Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

A hundred and eighty-six thousand...

And you have to love me and treat me nice.

I can feel him.

He's a killer. Not me. I'm nice.

I wanna open a store. Medical marijuana. Doug's helping.

Yeah, well, you're not the mayor of us. And these shirts are lame.

That abstinence-only bullshit? Blow it off.

When we came together, we chose.

This thing is happening whether we like it or not.

...and accidentally locked himself in a freezer chest.

Okay, time to go. Esteban's meeting us at the house.

And I escaped. Heroically.

-...if I'm gonna buy it. Or rent it. -We'll take it.

It's not good or bad. It is.

Cannot predict now. Don't count on it.

Is this because you pissed yourself last night?

You will lie back, show there is a baby that is both male and mine.

What's it like fucking a monster?

God, I bet he wishes he didn't do that.

It's a perfectly normal reaction to the adrenaline of combat.

He's going to kill you. He's going to kill me.

I don't-- No. I don't wanna fight no more with you.

Previously on Weeds:

Hey, hey, hey. You got a boner.

I know it's soon, but have you thought about dating?

-Brand new. -Hi.

I see. Your boy.

And you, Celia, are not quiet, not calm.

Plenty of room.

Fast cars, rodent rape, summers off. Wow, to be you.