G.O.B.: Say no more.

Michael: Great. Are you sure that you know what...

G.O.B.: Yup, yup, yup. Got it.

Michael: Super. And-and, just so that we’re both clear...

G.O.B.: You want me to do a magic show at the wedding. I’m on it.

Michael: So glad we pushed through that. No magic.

G.O.B.: Why, because the one little screw up last time?

G.O.B.: Which reminds me that Rita shouldn’t wear any hairspray at this thing.

Michael: I just want you to be my witness.

G.O.B.: Oh, you want me to... be your Best Man?

Michael: It’s just a signature I need. On the license. My son’s not old enough. It’s no big deal.

G.O.B.: (Spanks Michael.)

Michael: This may have been a bad choice.

Lindsay: We had the best time! She’s got such an amazing fashion sense.

Narrator: Michael took Lindsay aside to share his concerns.

Michael: Um, see, Rita and I have not been physical yet, and... You don’t think that she’s doing this just for a green card, do you?

Lindsay: No. No, she’s not that kind of person. No, you just haven’t been alone with her. Ask her to stay over at a hotel with you tonight. She’s going to know what that means.

Michael: That is not a bad idea. Don’t... don’t do that.

Rita: Please do a magic trick for me.

G.O.B.: Well, I shouldn’t... I’d hate to be blamed for setting another one of Michael’s brides... on fire!

Rita: Oh, lighter fluid like Uncle Trevor uses! But wherever did it come from?

G.O.B.: Okay, I’ve got to get you into an illusion at the wedding. How long can you hold your breath?

Rita: Oh, long. One time, 20 minutes.

Narrator: Actually, her record was 20 seconds.

G.O.B.: You can stop it. Okay I’ll take your word for it. Now, I just need to find a trick that puts you out of oxygen for 20 minutes.