Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Columbia House Record Club.
Bring it.
And that we spare Malory the details of your time on Pirate Island.
Oh, come on. These crabs, this time, were not my fault.
Thanks, human shield. Although, where the hell are all your men?
Heh-heh-heh. And one, two, three, go, herd. LANA: Whoa! Unh!
Look, Lana, don't get me wrong, I like your spunk.
Tend to the wounded!
"Dr. Charles Drew, or I will eat a bag of dicks."
But I don't want Mother talking to Bucky.
My sat phone. The pirates took it.
God only knows what kind of torture Sterling's going through.
Three million in cash? That, uh, should not be a problem.
We're going. One, two, three, down, herd. LANA: Oof.
ARCHER: What, Lana? LANA: I--
Noah, still got four bullets. Oh, God, do you know what "extant" means?
Thank you.
...and then I'm screwed, because I don't have--
Lana, no. ARCHER: Oh...
Hey, way to not give them the power.
All five minutes of it. At which point, Ms. Archer will probably dissolve me in a drum of acid...
...to say, Swiss bank accounts?
I can't with all the-- Everybody looking at me, and then the judgments--
Lurch, what are you doing?
He just kind of keeled over.
Yeah, that's not a thing. If and when that becomes a thing!
My sat phone. Yeah. See, Noah? Her-- Wait, your what?
Wait, what if Lana's been captured too?