Tom’s moving in because Allison moved out. His shit is all over our apartment in boxes. He’s been making feeble attempts to unpack it all (when he’s not busy getting into car accidents).

Lisa: “Tom, you left your TV stand on the lawn outside before.”
Tom: “Oh. Really? That’s weird. Now we have silverware and plates.”
Lisa: “We had plates before. It smells like a storage unit in here.”
Tom: “Ooh, these are bad ass slacks. I should wear these. Oh, there’s still wine in this glass. Oh, this is a sweet…what is this? Is this Mark’s?”
Lisa: “Can you shut up? Shut up.”
Tom: “What? What is this? A license plate that says ‘M’ on it? For Mark?”
Lisa: (Looks up, briefly.) “For Michigan. You’re being so annoying.”
Tom: “Why?”
Lisa: “Every time you fucking take something out of the box, you’re like, ‘Oh, look at these badass slacks.'”
Tom: “How many slacks did I take out?”
Lisa: (Sighs.)
Tom: “Have I ever shown you this picture?”
Lisa:  (Doesn’t even look up from her computer.) “Does it involve plaid shirts?”
Tom: (Stops halfway across the room and laughs.) “This is why I keep you around. Fine, I’ll shut up.”
Lisa: “Yeah, right.”
Tom: “Look at this cutting board. Do you guys have a cutting board? Do you have a printer? What are we going to do with this? Look at these knives.”
Lisa: (Stares blankly at Tom.)
Tom: “Well, I’m enthused by them. Hey, my crazy…Harley Davidson shirt that’s definitely not mine.”
Lisa: “I’m going to take a shower.”

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