“I feel like drinking cheap wine, listening to bad poetry and snapping my fingers in a dark basement somewhere,” Tom said beatifically.
“Curse you, bright red, gout-swollen digit,” said Tom at toe.
“After we finish this cricket match there will be a charity raffle,” said Tom (bowler).
A bit late in coming, but:
“What kind of two-bit good-for-nothing encyclopaedia gives misleading information on metamorphic rocks?” said Tom, slating Wikipedia.
“Working in a muffler shop all day is hard work.” , Tom said exhaustingly.
“My name is neither Anne nor Andy,” Tom said raggedly.
“I guess I’m nowhere near done autographing all these CDs,” Tom said resignedly.
“A Steinway’s all right, but a Bosendorfer - now you’re talking!” said Tom grandly.
“We should do something special when the admiral comes aboard,” Tom piped.
“*Night on Bare Mountain’s *over, put on some more Mussorgsky,” said Tom modestly.
“Then let’s go to town!” Tom ejaculated.
“The doctor removed my left atrium and my left ventricle,” said Tom halfheartedly.
“I enjoy ocean swimming when it’s calm,” sang Tom in C-Flat.
“There shouldn’t be any problem chilling this thing down to absolute zero,” Tom okayed.
“Thelf-modifying lambda calculuth ith the betht!” Tom lisped.
“If I’ve researched the internet once, I’ve researched it 10^100 times,” Tom googoled.
“I tried to find help, but only one in 10^(10^100) results was any good,” said Tom, perplexed.
“We should bring more Formicidae into the country,” Tom said importantly.
“The good old fishing hole has dried up,” Tom cried dis-pond-ently.
Like 
“I really did see a little demon,” Tom implied.