From time to time my teenage son and I will go in for a little bit of Lebowski riffing.
Should my son advance into the playoffs in one high school sport or another I will say to him, à la Jesús:
“I see you roll your way into the semis. Dios mio man…”
Should I find myself, in my 50-something way, searching my mind fruitlessly for a way to emphasize an importance, my son will say, à la Walter Sobchak:
“That was a valued . . . uh . . .”