But that's every year!

The edible oil is also cursed.

Also, messing with the Wu Tang.

How is that going to stop it? There's plenty more where they came from.

A few minutes. I'm a typewriter. It's what I do.

The competent drumwork of Don Brewer? Oh, man!

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Yo dawg, I heard you liked dogs.

What are you baling out? Straw? Cotton? Sorghum?

Well, you can't have just one Spaceball.

That was awesome. Still pretty dark though.

He finally settles down, marries and gets a nice job in Silicon Valley writing mobile games. The show's format changes to multi-cam sitcom.

Toxic gas is a thing.

He also invented the private jet. You'd think he makes enough money from sales of those to not need to work in TV.

So, it was sugar-flavored?

I just wish I had her sweet, sweet can.

"Aww, now you made me remember my buddy The Mooch. So sad that he was forced to leave by the failing media."

It's bizarre to think that the reason they are working the job even matters. Is their time and labor not worth as much as everybody else's?

"Fuck you, I'm more fucked than you."