At fifteen seconds:
Me: Whoa, what’s that thing?
Him: I thought it was . . . sperm?
Me: Are you sure it’s not a . . . I don’t know, an organ? Of some kind?
Him: It’s . . . weird. I think it’s sperm.
Me: That other guy is controlling it somehow.
Me: Is that window his eyes? Is he seeing through him through the window and controlling his intestine with the lever?
His roomate, happening by: Are you guys debating what that thing is?
At fifteen minutes:
Me: Hee hee! Look at that very tiny chicken!
Him: Ew, what’s it doing?
Him: Well that was weird.
At forty minutes:
Him: Is that . . . the baby?
Me: Ahhhhhkg! It is, it is! What’s it doing? What’s she doing to it?
Him: I’m going to be sick.
At sixty minutes:
Him: Did he just become pencils?
Me: I think his brains are erasers now.
Me: Oh, wait. Only that never happened.
At eighty-six minutes:
Me: Oh no!
Me: No, no, achkkk!
Him: What is he doing?
Me: I’m not even watching any more. I’m seriously going to hurl. I’m going to hurl all over your living room and this DVD.
Five minutes after credits:
Me: Uh, So. What’d you think?