Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

ARCHER: Okay, the airlock's closed. Happy?
What is that? Who's got beer?
Oh, wait, I can't, because I left my lightsaber in my other space pants!
Oh, whatever. Come on, we gotta figure a way out of this.
How isn't important. What is important--
Cyril, you're in command, try not to kill us. Everybody else, strap in.
GUARD: Aah! My eye!
No, I'm good. Yeah, uh, me too.
You did. You got those two guys, who were just minding their own business.
Don't listen to her, Cyril, you're gonna do great.
You'd be much more comfortable in my quarters.
ARCHER: Somebody get his goddamn gun!
Serves you right. Anybody else hit?
Almost there.
"Do" as in tolerate, be around, touch...
Yeah. Who built this door, space dwarves?
To shoot that cuntbag in his face
LANA: Yeah, right?
Mr. Archer, do I have to sedate you? Well, I wouldn't say no to a drink.
Don't remind me.
GUARD: Ow! My other eye!
Okay, then it's settled.
with your looks, maybe bitchy is not the way to go.
Thanks to you and your fire extinguisher. Right?
Spacebot!
We've been locked in here ever since you idiots took over Horizon.
Yeah, I do. Yeah. That's why I'm here-
We need you in peak physical condition for this great undertaking of ours.
Suppressing fire!
What's the word I'm looking for?
And I'm telling you that I didn't sign up for Animal Farm in space.
You think a bank wants to own a failing dairy farm with obsolete milkers?
Please. We just want to go home.
No, don't make her. Come on, Pam.
Ugh. All right. But turn around.
LANA: Archer, do something. ARCHER: Sure thing, Lana.