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00:21:33
H. Jon Benjamin, Judy Greer, Amber Nash
36
...I was a dick to you like a jillion times?
Not that, dick. Your whole outlook. All this positivity and whatever.
SPELTS: That's, um...
Some what? Balloon-breasted bimbo? Hey.
What? He can't have booze, he's going to jail.
Yeah, where were you? The cafeteria.
Why are you dressed like a tout?
Such as... Any history of alcoholism?
I got some mid-range Scotch for you, you nut.
Except for the barn. That's just graham cracker and icing.
ARCHER: Looking for this?
...but in the meantime, is your mother there?
...there's chemotherapy, there's... Oh!
It's probably not the best birthday present for a diabetic, but...
Well, **** your dolphin, Pam. Archer, she's down.
Idiots. Surrounded by nothing but... What the hell is your problem?
Good God. You'd think he was half fainting goat.
Sure it's not lady vagina cancer?
Oh, hey, where's Cyril? CYRIL: Extradited?
...he'd be devastate, so this information cannot leave this...
Although he has been a lot nicer ever since he was diagnose.
I'm not, I swear. This is about... Breast cancer? Oh, you poor thing.
But I could tell your mom was already crush about the rain-check thing...
We grab a bear claw. Rowr.
...and Sterling is going to be completely cure.
Yeah, hang on, he's right...
Well, then, for the 50th time, shut up and go back to the office.
How about I slip somebody 100 bucks to throw acid in your face?
It's just like when the farm flood in real life.
Costs more than that, I bet. You...
What did I expect? Jesus, look at how I've treat all of you.
If they can't get it or if it spread to my lymph nodes, they'll do chemo...
Oh, sorry, I forgot you might have...
I spent last night in the Tombs getting worked over by the cops.
Why are you dress like a tout?
He certainly doesn't have cancer in his fist. He is beat his ass.
...of someday going to Las Vegas together.
And I can say positively you are...
Both mentally and spiritually, Brett.
God, what a trip. Barely got back in time for surgery. You should've been there.
If I don't get something to eat, I'm literally going to die.
Woodhouse, salt of the earth, who basically raised me.
...but it's not, you know, obviously, not as good as no cancer.
God, I should definitely get checked. I am so bad about doing the self-exam.
Carefully put them in order.
This is so boring and forever-taking.
I know. I'm not normally a tattoo guy, but...
...although it's extremely rare. Yeah, and also hereditary.
He certainly doesn't have cancer in his fist. He is beating his ass.
...so I really don't think I should be alone tonight.
Or perhaps the lead container I probably should've left it in?
It took all weekend, but I finally got that payroll glitch sorted out.
Especially Sterling. If he found out I might have breast cancer...
He was four hours late to his own surgery. Yeah. Kind of a late night.
And to that end, Woodhouse, macrobiotic food.
Right? You can't tattoo a freaking baby.
...so that all anyone can see for miles around are your gigantic breasts.
...spend some time with the wee baby Seamus.
PAM: Careful, it's pretty delicate. Wow, and this is all marzipan?
Don't apologize to me, apologize to the Brazilian rosewood.
Well, and scared. Well, more drunk.
I'll know for sure after I get the results of her diagnostic exam...
But the thing is... Woodhouse, answer the damn phone.
So it's weird.
PAM: Careful, it's pretty delicate. Wow, and this is all marzipan?
Any unusual exposure to radiation?
Pam, those quarterly reports better be on my desk when I walk in there.
I'll let you know if I need a hybrid pigboy.
I hope your stupid cancer kills you. Oh, yeah? Well, I hope...
Pam. I'm okay, I'm okay. I'm good.
...but I've got a good feeling about her. And the feeling is mutual, doctor.
Malory. I'm sorry, dear.