Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Good night, gents.
-I'll do what I can. -Don't fuck with me, Erv.
That better?
All right, cool.
Sync'd by Mothman
and the brash, tweedy impertinence of Det. Freamon.
-Morning. -Morning.
I'm gonna owe the baby-sitter half my salary...
Frank, you been fair, I ain't saying otherwise.
-Yeah, all of them, Nokia, Motorola. -Listen to Stringer play Wall Street.
And our man, to cover this shit up...
and they trace back to an outpatient plastic surgery clinic in Budapest.
It'll be up on wheels. K-row, slot 1 22.
You know what, Dolores? I made money today.
don't get to finishing counting all my motherfucking money....
You tell Cole about all this?
-Good night. -Good night.
and congratu-fucking-lations, you grab a day.
Two missing, and the rest ain't saying shit we can understand.
who wouldn't have come if we hadn't been throwing money at them.
Mr. Stump!
No sign of anything except a fresh stack of containers.
Ashley's preschool called.
I'm asking you, man, out of love.
Up until our people tried to chase the cash, maybe.
You just reminded me about something.
We're looking for 14580, by the manifest.
-Real elves? -They should be short, then.
No IDs, no passports, no visas, no real money.
We spent $40,000 on that guy?
Sailing up the coast right now, laughing at us.
Daniels put in his papers. He's gone, out the door.
But you got got.
My lawyer's gonna be sending you something in the mail.
-Yeah. -McNulty has a theory.
We have a quorum, I believe. Council members can take their seats now.
when he's on lock-down. Man need to see his baby mama.