Lindsay: I’m sorry, this is Mrs. Featherbottom.
Tobias: From Blackstool. I’m charmed, I’m sure. Oh!
Lindsay: I think he misses his daughter.
Michael: That’s convenient, considering you didn’t even have the courage to tell Maeby that he’d moved out of the house.
Lindsay: I’m sorry. I’m not the perfect parent, like you.
Michael: I’m not that perfect. I pushed George Michael into running for office and I think he’s going to get crushed by this kid Steve Holt.
Lindsay: Yeah, I’d vote for Steve. Well, too bad Dad’s on the lam. You could finally use some of his dirty tricks to get George Michael elected.
Narrator: As it happens, George Sr. had come to in the attic, and perhaps it was the effect of losing his one friend...
George, Sr.: Polly?
Narrator: ...or the lingering effects of the fumigation, or perhaps it really was divine intervention, but he’d had a profound realization. Unfortunately, the timing of the enlightenment wasn’t ideal for Michael.
Michael: That’s why I need your help, Pop.
George, Sr.: Our Heavenly Father let his son die so that our sins could be absolved.
Michael: Great, so you’re a Christian now.
George, Sr.: We all must seek forgiveness.
Michael: Well, I’ll call the warden for you. You can ask him yourself.
George, Sr.: Well, I think that’s for... for fresh crimes. Besides, you’ve always tried to lead a clean life. You and G.O.B. were like those biblical brothers, Gallant and, um... Goofuth.
Narrator: Michael realized that he had lived like Gallant, and if he wanted some dirty tricks to help his son’s election, he would have to find Goofuth.
Michael: Been looking all over for you, pal.
G.O.B.: If you came to grovel for the job of president, you’re too late; my brother already fired me.
Michael: Listen, I’m really, really sorry I got upset with you. And, uh, I never meant to, um... I didn’t even mean to fire you, you know. I just got so frustrated, and G.O.B... you are my brother— of course I’m going to support you.
G.O.B.: Well... now I feel bad for firing you.
Michael: Listen, George Michael is running for student body president and I have a feeling he’s going to get slaughtered. The guy that he’s running against is basically a young you.
G.O.B.: Wow. Won’t be easy to win a race against myself. Of course, if anyone can do it, I can.
Michael: That’s right.
G.O.B.: I wish I was 15 years younger.
Michael: Now, he doesn’t need to beat him. He just needs to beat the Indian kid.
G.O.B.: And if I do this, you’ll rehire me?
Michael: Of course I will.
G.O.B.: See, the mere fact that you think you can says to me that I shouldn’t let you. Of course, we both need the work.
Lucille: Where the hell is my maid? Robot!
Narrator: But the robot was busy elsewhere.
Buster: (Gasps.) Mother. What do you expect, Mother? I’m half-machine! I’m a monster! (Screaming.)
Narrator: Michael brought G.O.B. in to consult on his son’s campaign.
Michael: I think we should focus on the video and shy away from the virgin thing.
G.O.B.: Oh, we should definitely sacrifice the whole virgin thing.
G.O.B.: And I got the perfect way. We hand out rubbers that say, “We salute George Michael.”
Ann 2.0: We’re not even supposed to have outside help.