Phenylethylamine: is it in you?

I've noticed that things have seemed a trifle grim on this here weblog. In the interest of provoking some smiles, I've decided to post a humorous telephone conversation I had a little while ago. I was talking to Craig, the de facto leader of the British wing of the Marshall family, known for his fanatical devotion to scotch and his equally fanatical dedication to the cause. The cause, of course, being complete global domination. This fanaticism has allowed Marshall HQ to ignore Craig's, shall we say, less salacious activities?

We were discussing the nascent Marshall, currently in a fetal stage of development. We had been hashing out indoctrination responsibilities, who would be in charge of arms training, who the delicate arts of psychological warfare, and so forth. If I recall correctly, Craig had just mentioned the benefits of being an out of town pedagogue, a position which will allow us to administer from afar without, as it were, getting our hands dirty. Here I will attempt to reconstruct our descent into inanity.

Craig (and I can only assume that at this point he was holding an imaginary baby at arm's length and wrinkling his nose) said, "This baby seems to have gone bad. Could you get me a fresh one?"
I laughed and responded, "No, no, it's still good. I think we can cut away the bad parts and eat the rest."
Craig achieved a new sound, born of attempting to laugh and groan with disgust at the same time.
Thusly challenged, I thought fast and came up with, "It's like cheese!", at which point rational thought ceased and we shouted out manic bursts of high-volume laughter, causing one of my roommates to inquire as to what was funny, and another to request that I tone it down a bit.

And that's that. A decent check to see if my sense of humor is still functional, if a trifle on the warped side of things, which I hear happens if you don't leave it out to dry in the sun.