Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Well, power to the people.
Oh, Lamont, you're lookin' at a dead man.
I won't need my glasses much longer.
I feel kinda tired.
- Thirty-one. - Thirty.
That'd be real nice, Pop.
Why didn't you just burn the room?
I'll get you for this! I'm gonna get you for this!
No, that won't be necessary. I'll be with you in a moment.
- I know what it is. - What?
Say, Pop, cigarettes will kill you. Don't you believe me?
This is the big one (heart attack)! I'm coming to join you Elizabeth!
You burned my bed?
Do my cheeks look flushed?
Get in there!
- I ain't going in there. - Would you go in there.
Even Marcus Welby couldn't get him out.
- But I'm dying, Pop. - You ain't dying. You're a young fella.
Pop, would you quit that! Now you're panicking.
- Would you put this in the safe for me? - What is it?
Lean it against the chair here.
Open this door, you old buzzard! Open this...
Well, adios, old fellow.
All right, fine. Why don't you have a seat right here...
- You ain't got it. - You think so, huh?
I want to die in my own bed. Promise me you won't let 'em take me.
- For what? - 'Cause they're killing you.
You done forced it on me.
I'm not supposed to tire myself out.
Now take your jackets off, please.