Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Is it in your mattress? Is it in a jelly jar buried in the side yard?

Come on, make it official.

- God. - Take it easy.

So that everything you say is strictly between us.

Heisenberg, huh?

I'm blinded by white.

- We're not killing Badger, yo! - Then you got real problems, okay.

Your satellite is on, by the way.

Textbook bust, sir. Yes, sir.

They all want a pipe-hitting member of the tribe, so to speak.

Fact is, your nephew is gonna get out in no time.

Honey, I'm home!

I'm gonna tell you what your options are.

I was out partying, minding my own business...

First of all, he's not gonna do eight years.

Both times, they had him dead to rights, yo. And then, poof.

I don't want him banging the hell out of my dryer.

- Here we go. Public masturbation. - What?

So you wanna go grab some dinner?

Wrong guy, wrong guy. Other bench.

The price is the price, yo.

All right? Badger will not identify anyone to anybody.

Eighty thousand dollars for eight years of his life, huh?

I mean, everything's going through me like crap through a tinhorn.

You know, I don't really burn much anymore.

You're not his pal. You're his boss.

I don't get it. What's the holdup?

I mean, if Badger--

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Yeah. "Morally outraged," he said.