“There’s nothing to stop me falling from this balcony onto those … things … the trains runs on” Tom railed.
“That’s my brother Kenneth,” Tom said, brokenly.
“At last, I’m going to get my G.E.D.,” Tom said finally.
“Noooooooooooooooo!” Tom said, morosely.
“I cannot remember the real name of the Beatles’s drummer” said Richard, starkly.
“I’m charging more per hour on this Internet project than I ever did for something on paper”, Tom elaborated.
“My name is not Kenneth and I don’t know the frequency!” said Dan, rather upset.
“If that referendum goes through, I don’t know what currency Scotland will use” Tom expounded.
Nice!
“What a gorgeous falcon,” Tom said, rapturously.
“I’m going to try and sell this bezoar I just noisily coughed up” Tom hawked.
“I really laughed when Oprah fell on her big, fat sass” Tom sniggered.
Yes, straight to hell on that one.
“I have no respect for that sort of post at all”, said Tom, being niggardly with his praise.
“Stop making fun of eight balls,” Tom said, blackly.
“I once knew an evil chinaman,” said Tom, wickedly.
“And I love Gregory McGuire’s books,” continued Tom, still wickedly.
“Make mine Guinness!” Tom said stoutheartedly.
"It annoys me that the Marx brothers’ first names end in ‘o’ " Tom harped grouchily.
^
Tom gets a chuckle from that post. “You can say that again,” he remarks.
“You lose some, too. Just not this one,” Tom said, winsomely.