“Old Fido spends all his days just sleeping on that old piece of rug” said Tom, dogmatically.
“I just do whatever Ol’ Bossy tells me to do,” Tom said, cowed.
“No, Dr. McCoy, a Vulcan’s cardiac organ is located in the lower abdomen” said Spock, downhearted.
“Hey, Dale, take a gander at this!” flashed Gordon.
“My mom threw out all of my PlayStation gear,” Tom said disconsolately.
“I can’t seem to find menthol-tipped cigarettes any more,” Tom said disconsolately. 
“And I’ll never have any ever again”, said Tom, inconsolably.
“The next passage consists entirely of crotchets and minims,” Tom noted.
“I needed reconstructive surgery after getting my ass shot off in Iraq”, Tom rebutted.
“Cancel all my cancellations,” Tom rejoined.
“Have you ever seen a troupe of acrobats as talented as that?” Tom asked flippantly.
“Why would I care if you’re going to the North Pole?” Tom asked frigidly.
“I’m not sending that string of dots and dashes again!” Tom said remorselessly.
“Post 668, Post 669, Post 670, Post 671, Post 672, Post 673, Post 674,” Tom composted.
“C Chart on TV, stop,” said Tom telegraphically.
“I know my new baseball glove is better, but I just can’t quite give up my old one”, said Tom, intermittently.
“I’m flat out!” said Tom plainly.
“As though I would ever abuse solvents!” Tom huffed.
“Consider a shoe with much leather on the bottom,” said Tom soulfully.
“And don’t forget the leather on the top” said Tom, keeping instep.