Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I don't believe you, Pop. Here I am sick, dying with TB...
Well, I'm not going to work
- Say, what is this? - What's what?
due to a technical fault.
Would you take that thing off.
Now, Lamont, when they lay me away, don't let them put my glasses on.
I knew you wasn't gonna die.
It's my will.
This tape on the knife and the fork.
"Tuberculosis and Respiratory Disease Association of Los Angeles County. "
Go down and get me a pack of cigarettes.
Well, which is it? Twenty-nine, thirty or thirty-one?
- So long, Pop. - Well, so long, son.
And I've been tired lately and out of breath.
That's Los Angels, isn't it?
You're always making a mountain out of a molehill.
Sure.
- I'm really scared. - Well, don't come near me!
Says, "Fred, you've had it.
You're being ridiculous.
Well, I'll do it, but I don't need it. But I'll do it for you...