Cohen: . . .
(sigh)
Okay, I’m going to turn in. If the storm’s bad, tell the guy he’s welcome to stay. Just keep the noise down.
Miranda: (phew!)
All right, time for you to leave! Or at least, make all the sounds of a person who’s leaving.
Poe: Okay, Master . . . but why? I can keep it quiet. He won’t hear a thing I do.
Miranda: Doesn’t matter. As long as he thinks you’re here, no matter how silent you are, he’ll be imagining things.
Poe: Ohhh.
Reseda: You can’t escape, 2.5 Cups Broccoli! You’re in the Cat’s clutches now. Prepare to be broiled and devoured!
Patrick: I could do the cooking, if the lights were on! I could do it better, even!
Bianca: Patrick, are you doing okay . . . ? I haven’t seen you this tense and eager to please since . . . um . . . at least a week ago.
2.5 cups broccoli might not be able to escape, but 1/4 stick of butter is one slippery customer.
You know, that reminds me of the story I heard where two peanuts were a-salted.
Reminds me of the Cat from Red Dwarf.