the infectious giggle that punctuates the Tompkast and Freak Wharf is nearly absent

I totally slarted my pants reading this.

The leading lady-character takes all her advice from the detached left hand of the late Florence Griffith-Joyner.  In the scene pictured above, she is sharing a personal moment of triumph with her ghostly-appendage of a life coach, unbeknownst to the man that just proposed to her near the end of the third act.

This is clearly egg salad I'm smelling.

Who will be the first to have beef with the hologram?

Dude, can your pops front me a qtr til I get paid?

Rocky Dennis?

When the pawn takes the piss, the knight takes the cake for a walk and stabs the queen on a regular basis without the king's knowledge. 

Was that a Mrs. Doubtfire reference?  Well now I've seen lots of stuff!

Exactly!  But more grammatical errors.

RT might pick him up as an American correspondant, perhaps.

My Spader-sense is tingling.

Grant: [about Madonna] What kind of metabolism does she have? What's her growth rate?
Muldoon: She's lethal at six-hundred and twenty-four months, and I do mean lethal. I've hunted most aging pop-stars that can hunt you, but the way this one moves…
Grant: Fast for a biped?
Muldoon: Cheetah speed. Fifty, sixty miles an…

But the fly that exclaims "key-RIPES, man!" after smelling Ren's holes, waving a hand in front of his nose while saying it?  So classic.  I still think of that all the time.

Excuse me sir, I'ma hafta checkya' asshole.

Crystal, skull-fuckers!

Born to luge?

Who needs a movie when I can just read that paragraph?  Thank you! 

This episode was great.  For reasons like the line quoted above and the whole surreality of the Ashley Shaeffer Compound.  It all worked for me.  Five bong hits can't be wrong.

NOBODY expects Frank Ocean!!