exactly 144 dollars” said Tom, grossly.
“You gave me only $10 back from my $20 bill…oh, here’s the rest,” said Tom, changing his tune.
“I’m worried about my nose and have booked an appointment with an otorhinolaryngologist”, said Tom uneasily.
[I’m embarrassed, but I don’t get it… Facepalm predicted…]
“I can’t start painting yet,” said Tom, uneasily.
“Uneasily” means “in a way that shows anxiety or discomfort”. “Otorhinolaryngologist” is not an easy word to say.
“I’m always in good spirits after I see a Noel Coward play,” Tom said blithely.
“Batten the hatches! Fill the ballast tanks! Dive! Dive! Dive!” ordered the submarine’s commander, Captain Tom, with a sinking feeling.
“The guy across the net from me is a Satan worshiper,” said Tom, playing the Devil’s advocate.
“I don’t care how long this takes. I’m not getting off this toilet until I have a bowel movement,” Tom thought, undeterred.
“Here I sit, broken hearted, came to shit and only farted”, said Tom, astutely.
“Ugh, I wish someone would turn on the ceiling fan in here,” Tom fumed.