Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Those dismal Russian poems. They don't even rhyme.
And if l get home and you've flushed the car keys again, you've had it.
l miss one digit, a company goes in the toilet.
You see, l thought there was a fire.
- He compounds it by lying. - No lie. l swear, nothing happened.
- How's that, sweetheart? - That's much better. Thank you.
l don't have to play smoochy-woochy with my superiors the way you do.
- What's your name? - Sam. Change.
God, l've missed you.
Rebecca, thank you. lt was wonderful to see you again.
Come on. What's the big deal? We're all adults, aren't we?
How could you do that to that poor woman?
What did Sam do to you?
Coach. Listen.
You?
No. l was bored.
l decided to get my balalaikas out of there.
Rebecca, l'm sorry.
You got a problem with that?
RIP