Jim: Where did you learn all of this?
Prison Mike: Internet.
Jim: So, not prison.
Prison Mike: And prison. Fifty-fifty... both. Look, prison stinks is what I'm saying.

Pam-alam-a-ding-dong. Listen, you're cute. There's no getting around it. So, I don't know if you like country music, but I was thinking that maybe one of these days we could drive out to a field, crank up some tunes, smoke a few Macanudos, maybe even toss around a disc around. Utway ooday ooyay inkthay, Ampay?


What was the worst part about prison? The dementors. They flew around and sucked out your soul. and it hurt.


Close your eyes. Picture a convict. What's he wearing? Nothing special. Baseball cap on backwards. Baggy pants. He says something ordinary, like 'Yo, that's shizzle.' Okay, now slowly open your eyes again. Who were you picturing? A black man? Wrong. That was a white woman. Surprised? Well, shame on you.


Michael: You, my friend, would be da belle of da ball. Don't drop da soap. Don't drop da soap.
Ryan: Michael, please.

Kinda sounds like prison is better than Dunder Mifflin.


Jim: Quick question — do you play the guitar?
Andy: I play the banjo.
Jim: Hold on, let me think about that...yes, that'll work. But can you sing in a sexy high falsetto voice?
Andy: [singing] You know I can, my man.

Karen: You can't give paper clips to a baby. He might swallow them.
Creed: Oh it's okay, I've got tons of them.

I had Martin explain to me three times what he got arrested for, because... [whispers] it sounds an awful lot like what I do here... Every. Day.

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