Listen, I love my crime-fighting colleagues. We're like brothers. But come on. Face facts.
Jeff = British.
Michael = Utterly obsessed with sweaters.
Me = Neither of those things.
|Plus, who has the car?|
Boom, right? Exactly.
So listen, Teresa W. Let me talk to you. (Dim lights, cue Al Green record)
Mmmm. You look good, baby.
Please allow me to quote myself: "Mmmm".
Yeah baby. Lookin' very good!
Like a submarine sandwich. Not from a fast food restaurant or a grocery store but from a deli.
Ooh yeah. Cold cuts. Veggies. A nice Italian dressing on a soft roll. Everythang!
What's that? You call them hoagies? That's cool, baby.
But listen, girl.
We got some things we gotta get straight between us before we can proceed to the smooshing of bodies together, you dig?
The Nazi thing? Yeah, I ain't feelin' that.
Nazis aren't sexy.
But not sexy.
There are other uniforms I can wear instead. Like a UPS man. Or a cop. Or the guy you call when a raccoon crawls under your house and dies.
Does that work for you, baby? Yeah, I thought so.
I know I said we had things to straighten out, like, as in, "more than one", but that's really it. Everything else is good to go.
Because perpetrators of hatred and genocide ain't my bag, baby.