"They are in Florida, dad, see?"
"But not in Northern Virginia. So I was still right." This is how you argue with technicalities. It probably violated a Gricean Maxim or two.
"No, dad, I think they are here!" he says, thwarting my weak attempt at literal redefinition with object silliness.
"Well, that's terrible. I don't want them in my house. What with the lack of warm waters and all. They'd probably slither around on the floor, and I'd have to hit them with a broom. Out, OUT! Get out, hammerhead! I don't know who keeps letting them in here... great! Okay, count the children! I can't imagine how they got in the house. Probably those hammer-shaped holes in the walls. Orkin doesn't cover sharks, I bet you. Something about not being an insect or rodent, they'd say. It's because you keep leaving those bloody human limbs all over the floor. That's what attracts them here! I'll have to leave out traps... where can we find human babies at this hour?"
He insists this should be a skit.