Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

He still has every last hair on his head.
- My pleasure. - Have a seat.
Yeah, right. Hunter needs it.
Bye.
You got money?
Jackie, you might be a candidate for clinical trials.
From what you're saying, it doesn't sound good.
What do I know? I'm not a doctor.
Look, I know him since before I had hair on my pitzl. I made this place.
He did?
- You ain't giving them shit. - Why not?
So, please, don't embarrass yourself any further. Just leave.
Damn!
Sure. Wow.
And the old tree all rotted out inside.
It was just him and that fucking cancer.
Hi, Jack. Bye, Jack.
Shlomo is an arrogant, ignorant control freak.
This Christopher Moltisanti.
Yeah.
Not in the car! Please! Not in the car!
Do you have a daughter, Mr. Soprano?
Good.
Get the Fuck aata hea
But Jackie...
Orginalet Madonna
Maybe he's willing to go to the world to come...
So get out of here.
There's 37 definites. We got another 13 maybes...
You're mud. Godless clay!
You can't let her go to Jefferson Avenue. They'll sell her Ajax.
Yeah, I know, but I gotta go.
That's a brilliant idea.
I want to go to Berkeley so bad.
Those junkie fucks work for Tony.
It's okay. It's a private party.
They're called Hasidim.
We still have six more chapters left.
Carmela, what I'm trying to say is, stop worrying about me.
Why they'd schedule SATs the same week...
What do you mean?
...or what you're talking about.
I saw this one.
Say hello to Freddy, all right?
What kind of cancer?
Let's call the cops. Those guys killed Hector.
Sure. I'm the only one who has to go to work.
His son-in-law will not give his daughter the consent...
What's your problem, Hil?
Carm, you did not have to do this.
It's next to something vital.
Nothing much.
...under that hotheaded son of yours?
The mystery of God, or whatever you want to call it...