Earlier today, I managed to prevent myself from typing something pretty awful. So here it is for your pleasure:
(the topic is a new water tax)
They'll be installing water meters on the stopcocks, or as my grandfather calls them, "slapowps", because he's senile and had a stroke.
My brain goes to some genuinely dark places sometimes
(also just like to point out, my grandfather is neither senile nor did he have a stroke. His mind is actually sharp as a f*cking tack, and he's 90)
Mal: Appears we got here just in the nick of time. What does that make us?
Zoë: Big damn heroes, sir.
Mal: Ain't we just.