George, Sr.: (Chuckles.) Of course not.
Michael: Well, I don’t want you to worry, Dad. There’s going to be plenty of money to be made from a business run honestly.
George, Sr.: Oh... well, your mom’s not going to allow for that. She’ll do whatever it takes to get her way. You think the banana stand was our idea?
Michael: It wasn’t?
Narrator: It wasn’t. Although they marketed the idea better, the frozen banana itself was the brain child of a Korean immigrant who threatened to sue them.
George, Sr.: Your mother said she’d take care of it. The guy was deported to Korea the next day.
Narrator: Where his business never recovered.
Michael: You’re trying to tell me that all your crimes, all your dishonesty—she was behind it all?
George, Sr.: She’s the queen, Michael. I was her king, but now it’s you. She may appear all sweet and innocent and light, but she has a way of, uh, controlling your behavior, and I’m concerned about you because I do not want to see...
Lucille: He’ll be fine.
George, Sr.: You’ll be fine.
Narrator: Michael went to cancel the reservation on the party boat Buster so feared...
Narrator: ...when he saw G.O.B. on a party boat of his own.
Michael: You might want to untie these ropes first.
G.O.B.: Don’t tell me how to flee, Michael.
Michael: What are you doing here?
G.O.B.: Well, I... kind of live here.
Michael: Lighthouse wasn’t far off.
Michael: Perhaps you can tell me how you can afford a boat.
G.O.B.: You mean on the, uh, paltry $1,500 a week you give me?
Michael: Uh, I give you $500 a week.
G.O.B.: Yeah, well, somebody’s drawing a little “one” on those checks.
G.O.B.: No big deal. I plan on using my Bluth Company stock to pay for it. Sitwell’s made me a pretty nice little offer.
Michael: About that, G.O.B.—you cannot sell now.
G.O.B.: I have to.
Michael: G.O.B., you’re going to burn through this money and have nothing, all right? “You give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a night. If you teach a man to fish...”
G.O.B.: He’ll want to use your yacht, and I don’t want this thing smelling like fish.
G.O.B.: I’m burning through my future for it. But you wouldn’t understand that because you’re a robot. Although I don’t suppose you’d be willing to have the company buy it?
Lucille: (On the phone.) Well, you can’t let G.O.B. sell those shares.
Michael: Well, what am I supposed to do? won’t give up the yacht.
Man: Just keep your weight off it.
Lucille: So lease it to him through the company.
Michael: Yeah, that just doesn’t feel right.
Lucille: Oh, really? How would it feel to lose the company to a man who has less hair on his bleep than I have on my bleep?
Michael: It can’t be worse than hearing that just was.
Ted: I guess I couldn’t see through the glasses, and I slid into the ladder...
Lucille: Give G.O.B. the boat. We need to show the shareholders at this party that the family is united. It’s a very small concession to a important cause.
Narrator: And so Michael sold out just a little.
Michael: Fine, I will give him the yacht.
George Michael: Hey, Dad.
Michael: Hey, pal.
George Michael: Well, you said we could... we could talk later.
Michael: Yeah. You excited about the party?