G.O.B.: I know...
Michael: It’s really simple. Tell you what, you don’t need to learn how to use the system because you’re out of here.
G.O.B.: You’re fired. Have security send a man up.
G.O.B.: You’ve got the wrong guy!
Michael: Uh, no, you don’t, but, uh, you don’t have to do this.
Narrator: But the guard had recently lost half his tie to office magic.
Security Guard: Oh, I don’t mind.
Michael: Oh, hey.
Maeby: What was that all about?
Michael: Your Uncle G.O.B. doesn’t not-work here anymore. So I guess your mom told you about your dad moving out, huh?
Maeby: No. She did not tell me that.
Maeby: But she doesn’t tell me anything. Neither of them do.
Michael: I’m sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have said anything.
Maeby: Maybe I should just start keeping some secrets of my own.
Michael: Yeah. Why aren’t you in school right now?
Maeby: Marry me! I’m so sorry. I forgot who I was talking to.
Maeby: I was just using your copier to make some campaign posters.
Michael: Well, then, by all means. Let me help you.
Maeby: I mean, I don’t even know why I’m doing it. He’s gonna win by a landslide.
Michael: That’s what I was telling him.
Michael: I was talking about George Michael. He’s running for student body president.
Michael: Who’s Steve Holt?
Maeby: He’s just the hottest guy in school. And he’s won three years in a row. Every year after his first junior year.
Michael: So then, he’s more popular than George Michael?
Maeby: Well, that’s like comparing apples and some fruit nobody’s ever heard of.
Maeby: He might even finish after the Indian kid.
Michael: I guess I got to get down to the school and see if I can stop him from signing up, huh?
Maeby: Yes, you have to. And do you think you could put up a couple of these when you’re there? ’Cause I was really not in the mood to go down there.
Narrator: Michael went to take care of his son as Lucille discovered that hers was already being taken care of.
Buster: (Gasps.) Mother!
Lucille: And yet you’re too good to polish the candlesticks. You’re fired!
Buster: You can’t fire me. I’m your son. I’m firing you!
Lucille: I was firing Lupe.
Buster: Well, that makes more sense.
Narrator: Lindsay came upon Lupe, who had just been fired.