Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Archer. Ray is dying.
Ray? Ray?
Whatever. If you're doing it just to get on my nerves, okay, I get it.
They're all at the intramural lacrosse finals.
Lana, I'm team captain. I built that team from nothing, and--
Yeah, as opposed to the Doublemint Twins.
MALORY: ls Lana hit? Someone talk to me!
CYRI L: Well, try.
Uh, yeah. For your information, almost all male cheerleaders are--
Jeezow, Lana, answer your stupid phone.
Lana, shut up. That's today? Yeah, it's right now. Well, in 10 minutes.
Why not? She's been coming to your rescue since you were in short pants.
An ad hominem attack because you've lost the argument? Okay... Then, I guess, just pout...
Re-evaluate your entire life. And yes, I'm sure.
What's your blood type? Heh. How would I know?
Right in the same ear! MALORY: Ha! Good. Serves you right.
Oh, my God, yes.
I figured that we'd kind of work backwards from the, uh, stealing of the helicopter.
So give him some of yours. I'm A-negative.
I think it's great that for once you're getting out of a jam without your mother's help, but--
You don't know your own blood type, but you know who discovered them.
Finely-tuned hetero-athletes
MALORY: You're no spring chicken yourself.
Don't talk like black people.
What the hell is your problem?
ARCHER: The crease, idiots! Guard the crease!