Archer

Sterling Archer.

Code name Duchess.

Hm.

Known from Berlin to Bangkok as the world's most dangerous spy.

So for us, this is... How you say?

...A good get.

But not so good for you, Mr. Archer.

Because you have information that I want.

And this may be old cliché...

...but we have ways of making you talk.

What? Your little go-cart battery?

Golf cart. Whatever.

- Would you pick an accent and stick with it? - Listen here—-

Son of a bitch. Now you did it.

What is the point of these simulations... Krenshaw's arousal?

...if you don't take them seriously?

How can I? Between his lame accent and the go-cart battery...

Golf cart. Shut up.

And speaking of lame, my code name...

Was chosen at random by the ISIS computer.

Random? It was your dog's name.

Oh, Duchess.

I loved her so much.

That it was creepy and pathetic?

And if you were half as smart as she was...

She wasn't too smart to die from eating chocolate, was she?

Exercise terminated.

All right, that's lunch then. Agent performance unsatisfactory.

Oh, come on... At worst, that was "needs improvement."

Jesus, Archer. What?

You think this is a game? No, I think Jenga is a game.

What if I'd been real KGB?

I assume you'd try to suck a promotion out of some Russian guy's cock.

Maybe I never get promoted... Never will.

...because my mommy's not the boss.

And maybe you just got your face kicked off.

That is my foot in your face. Smell the embarrass...

Ow, oh!

Mother, did you see that?

Mother.

Mother.

Leave a message at the tone.

Um... Tone.

This is Four-Five-Six Laundry. Your shirts are ready... for a week.

Oh, no.

Good morning. Hey, you.

I'm so hungry.

Just give me five minutes on my backhand then we'll see if there's a...

Is that a dog? Is it a dog? Oui, that is Abelard.

Oh, adorable. Now get the hell out of here.

But you promised me breakfast.

You want breakfast? Try the diner. You're obviously into Greek.

Get it?

Thank you, Abelard.

It's a short list, Woodhouse. Yes, sir.

Things we don't allow in. What are they? Dogs and your mother.

That's a very short list, isn't it? Yes...

...but you were quite insistent... What was I?

...that an exception be made.

No, no, no, because forget the dog rule, because this pug is amazing.

Watch this. Abergard, go.

Do you not hear that?

That's "Puttin' on the Ritz," man.

I'm always insistent, Woodhouse. Yes, sir.

But I'm not to be trusted, am I? No, sir.

Stop. Shut up. I have to go.

But if I find one single dog hair when I get back...

...I'll rub sand in your dead little eyes.

Very good, sir.

I also need you to go buy sand. Yes, sir.

I don't know if they grade it but...

Coarse.

One entire whole week we've been calling you.

Highly unprofessional.

Really? Because I find your sweatiness unprofessional.

So we have something in common.

Besides the fact that now both of our shirts reek of curry.

And when will you settle your account? When will you buy some dress shields?

This is not a dress. Are you serious? That's not a dress?

Oh, God, with the curry again.

This shirt smells like Indira Gandhi's thong.

Hey, you wanna smell something? Swear to God, Mr. Archer...

...I have H.R. on speed dial. Shut up.

Hey, Krieger, you gotta smell this.

Krieger? Huh.

You geeks wanna smell something?

Archer, get the hell out. What is it with you people?

Try to include people in your life and then you... Lana.

Hey. Hey, what does this smell like?

Like the dysfunctional asshole I broke up with six months ago.

Oh, my God. You're amazing.

You are amazing, sweet stuff.

Wanna do it again and put on some interracial porn?

God, it's like my brain's that tree, and you're those little cookie elves.

Just a second.

No, baby, don't answer that. I have to. Sorry, it's Mother.

Mother, hey. Just a second. I cannot believe you.

No, turn it on. I can do both.

What? So don't speak to me, ever.

And while you're not ever speaking to me, jump up your own ass and die.

Oh, rea... After all that H.R. mediation. Really?

Yup. After all the hard work Pam did.

