What do you say?

I had a few lines of this sort from my story BTB, Incorporated:

Myron put the sniv in sniveling and the milque in milquetoast.

Seeing guys like him with that kind of money is a constant reminder that the world is a shit shed out of toilet paper.

My respect for him, low already, disappeared like steam over bad coffee.

He'd known what was coming, and he'd had three days to prepare for it, and still he shook like a baby in the hands of a psychotic day care provider.

It was as plain as cheese on pizza that neither Mrs. Hansfield nor Mr. Hansfield had any idea what I was talking about, but I was about to make it clear to them.
 
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