W: Mindy Kaling, D: Joss Whedon
Summary (NBC): When Karen tries to woo Stanley away from Scranton, Michael fights back, dragging her ex, Jim, into his war. Meanwhile, the existence of a “Finer Things Club” further disturbs Dunder Mifflin’s calm. Directed by Joss Whedon.
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Michael: Most of the time, I will be with Ryan. Or Darryl.
Stanley: I don’t understand why sleeping at your desk is better than you not being here.
Michael: You completely misinterpreted my tone.
Michael: Clearly, Karen is trying to get back at us because Jim dumped her.
Michael: You cannot take the hilarious black guy from the office.
Michael: The smile. Those big, watery red eyes. I don’t know how George Bush did it when Colin Powell left.
Michael: Mo money, mo problems, Stanley. You of all people should know that.
Oscar: Besides having sex with men, I would say The Finer Things Club is the gayest thing about me.
Michael: Fillipellers, how they hangin’?
Michael: You may have Toby.
Michael: Toby is the worst. That was a bluff.
Michael: Do you like magic?
Michael: I’m going to grant you three wishes — to move to Scranton, to have a great job, and to be my best friend.
Ben Nugent: Aren’t you the guy that hit the woman with your car?
Michael: Scranton is not lame. Scranton is the cool, fun branch. We’re like Animal House.
Michael: We’re getting crapped on. Word is our branch sucks.
Michael: I have no words.
Dwight: I guess there’s no sales call today.
Jim: We’re going to Utica?
Jim: I’m not gonna go further piss off my ex-girlfriend.
Dwight: Yeah c’mon. It’ll be so badass.
Jim: So the deal was, Dwight doesn’t blow anything up, and I wear a costume. And a mustache.
Michael: So why did you and Karen break up? Was it the sex?
Jim: Why don’t we play that alphabet game that you were talking about?
Michael: Dwight, are you peeing?
Dwight: Hey! You’re making me spray!
Dwight: I think I cut my penis on the lid.
Andy: Pam, these finger sandwiches look finger-lickin’ delicious, Pam.
Andy: The Finer Things Club is the most exclusive club in this office. Naturally, it’s where I need to be. The Party Planning Committee is my backup, and Kevin’s band is my safety.
Andy: Why can’t I be in the club?
Michael: Afro wig? Do you want the Afro wig?
Jim: This is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.
Phyllis: Someone needs to clean it. It smells like popcorn.
Andy: I’m gonna miss you, man. You’ve been like an uncle to me. Like a kind old Uncle Remus.
Jim: You really don’t need to be updating me as much as you’re updating me.
Dwight: Hello, we’re warehouse workers. Would you like more proof?
Dwight: The eyes are the groin of the head.
Michael: I’m losing control of my bladder!
Michael: Take her to a motel. Make love to her, Jim.
Michael: Just climb on top of her and think about Stanley.
Michael: Jim, if this is it for me, promise me something. Host the Dundies.
Karen: Seeing him climb out of a PT Cruiser in a lady’s warehouse uniform … felt pretty good.
Dwight: Then we will burn Utica to the ground.
Michael: Fly away, sweet little bird. Fly away and be free.
Michael: Pam, I’m going to need some help writing a want ad.
Michael: “Wanted. Middle-aged black man with sass. Big butt. Bigger heart.”
Stanley: How on earth did Michael call my bluff? Is he some sort of secret genius? Sometimes I say crazy things.
Jim: Angela’s Ashes. Top o’ the mornin’ to it. Frankie’s prose is finer than a pot of gold. Say I.