Is that Archer? Goddamn it.

Archer, hey. Go away.

About your operations account... Not...

Cyril, not now. Yes, now.

Not a good time. You've got serious discrepancies...

...in your account. No, Cyril.

I'm sure you wouldn't use operational funds for personal expenses.

Come on, 22 black.

Twenty-two black. Twenty-two.

Black. Ass. Son of a bitch. Heh.

Not you, giant African man. I'm sorry. Can I offer you a drink?

How about this expensive prostitute?

That is a very serious implication, Cyril.

Well, so is embezzlement.

Yeah? Well, so is the fact that you, some crazy-how, are screwing my ex.

Archer, please. That's private. Not calm enough?

You all know about Cyril and Lana, right?

Of course, because if Pam knows, then everybody knows...

...because of Pam's huge mouth. Right, Pam?

H.R. mediations are supposed to be confidential, Pam, you manatee.

And as for you, Cyril, good day, sir. Archer.

Hey, wait. What about your account? Oh, I get it.

Classic misdirection.

No, don't. You're so ugly when you cry.

Mr. Archer. I'm fine.

Is she in or out eating a baby?

You stood me up again last night. Last...?

Oh, yeah. Oh, my. What happened was...

Did you see Brian's Song? Same thing pretty much happened.

I helped a guy with cancer. Look, I'm really sorry, Carol, but I couldn't...

It's Cheryl.

I know, Ca... Cheryl. Soto make it up to you...

I'm ready. ...could you buzz me in?

Ugh. Is that all you have to say?

Yes.

Now tell me again how...

No, not that part. Go back. Yes.

The pepper. Oh, yes, God. Oh, God.

Oh, goddamn it.

What the hell are you doing?

What are you doing?

I... I'm...

For your information, I've just been reviewing your operations account.

No. No. No. Yes. Yes.

Yes. Yes. No. No.

And it makes for fascinating reading.

Let's see.

You turned in an expense report from Berlin...

...where the German desk says you never checked in.

Oh, Berlin was... Ditto Buenos Aires.

Too busy to check in? There was... Yeah.

Already off to Monaco?

I'm spying. Or was it Mallorca? Oh.

Or Tunis? Tunis kind of rings a bell.

ISIS isn't your own personal travel agency.

It doesn't exist just so you can jet off to Whore Island.

That's not a real place.

I have 50 agents who'd literally kill to move up to your position.

If you don't square your operations account by Monday...

...they won't need to. Your position will be vacant.

Sterling. Hm? Sorry. I was picturing Whore Island.

Have I made myself clear?

Are you...? You're looking for the answer "yes"?

Yes. Good. Then, yes.

Then get out.

And for God's sake, take a shower.

Smells like a whorehouse in here.

Okay. Your own fingers.

Nothing. Hm?

Johnny Bench called.

So here's the thing.

I need to access my operations account and you're preventing that.

Now, we can do this easy or we can do it hard.

Your call. No? Hard it is then.

- Oh, God, sorry. - Goddamn it, Archer.

- I forgot that... Did I get you? - What is wrong with you?

Me? Nothing. You, on the other hand, have a bullet inside you.

I see the foot's all better. And I see you're still a hatchet-face prick.

Do you see that sign? Do you see that sign?

Well... That's why. 80 we don't get ants.

Because when your co-workers put food in the refrigerator...

...that's a bond of trust, okay?

And if you violate that trust, or the food, there's...

There's my favorite section head.

I am dealing with the break room problem.

Oh, good. You caught the... Oh, wait I had something for this.

The Pita Predator. You know what?

Sorry. Let's just call it what it is.

Food rapist. Not a pretty name, is it?

Pam, if you want some food that's supposed to be cream-filled...

...I offer these delicious doughnuts.

Yeah? In exchange for a favor.

A favor? Yeah.

After how you treated me?

**** your dolphin, Pam. Archer, she's down, all right?

Your ******* dolphin. She's tapping out.

You. I think she peed.

I had to get three stitches.