“I guess I should turn down the volume,” Tom allowed.
“I am a bright and shining star,” said Tom, seriously.
“Stingray to the rescue!” Tom said waspishly.
“I made this macaroni cheese from scratch,” Tom said craftily.
“Why does he have to be such a son of a pup?” Tom said sobbingly.
“If I dig a big hole, will it fill with water?”, Tom pondered.
“Any other Mary Pickford fans here?” Tom asked coquettishly.
“They planted more conifers,” Tom inferred
“They harrowed the field I was sunbathing in!” said Tom, in a cultivated manner
“Those explosions should have been purple, and I need more puce in the blood,” said Tom violetly.
“We just love singing together!” Tom and his friends chorused
“God sees everything we duet,” Tom quoted Schickele.
“Did you catch the act with the quartet of bruins playing instruments?” Tom said forebearingly.
“I find the Parthenon lacking a certain something,” said Tom archly.
“It would be instructive to compare this list of attendees to the one we shall surely encounter should we continue to ascend,” said Tom, assuming a higher register.
“You have the manners of a pig,” Tom said boorishly.
“I really am trapped under a pile of metamorphic rocksch!” Sean inschisted.
“I love to hear the birds warble!” Tom said tremulously
(No more Mister Gneiss Guy, then.) 
“But a guitar’s not the same as a violin!” Tom fretted.
“Wrong identification! Learn some geology!” Tom shouted volcanically