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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
Archer.
For work, Mother.
CYRIL: Nice work, Pam. - Damn her piggy little eyes.
Are you walking in there right now?
Pam, what the hell?
Do you not know what "disease" means?
[MALORY GASPS]
And the Clippie goes to... Ms. Cheryl Tunt. Cheryl smiles, and kisses Bob on her way to the stage.
- Talk to me. SPELTS: Mr. Archer? Dr. Spelts...
[ARCHER YELLS]
PAM: So...
Right? You can't tattoo a fucking baby.
- Peggy? - I can't believe it, it's such a relief.
- Wait, Lana? - Yeah.
- Hooray. - Oh, shut up.
That'll do, Pigley.
Not that, dick. Your whole outlook. All this positivity and whatever.
CYRIL: Morning, Ms. Archer.
- Wait, who is this? - Rita.
At a spy agency?
You know, I mean, I drink socially.
- Holy shitsnacks. - What's cancer?
Do anything fun this weekend?
Such as... Any history of alcoholism?
Oh, Sterling, I knew you could do it.
I'm riddled with cancer, Woodhouse, and you wanna take a vacation?
SPELTS: That's, um...