Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Francine, get out.
I dreamt of Paris again last night
- No, you can't. - You're right. Let's get married.
- You slept with my daughter! - Dad.
What? But, but we're so good together.
Just sprinkle a little Cipro on his hot dog. He'll be fine.
Don't you want some of Fred's stuff? It's not contagious.
Say, do you perchance have any Gatorade? I left all my electrolytes with your daughter.
- Or something like that. - So none of this was real?
Who's Jeff Fischer?
Penis! I mean, Hayley. I was trying to cut you off before...
Like hell I will. That fascist started it!
Everyone was devastated, but, you know, the show must go on.
Hello?
We met for coffee and, well, I know it's crazy, but I like him.
This is for treating me like a errand boy and delaying my promotion!
This took three days to choreograph.
Here we are. I hope this isn't a problem, old chum.
- Unhand her! - Leave him alone or...
- The kind who can win back my daughter. - All right!
Attention! The boring-suit contest is about to begin.
Here are the invitations to the annual CIA family carnival.
Hey, Hayley! I'm getting a motorcycle.