"London Beset By Night, Storm."

I'm prone to insufferable sesquipedalian urges, but the sad thing about that line is that I think it works quite well in the story from which it is taken.

Mystery Team didn't do it for you?

Finally, I will be able to secure funding for my Tesseract-based propulsion system. Marvel Studios rather queered the pitch for me in the early part of this decade.

A suffusion of yellow.

In my family, Pictionary has been banned for causing excessive familial strife.

Zing!

Chicagoan expats?

His award-winning performance!

Direct your hatred and possibly your violence toward the team owners, not the players. I assure you, justice will be better served.

I still have to scan compliments from strangers, since my knee-jerk reaction is to assume they're making fun of me.

Spy movies are a fun little continuum. One end has Derek Flint and James Bond, the other George Smiley and Alec Leamus.

I realize I'm failing, like, Espionage 101, but I still say the most frustrating thing is not being able to tell anyone you're a spy. You've got to sit there like you're a flunky for the Department of Agriculture, for your whole life.

"I retract that bit about your cunt fucking kids."

Shortwave radio, spies, and spookiness always remind me of the Tim Powers novel Declare.

Better Call Paul - née Saul.

I doubt the churchgoing public has much to worry about, in any case. Even if the protagonist doubts, the film will obviously support the divinity of Jesus as the truth of its universe.

I believe that is a porkpie hat.

Loose canon.

I withdraw my lazy defense.