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i don't know. |
what is wrong with you? |
my head hurts. |
and i have no father. |
sterling, of course you have a father. |
just maybe not the one you wanted. and you... and me neither. |
because even though that whole weekend... is just a big jazzy blur, i'm pretty sure it wasn't buddy. |
and all these years, you lied to me. |
sterling, i was protecting you. |
from what, this sandwich? |
this is swiss, mother! |
because that's all i had. |
you ass. |
just like i'm all that you have. |
well, i hate it. |
and i hate you. |
sterling malory archer, you will eat... every last crumb of that sandwich. |
no. |
then get out. |
i'll call you a cab. |
sterling, stop that this instant. |
kill mother. |
waah! ah. kill mother. |
police, police, have to call the... waah! |
déja vu, huh? i'm having a nightmare and you lock me out of your bedroom? |
sterling, no, stay back. |
only this time, you'll be crying for help. |
sterling! |
and i'll be the one drinking... and laughing in there with uncle buddy! |
sterling, i'm warning you. sterling! |
sterling? |
sterling. sterling! |
what? god. |
well, whose fault is that? waving a cleaver, screaming in russian? |
i'm sorry. |
ass. |
seriously, i don't know what's going on with my head. |
filthy coat, can't tell what's cow's blood and what's yours. |
the wet blood, mother, is mine. |
and it's ruining my brand-new linens. |
sorry. |
this is why i can't have nice things. |
why, because you shoot them? |
serves you right. |
you nearly scared me to death. |
well, you obviously weren't that scared, judging by your grouping. |
uhn. |
hah. guess the old gal's still got it. |
all six, right in the ten ring. |
hooray. |
just like i taught you. |
without any help from... whoever your father is. |
yeah, you were always there for me. |
which i never really thank you for. |
sterling, i don't need thanks. |
that's what makes me such a wonderful mother. |
ha-ha. are you kidding? |
don't be shitty. |
can't we just enjoy the moment? |
yeah, how could we not? |
ass. |
and if you were half as smart as she was... she wasn't too smart to die from eating chocolate, was she? |
exercise terminated. |
all right, that's lunch then. |
agent performance unsatisfactory. |
oh, come on... at worst, that was needs improvement. |
jesus, archer. |
what? |
you think this is a game? |
no, i think jenga is a game. |
what if i'd been real kgb? |
i assume you'd try to suck a promotion out of some russian guy's cock. |
maybe i never get promoted... never will. |
because my mommy's not the boss. |
and maybe you just got your face kicked off. |
that is my foot in your face. |
smell the embarrass... |
ow, oh! |
mother, did you see that? |
mother. mother. |
archer |
leave a message at the tone. |
um... tone. |
this is four-five-six laundry. |
your shirts are ready... for a week. |
oh, no. good morning. |
hey, you. |
i'm so hungry. |
just give me five minutes on my backhand then we'll see if there's a... is that a dog? is it a dog? |
oui, that is abelard. |
oh, adorable. |
now get the hell out of here. |
but you promised me breakfast. |
you want breakfast? |
try the diner. |
you're obviously into greek. |
*gasp* get it? |
*barks* thank you, abelard. |
it's a short list, woodhouse. |
yes, sir. things we don't allow in. |
Subsets and Splits