Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

- Let me see. How about now? Anything? - No.

- But... Oh, God, Pam. Two months' salary. - Cyril.

called the element of surprise?

- Oh, my. Lana. - Wow, that is one serious diamond.

- What? - No, not the whore part. Management.

We're not technically management.

What's my father ever done that's so great?

- She's not in here. - Well, why are you in here?

I didn't invent the turtleneck, Lana.

No, hold that line. We deserve a raise...

Crunch. No, wait, Beefheart.

- Oh, my God. - Ha, ha!

Not at the number you quoted me.

On the raft? With the vest?

I learned that flammable and inflammable mean the same thing.

Lana! - Will somebody please do something?

And then I shove his hawk face right into her big brown boobs...

Stop picketing the cleaners!

- The important thing is, they're loaded. - Just shitfaced.

What shade is that? Crack Whore Red?

- Unless it involves night-shoveling. - Well, I want that diamond.

No, no, no. That is utterly unacceptable.

And we'll see who's smirking...

You can't stay in there forever.

Those monies will go to medical care for the palace guards they poisoned.

Wha...? When have I ever been blabby?

- For food, that is. Heh-heh. - Ugh.

Oh, baby. What happened to you?

I'm saving Lana. As usual. Hey, shut up.

I predicted this. It's curry fury.

The Tactleneck.

- Say it. Say it! - Ugh.

- Screw that. - Yeah, what's with all the bottles?

- Wait, what? - Oh, now he cares.