Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

No, Animal Farm.
Okay, there.
What's the hurry? We're all gonna die up here anyway.
No. We're scientists. We never even trained on the simulator.
Which reminds me.
Don't yell at me, this was your idea! What?
Oh, Krieger-san! I never judge you!
My tongue says sangrita, but my heart says...
These nutsacks wanna take us to Mars to be baby factories.
Mars Forever!
Although I was talking about an actual animal farm.
Oh. And ew.
What? What is wrong with you? And where are the other two--?
Aw.
Next time, Barry.
Seal the door behind me and prepare Horizon for launch.
What? Come on. Maybe next time, sorry.
Sure thing, boss man.
Only if by "Martian" you mean "born on Mars," not actual alien life forms.
"Do" as in...?
Archer. ...michelada.
What?
And that?
Archer! Sorry, go on, Trish.
Just adjusting the climate control.
Thanks a lot. Thank you.
So never mind.
PAM : "Auto." Got it. Moving the lever.
...and as in let them claw their monster-y way out of our vagina.
Ugh. What? Oh, for-- How was that racist?
Are you sure they can't get in?
Oh. You can wear this.
Next stop, Mars.