It's a crime to let them sag like that, and crime doesn't pay, that we know. But they're a menace; here, let me put up some scaffolding under them, oh, and we'll need some sort of motion detector to notify the authorities when they start to go. What do you mean, meddling?

If you don't want them to look nice that's your concern. I'm only trying to help. You don't have to hurt my feelings. I remember when you were a tiny baby and you bought me that vat of oatmeal, it was so cute, I couldn't bear to tell you I already had one and I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I sent you on that junket to Pakistan. Well, I'm telling you now, I've had a vat of oatmeal for years twice the size of the one you gave me, and it's much less gritty. I tried yours once, just to be polite, you know, and I was picking things out of my pants for weeks afterward. I eventually had to have it burned. The vat, not my pants.

What do you mean you never bought me a vat of oatmeal? You spiteful little child. I'm going to twist your vermin-ridden little head right off your spindly body, I am, and I'm prepared to sign an affidavit, too. I'll pull your intestines inside out, coat them with sawdust, and staple them to an elevator. I'll come down on you so hard you'll have to remove your eyes in order to breathe.

What? What? Oh. Really? Oh. I'm sorry. I thought you were somebody else.