Tim: I’m a little skee ball short and stout… here is my… ramp? Here are my…. antlers?
Tim: Grr. Now he’s a British tiger robot.
Ian: That’s the worst kind of tiger robot.
Tim: Now I’m wondering is it a robot in the shape of a tiger? Someone goes to pet it and it eats you.
Ian: Why would someone pet a tiger?
Tim: Because some people are stupid.
Tim: Turning on and off a flashlight is a terrible substitute for a strobe light.
Tim: I’m trying, but it just isn’t a party in here.
Tim: Phoenix sounded a lot cooler than “flaming pigeon.”
Ian (playing Inklings): We have 12? Did we just get pants, jeans, and boxers?
Tim: That happens a lot in life.
Ian: Where do I want to be…
Tim: Apparently not my party.
Ian: Not… not realy.
Tim: Ouch. That hurts, Ian. Do you know how much work I put into this party?
Ian: How much?
Tim: None. But by the time you get here I could have done something. I could have poured a glass of milk, or something.
Tim: Maybe I’ll invite over that bear from Puerto Rico. He seems like a cool guy. As long as I don’t touch him, I’ll be fine.
Tim: WOULD YOU LIKE A TINY UMBRELLA?
Tim: Did you know all food at India Garden is made from ground babies? Democratic babies too. Just trying to add more controversy. And they fry food in democratic baby blood. If I’m elected… I’d be surprised.
Tim: On my list of things I want to be when I grow up, I don’t think “Domestic Goddess” is on there… or near the bottom.
Tim: Keith put the “ofa” in “sofa.” Aww, you took my spot.
Keith: Were you going to put the “oup” in “soup?”
Keith: So putting the “ofa” in “sofa” was a good idea?
Keith: I guess that’s better than putting the “ouch” in “couch.”
Tim: Your sofa ruins everything, Keith!