Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Yeah. "Morally outraged," he said.

I mean, if Badger--

The price is the price, yo.

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

Wrong guy, wrong guy. Other bench.

All right? Badger will not identify anyone to anybody.

- Here we go. Public masturbation. - What?

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

Honey, I'm home!

- God. - Take it easy.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

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

Come on, make it official.

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

Textbook bust, sir. Yes, sir.

So that everything you say is strictly between us.

I'm gonna tell you what your options are.

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

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

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

Heisenberg, huh?

I'm blinded by white.

Your satellite is on, by the way.

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

So you wanna go grab some dinner?