Tobias: Michael, look at you. I mean, you’re holding a sledgehammer, you’re covered... oh, I did that. Here let me....
Narrator: And Michael realized that he, too, had been too proud.
Michael: I need money.
Tobias: I can’t help you.
Michael: I know.
Michael: It did bother me that they did so well without me. But I do have to ask them for help.
Tobias: And I have to ask for an audition.
Michael: You haven’t auditioned yet?
Tobias: Oh, no, no. I’m not in the group yet. No, I’m afraid I just blue myself.
Michael: There’s got to be a better way to say that.
Narrator: Tobias rushed to the theater hoping to be seen. Unfortunately, it was dusk, and he couldn’t be seen.
Barry: What the hell was that?
Narrator: And so, for the second time in two days, the family gathered at the hospital.
Michael: Everything’s going to be okay. I’m sure he’s going to be fine. I’m so sorry that this happened. I spoke to him just before he left the house.
Lindsay: Oh really? What did he say? What was the last thing he said?
Tobias: I just blue myself.
Michael: He said some wonderful things. Including the fact that sometimes people are too proud to ask for help when they need it.
G.O.B.: Oh god, okay. Fine. I need you.
Lucille: I need you. Okay, Michael?
Michael: No, no. I didn’t mean for you...
Lindsay: It was a realtor, Michael. Now my husband’s in the hospital.
Buster: Mom volunteered me for the Army. Just because the fat man dared her to.
Lucille: We can’t let them take Buster.
Annyong: I lost my wig. My Uncle Sam wig.
G.O.B.: Michael, I am sitting on some very hot information here. I know too much. I’ve got the thingie. Half in English, half in squibbly.
Lucille: Michael, please, we need you.
Michael: Well, I hate to cancel my medical followup in Phoenix, but you give me the corporate checkbook, and I’ll see what I can do.
Dr. Fishman: Excuse me, Mrs. Fünke.
Lucille: Oh, this guy again.
Michael: How is he, doctor?
Dr. Fishman: It looks like he’s dead.
Lucille: Oh my god!
G.O.B.: Oh little guy. The tears aren’t coming. The tears just aren’t coming.
Michael: Just to be clear. Looks like he’s dead, or he is dead?
Dr. Fishman: It just looks like he’s dead. He’s got like blue paint on him or something. But he’s going to be fine.
G.O.B.: What is wrong with you?
Maeby: This bleeping doctor!
Dr. Fishman: I’ll let you celebrate privately.
Lucille: We want this comped!
George, Sr.: (Disguised as Oscar.) Well, I’m gonna, I’m just gonna head out. You don’t need some piece of bleep uncle hanging around ...
Michael: Hey, hey, that’s not my dad. That’s not the guy you want. If you want anyone, it’s me.
Michael: Yeah, I’ve got to turn myself in or make bail, maybe by like eight o’clock. Hey, hey, hey. That’s enough.