Written by Mitchell Hurwitz.
Michael: What comes before anything? What have we always said is the most important thing?
George Michael: Breakfast.
George Michael: Family, right. I thought you meant of the things you eat.
Narrator: This is Michael’s son, George Michael.
Michael: I mean, we’ve made nothing but sacrifices for this family, and tonight, it all pays off, my boy. Tonight, your granddad makes me partner.
Narrator: To prove his dedication to the family business, Michael has decided to live here...
Narrator: ...in the model unit of his father’s latest housing tract. The guys live in the attic so that the house can still function as a pristine selling tool.
Michael: And when I do get that promotion, I’ll finally be able to get you what you deserve, you know? Like a real home.
George Michael: This is a real home.
Michael: No, it’s not. It’s a fake home, son. You want the loops or the flakes today?
Narrator: The guys then headed down to Balboa Island so George Michael could work at the frozen banana stand his grandfather started in 1953.
George Michael: Bananas.
Narrator: Michael, meanwhile, was meeting his brother G.O.B., hoping to discuss his father’s boat party.
Michael: Do you have your check for your share of the party?
G.O.B.: You know, I sort of thought my contribution could be a magic show.
Michael: Oh, that’s perfect, G.O.B.
G.O.B.: Thank you.
Michael: Or, wait a minute. I just remembered something—Dad’s retiring, not turning six.
G.O.B.: Hey, come on, I just bought this new illusion called The Aztec Tomb. It cost, like, eighteen grand.
Michael: Come on, G.O.B. I don’t care.
G.O.B.: I’m gonna do it on the boat. Look, what do you care? Can’t you just charge the party to the company?
Michael: No, it’s not a business expense.
G.O.B.: So what? Lindsay’s been staying at the Four Seas for, like, a month— she’s probably charging the company.
Michael: Lindsay’s been in town for a month?
G.O.B.: I don’t think so.
Narrator: Michael was upset to hear this, so he went to discuss it with his mother.
Michael: Mom? Mother? Give me your company checkbook. You’re cut off.
Lucille: Michael, look. Look what happened to my fox. Someone cut off his little foot. Is it... is it noticeable?
Michael: Well... you’ve got to remember, you’re going to be all splattered in red paint. That’s gonna distract the eye. I don’t want you charging any more of your personal expenses to the company.
Lucille: Well, I had to pay for The Aztec Tomb. G.O.B. says it’s a career-maker.
Michael: Wait a minute—the company paid for The Aztec Tomb? That’s great. Well, I was talking about Lindsay, okay? You put her in a five-star hotel, on top of which, you didn’t even tell me that she was in town.
Lucille: If you’re saying I play favorites, you’re wrong—I love all my children equally.
Lucille: I don’t care for G.O.B.
Michael: Yeah? I knew it. It’s about me, isn’t it?