Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

What was he, a dumbbell?
Oh, I got- Wait, I got- You got a minute?
Oh, hello. How you doing?
- if you give a round of applause. - I don't have my guitar.
No, I knew she was, uh, going to Akron. She's from Akron.
Lay cold as a stone
Yeah, I'm so fucking tired.
Like, Green-fung? Hyphenated?
I'm sorry. Thanks for the thought,
I need to... I need to borrow some money.
Accounting will give you a check today.
Oh, please, Mr. Kennedy
Him, Troy.
I should've had you wear double condoms.
You can hear the whistle blow
To the one I love
Lay cold as a stone
OK8)'-
Wait, you don't want it either way? To be clear.
You don't throw out the license.
So, uh, can I ship out?
What's next?
- Hey, man, you made it. - Yeah.
Llewyn, are you kidding? Look at this.
God knows you never do.
What are you doing?
So I go 10,000 miles
Like Norah's dove
No, no, no. You're apologizing to me?
Shh!
What the N stand for?
Boy, you were some mess last night.
The ocean
I've been all around this world
All along the banks
I just pulled over to rest a little bit.
It's Ulysses.
Well, we shouldn't have done it in the first place, but if you ever do it again,
- Please - Oh, please
from, uh, Mrs. Sieglestein.
Well, shit, I don't blame him.
I'm taking off, Pop.
This is Llewyn Davis, our folk-singer friend.
Hang me, oh, hang me
They could no longer there
- I didn't say- You said it. Forget it. - That he exists? Like that?
You know, from last time.
Hey.
Uh-huh.
You should just walk around always inside a great big condom
and it's a little square,
She didn't tell you?
He already calls him Howie. It's Howard.
Three weeks on that show.
Here's a key.
You told me to put it out by the curb.
Llewyn's not an Upper West Side guy. We only get to see him when-
Let's go. Yeah.
Why do I have this pain in my side?
Yeah, sorry, Pappi. I'm an asshole.
- What? - That he exists?
It ruins the mystique.
- Why? - Why you think?
Yeah, I'm so fucking tired.
Just enough for the cat to squeeze back in'?
To the one I love
Yours and Mikey's.
- Nice to meet you. - Yes.
This is my job. This is how I pay the fucking rent.
Hello?
- Okay, Eddie. We might need Florio. - I fucking hate folk music.
I can stare at a chart and fake it, sir.
Friend: why do you have to bring capitalism into everything?
Please don't shoot me into outer space
- Champagne reception. - Don't go away.
I couldn't take it either, having to play Jimmy Cracked Corn every night.
Sign there and there.
We're the what? The John Glenn Singers?
What you do.