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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
All right, cool.
-Yeah, all of them, Nokia, Motorola. -Listen to Stringer play Wall Street.
Frank, you been fair, I ain't saying otherwise.
No sign of anything except a fresh stack of containers.
-I'll do what I can. -Don't fuck with me, Erv.
Two missing, and the rest ain't saying shit we can understand.
You just reminded me about something.
We have a quorum, I believe. Council members can take their seats now.
and they trace back to an outpatient plastic surgery clinic in Budapest.
-Morning. -Morning.
-Yeah. -McNulty has a theory.
-Good night. -Good night.
You tell Cole about all this?
don't get to finishing counting all my motherfucking money....
Mr. Stump!
and congratu-fucking-lations, you grab a day.
That better?
I'm gonna owe the baby-sitter half my salary...
My lawyer's gonna be sending you something in the mail.
who wouldn't have come if we hadn't been throwing money at them.
Up until our people tried to chase the cash, maybe.
-Real elves? -They should be short, then.
and the brash, tweedy impertinence of Det. Freamon.
No IDs, no passports, no visas, no real money.
And our man, to cover this shit up...
Sailing up the coast right now, laughing at us.
Good night, gents.
We spent $40,000 on that guy?
Ashley's preschool called.
You know what, Dolores? I made money today.
It'll be up on wheels. K-row, slot 1 22.
I'm asking you, man, out of love.
Daniels put in his papers. He's gone, out the door.
We're looking for 14580, by the manifest.
when he's on lock-down. Man need to see his baby mama.
But you got got.
Sync'd by Mothman