Me: You're right.
Tom DeLay: WHY WON'T ANYBODY HELP ME?! ALL OF MY TIME SERVING THE GREAT STATE OF TEXAS IN THE UNITED STATES CONGRESS DOES NOT NEARLY EQUAL THE HORROR OF THIS ALL-CONSUMING ANGUISH!!
My Roommate: It's tempting.
Me: If he wasn't Tom DeLay...
My Roommate: And he was on fire?
My Roommate: Like, if he was Bill Frist?
Me: I might piss on Bill Frist if he was on fire.
My Roommate: Really?
Me: Yeah. I might.
My Roommate: What if he was Rick Santorum?
Me: No, screw that guy. I'd cook hotdogs.
Tom DeLay: EVERY ONE OF MY NERVE ENDINGS HAVE BEEN SINGED FROM MY DISFIGURED BODY! WHY DOES THE PAIN NOT CEASE?!
My Roommate: That reminds me. You still haven't washed the dishes from, like, two nights ago.
Me: I know. I'll get around to it.
Tom DeLay: THE PHANTOM PAIN OF LOST FLESH IS A THOUSAND-FOLD WORSE THAN THE GENUINE PAIN I WAS EXPERIENCING MERE MOMENTS AGO!
My Roommate: You say that all the time.
Me: I'll wash them.
Tom DeLay: WHY DOES MY BRAIN NOT GRANT ME BLISSFUL UNCONSCIOUSNESS?!
My Roomate: When?
Tom DeLay: WHY DOES NO PERSON COME TO MY RESCUE?!
My Roommate: I'm skeptical.
Me: Whatever. Anyway, what were we talking about?
My Roommate: Hotdogs.
Me: Before that.
Tom DeLay: THESE FLAMES! THESE TONGUES OF FIRE! FROM WHAT DO THEY FEED?! THERE IS NO TISSUE LEFT TO BURN!