Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Sure. I'm the only one who has to go to work.
Get the Fuck aata hea
Yeah, right. Hunter needs it.
Bye.
From what you're saying, it doesn't sound good.
What kind of cancer?
Good.
Not in the car! Please! Not in the car!
So, please, don't embarrass yourself any further. Just leave.
You're mud. Godless clay!
What's your problem, Hil?
But Jackie...
Sure. Wow.
Shlomo is an arrogant, ignorant control freak.
Do you have a daughter, Mr. Soprano?
Let's call the cops. Those guys killed Hector.
He did?
Say hello to Freddy, all right?
- You ain't giving them shit. - Why not?
That's a brilliant idea.
It was just him and that fucking cancer.
There's 37 definites. We got another 13 maybes...
Maybe he's willing to go to the world to come...
I saw this one.
Look, I know him since before I had hair on my pitzl. I made this place.
Those junkie fucks work for Tony.
- My pleasure. - Have a seat.
The mystery of God, or whatever you want to call it...
Jackie, you might be a candidate for clinical trials.
It's next to something vital.
Nothing much.
Orginalet Madonna
Yeah.
They're called Hasidim.
This Christopher Moltisanti.
Why they'd schedule SATs the same week...
Carmela, what I'm trying to say is, stop worrying about me.
His son-in-law will not give his daughter the consent...
You can't let her go to Jefferson Avenue. They'll sell her Ajax.
...under that hotheaded son of yours?
And the old tree all rotted out inside.
It's okay. It's a private party.
He still has every last hair on his head.
You got money?
I want to go to Berkeley so bad.
What do I know? I'm not a doctor.
Damn!
What do you mean?
Yeah, I know, but I gotta go.
Carm, you did not have to do this.
So get out of here.
Hi, Jack. Bye, Jack.
We still have six more chapters left.
...or what you're talking about.