So, where's the apple of my thighs?

Is it my imagination or does Spewy look a tad off?

So where are the last unearthly remains of my spewing?

Try nectar of the gods.

I pulled him out of the wreckage myself, as if that weren't obvious from the many love nips on my face.

Sharon, that's the smell of fear.

Gus, it's the ghost of Spewy.

Well, I guess the rat's out of the bag.

And the remnants of last night's knish.

Let's get the hell out of here.

Just get him the hell out of here.

Gus, prepare yourself for the feel-good experience of a lifetime.

I mean, they might tease Spewy about the size of his bottom.

And it tastes kind of garlicky, especially after about the fifth helping.

I think I'll take Spewy out and introduce him to my old high school buddy, the Pope.

Just get it the hell out of here so I can make some calls.

Oh well, maybe I can still squeeze a little beer money out of the government.

Ah, this is the magic moment when the children, oh, the dear, sweet, innocent children get to experience the magic of a creature from another world.

Either that or a couple of those moles were experimenting in their underground lab and they blew up the joint.

My only concern, and please don't take this the wrong way, because you know I do simply adore you, is that while I'm out, you'll sell Spewy to the government like a common two-bit weasel bastard.