"Me, fat? Think again, titty-fuck. I taught my muscles to be in a zen-like state of relaxation. Permanently."
"Ah, glass. My nemesis. One day, I shall beat you."
"Hmm, linguini on the ceiling! It adds a certain texture. Interesting... Just don't use penne. Or those crappy twisty ones."
(said in a cute sing-song) "Pee-po... Pee-po... Pee-po." (now with angry forcefulness) "You are SO gonna play my game, otherwise I WILL poke out your eye and skull-fuck you. Okay?"
or click here
"She's got my leg! She's got my leg! I'm not a hopper, I'm a jumper! Give me back. Don't like it."
Glass - I should mention here that Adam is a bit, shall we say, accident-prone. For example, he habitually slams his forehead on windows while trying to look out at something. Our garden door is perpetually littered with oval-shaped smudge marks. When I told Adam about this one in the morning, he admitted to me that, at his job yesterday, he smacked his forhead into the window, in front of everyone.
"She's got my leg!" - Our little dog Molly had actually settled herself across Adam's legs under the covers, and had him pinned.