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00:21:13
H. Jon Benjamin, Judy Greer, Amber Nash
48
So shut your schnitzel-hole and disarm it. - Oh.
Did Cyril run by here crying in a woman's bathrobe?
I see your knockoff Fiacci drawers. - Ha-ha. You are such a bitch.
Ah. My vulva is smoother than a veal cutlet.
You idiot. That's Sandu Singh, the billionaire investor!
Well, that seaweed wrap just slurps out the stress.
Ah. My vulva is smoother than a veal cutlet.
What happened to that bartender? - Right? Guy sees an empty glass...
So do you all have parachute?
Oh, my God, it's like a broom closet. - And yet, a surprising amount of storage.
Oh. Kidding, sorry. Hey, have you seen that nerdy fruit-basket steward?
There! Go buy a nicotine patch!
...natural helium. Why, it's actually flame-retardant!
...must be the bad guy. Well, you know how I got this scar?
You got it. Leaving him with motive.
I guess vodka?
What gave it away, my mother's...? Why are you wearing my mother's robe?
Not after that, I bet. And forget about Krauss. There's your bomber.
Anyone who might be disgruntle? - Um...
Well, that seaweed wrap just slurp out the stress.
Yeah, and as you're standing here, dick and or balls caress by my mother's robe, ugh...
Yes, she literally vomit from anger.
Cyril's already freak out enough about us sharing this shoebox...
Things for authorize personnel only!
That, what's her name, Beekman? I bet she's just sick she got bump.
Just helping Lana get settle. - Trust me, Cyril. She already settle.
Ah. Okay. Probably merit a follow-up.
My back's all mess up.
Yeah? What's the poem gonna be about when Cyril snap and murders you?
Starting with the fact we just bomb Ireland.
Oh, shut up, and Cyril?
I suppose we could bump Mrs. Beekman.
We're at you just shot the guy who could disarm the bomb, jackass!
- What? I lie!
That, what's her name, Beekman? I bet she's just sick she got bumped.
And yet you lecture me. Lovely.
ANNOUNCER: All aboard, for safety and adventure!
Which is why I find it strange that you're so incredibly calm.
Yes, she literally vomited from anger.
What's basically a twin bed. - Archer.
Well, obviously the core concept, Lana!
...but apparently you're too busy showing off your vealy vulva!
...with ISIS on board, what could possibly go wrong?
We don't normally drink on the bridge. - Well, I don't normally fly...
And what about that are you still not getting, exactly?
I cannot do this alone! - You're not alone!
Well, perhaps we could play for something much more interesting.
Especially in light of recent... - CYRIL: No.
We're almost out of fruit.
...natural helium. Why, it's actually flame-retardant!
...I kind of had to drown her in the tub. - So you killed her?
Hey, good advice! Which maybe I'll just sort of fold in...
I hope you didn't invest in this. - It'll be fine, though.
If, um, we ever meet.
No, why bother? Some broad gets on there with a staticky sweater, and boom, it's:
I don't know. World's gushiest orgasm?
So don't go in there. It's verboten!
So yes, the bottom line is that I was unfaithful to you.
Oh. Kidding, sorry. Hey, have you seen that nerdy fruit-basket steward?
...where the pampered luxury of a cruise ship...
...was pretty irresponsible on your part.
But isn't hydrogen flammable? And how, Timmy!
So ironic, Cyril! - CYRIL: Ugh.
...with my 12 years of experience as a covert operative.
...in your "dream the impossible dream" world, it'll make Mr. Archer jealous?
...learn what you can about Krauss... - But please, be discreet!
So if I win, I spend a night of passion with your exquisite wife.
Uh... Kick your skinny ass?
Well, it wouldn't surprise me. You're driving him stark raving mad.
Very eager to know why you're still here. - He was just...
On the rigid airship Excelsior...
...in case I have a gentleman caller. - Um...