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00:21:18
H. Jon Benjamin, Judy Greer, Amber Nash
41
ARCHER: Yeah, look at you. All blushy. LANA: Archer, be careful, the defib--
I know what it means, you toboggan-wearing ass.
Always teasing me, calling me Spamela, rubbing cheese curd in my eyes.
You can lie but your boner can't.
Use the defibrillator on the DSV to restart the heart.
And I clearly said, "Seatbelts"...
Without the mustache, you look like a billion percent gayer.
You are gonna sass yourself right out of a car seat.
I'm a local Emmy-winning cameraman and na--
Oh. That's just an idiom. It means--
So, Cyril, I'm thinking, um, coffee liqueur?
He is the world's worst negotiator.
Three and three-fifths gallons, Cyril. And I counted them, so keep your mitt off.
Because your shitty sarcasm notwithstanding,
Best case, for a strong swimmer, two minutes.
"One, a 50-year, worldwide moratorium on all fishing. Two--"
Uh, there was a ton of booze on the helicopter. Exactly, was.
I just felt my spleen slip out of what was my anus.
Why are you puking so much?
One time, she stab me in the neck.
You people lure us out here to help the government recover a hydrogen bomb--
And I have forgive you for being such an incorrigible douche.
Crushed by an off-brand drink machine.
And I just refill the cans.
It was insure for three times its value, so now I'm richer than ever.
Which I never bother to read.
Oh, brick it."
CYRIL: Blow me, boom, nail it.
...those bastards are destroy our oceans.
The man who cheat death?
Edie. Yes, shut up.
GILLETTE: Oh, my-- Oh, I hurt my back. AUTOMATED VOICE: Pod one, flood.
LANA & GILLETTE: Ugh. I really doubt we'll have time, Randy.
MURPHY: My men are guard the missiles. CYRIL: Well, there goes that plan.
Da-da-da-da. You drink it, you replace it.
Oh. I assume because I'm penniless?
Because I'm worried something may have gone terribly wrong down there.
Because your shitty sarcasm notwithstanding,
But I really think we should do it wherever the missiles are...
It would literally take 10 seconds to check it out.
...but also somehow irreparable brain damage.
Basically pure ethanol. Huh.
Hence those ridiculous fake mustaches...
So obviously they're gonna search us for weapons when we get down there, so--
Well, apparently they bought a bunch of nerve gas missiles...
That is the worst legend you could possibly have.
And I hate that it's come to this, but I truly don't see an alternative.
Uh, there was a ton of booze on the helicopter. Exactly, was.
Get Murphy alone, get him at gunpoint, and make him disarm the missiles.
When I finally figured out how to tell you it's not yours.
My God, the almost deliberate way...
But-- Okay, granted, that was super shitty.
We don't wanna go outside, idiot!
That might actually work. Of course.
And I have forgiven you for being such an incorrigible douche.
...but also somehow irreparable brain damage.
And I have bionic legs.
Slightly irritable?
Tiniest hole in the hull would be catastrophic.
...and this pathetic, trout-shouldered excuse for a boom operator is Chet.
Ugh. Is this the infamous Edie?
"Here, let me jailbreak your phone. It's a totally reversible process.
My God, the almost deliberate way...
I am tough-but-fair investigative reporter Sojourner King.
What, anxious?
Hence those ridiculous fake mustaches...
They're going to say that I've gone insane, heh, that I've lost my mind.
No! For like the ninth time, no!
Not surprising, given your salary.
Ahem. Inappropriate. The point is, and seriously, shut up...
Hence those ridiculous fake mustaches...
Nobody had been paid in months. The foundation was broke.