This new home is simply a carbon copy of the one down the street.

Look you, Amanda, you may build castles in the air, and fume, and fret, and grow thin and lean, and pale and ugly, if you please. But I tell you, no man worth having is true to his wife, or can be true to his wife, or ever was, or will be so.

But wait: wasn't that the thin streak of piss who stole the truck?

After all, they never come home for Christmas.