I'm gonna build me an airport, put my name on it. Why, Michael? So you can fly away from your feelings? He… she… what's the difference? Oh hear, hear. In the dark, it all looks the same. Early. There are very few intelligent, attractive and straight men in this town. Well, that certainly leaves me out. So did you see the new Poof? His name's Gary, and we don't need anymore lawsuits. No one's called him Baby Buster since high school.

George Bush doesn't care about black puppets. No, Pop-pop does not get a treat, I just brought you a [bleep]ing pizza. There's been a lot of lying in this family. And a lot of love! More lies. This was a big get for God.

I was hoping he would be gifted sexually. Annyong.

And I wouldn't just lie there, if that's what you're thinking. That's not what I WAS thinking. Well excuse me, Judge Reinhold. You're losing blood, aren't you? Probably, my socks are wet. Please refrain from discussing or engaging in any sort of interoffice [bleep] or [bleep] or finger[bleep] or [bleep]sting or [bleep] or even [bleep]. Michael was having brunch with Sally Sitwell at a restaurant called Skip Church's Bistro. In addition to brunch, the restaurant was known for an item on the menu called the "Skip's Scramble", an omelet that contained everything on the menu. Do not order the Skip's Scramble.

You burn down the storage unit? Oh, most definitely. Fried cheese… with club sauce. I figured out a way to make money while I'm working! Are you sure this isn't her sister? Mrs Veal: What a lovely thing to say. Michael: That's an awful thing to say. But I did finally get into Dad's pants. Although I had to have the crotch taken in a little bit. Yes. Lindsay and I are planning a night of heterosexual intercourse. Yeah, like I'm going to take a whiz through this $5,000 suit. COME ON. They frame my junk.

A sea of waiters and no one will take a drink order. A flower in my garden, a mystery in my panties. And don't make the water too hot. The scabs come right off. I need a fake passport, preferably to France…I like the way they think.

Michael, look, this has got to stop. I mean, flattered? Yes. Interested? Not tonight. What, so the guy we are meeting with can't even grow his own hair? COME ON! I will be a bigger and hairier mole than the one on your inner left thigh!

I will be a bigger and hairier mole than the one on your inner left thigh! Sweet old thing. Only two of those words describe Mom, so I know you're lying to me.

It's so watery. And yet there's a smack of ham to it. Popcorn shrimp… with club sauce. Of course. The "Bob Loblaw Law Blog." Wow. You, sir, are a mouthful! She calls it a mayonegg. I was set up. By the Brits. A group of British builders operating outside the O.C. Chicken fingers… with spicy club sauce. If I look like a man who made love to his wife last night – it's because I almost did. I never thought I'd miss a hand so much!

That's how Tony Wonder lost a nut. Buster, you remember when we were kissing last night? Buster: It was a wild, wild ride. But I did finally get into Dad's pants. Although I had to have the crotch taken in a little bit. Well, Michael, I did not find their buffoonery amusing. Buster's in what we like to call a light to no coma. In laymans terms, it might be considered a very heavy nap. Oh Gob, you could charm the black off a telegram boy. And with deep, deep concentration and, and great focus, he's often able to achieve an erect–