Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

You are so twisted.

But I think we can offer you a more rewarding scenario...

Did you trace that call?

- Did you trace that call? - Yes, sir.

Okay. Heh. Okay.

- What's that in real money? - Pick up the phone.

Trump's "Advisors"

But I am Dr. Ludmilla Kropotkin.

That's his plan.

Where's Gilbert? I heard a shot.

Herr Schuster and Frau Schuster.

we begin with soft tissue.

Thanks. These actors don't know when to stop.

You are shit You are

Spare me the prima donna act.

(After surgery) That is so refreshing!

Heh. I'm sorry, sir.

He works in the Featherstone Finch bank. James Ritchie.

but neither are the thrills in London's interactive theater experience:

I could do with some of that, sometimes.

- We are kidding. - We are only acting.

I want to do kids or old people one day a week.

This is Mr. Ritchie. My brother is doing your show.

Boris, come quickly.

I never thought anybody could forget so much so fast without a blow to the head.

I won't have to go on stage, will I?

With help from your fellow actors, you improvise as you go.

We'd like you to join the team.

Two bags worth. Whoa!

Who else knows about these letters, Mr. Ritchie?

I go after the brother.

Excuse me, are...?

Ha-ha-ha. This is great.

One of those audience-participation things.

- Give me the money or I'll cut you! - Let me just do my line, first.

Is she going out with anybody in the cast?

I think she's going to do that, don't you, pal?

Two guys with knives took my wallet. I got nervous, they were so nervous.

Trump's "Advisers"

The letters are upstairs in the spare room. You go get them. I'll keep watch, okay?

Aah! I'm flying!

Who you are working for?

If you hold it a bit lower down, you get more of a flick.

How you doing...

Back in the straightaway...

- Help me! He's going to kill me! - Give me that phone!

I don't trust you?

Always. You're right.

No, Mr. Ritchie.

I want a ThighMaster and I want a ButtMaster.

Who are the goddamn Germans?

- Sir Roger. - Just think, Hawkins.

- Uh... - Ahem.

He knows every detail.

And now, it's you.

Those sons of bitches blew up my Nikita in '79.

- That's the worst. Here, get a towel. - Ugh.

Oh, you're together.

Dear God, I'll give you anything you want. Just name your price.

- Knock them dead, big brother. - There'll be bodies all over the place.

She's still in the bowl?

I would like fresh flowers in my room. Rare tropical flowers...

If you've got a sense of adventure, you can be a real star for a night.

You've got a great accent. Are you from here?

You're not going to give them to me, are you?

Happy birthday, sir.

- Did you tell him? - Of course not.

Dr. Ludmilla...

Yeah, tell me anything you want! Come on!