A picture of Woodhouse, Sterling's servant and the man who practically raised him as a child. Poor Woodhouse is actually kind of an amazing guy with a fantastic history, but that doesn't stop Archer from treating him like garbage and throwing all his clothes off the balcony.
Archer: Woodhouse! What are you doing?
Woodhouse: Uh, sitting down sir.
Archer: What, at the table? Like people?
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Archer: Stop. Shut up. I have to go, and If I find one single dog hair when I get back, I'll... rub sand in your dead little eyes.
Woodhouse: Very good, Sir.
Archer: I also need you to go buy sand.
Woodhouse: Yes, Sir.
Archer: I don't know if they grade it, but... coarse.
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Cyril: Why are you so scared of crocodiles?
Archer: Gee, I don't know, Cyril. Maybe deep down I'm afraid of any apex predator that lived through the K-T extinction. Physically unchanged for a hundred million years, because it's the perfect killing machine. A half ton of cold-blooded fury, the bite force of 20,000 Newtons, and stomach acid so strong it can dissolve bones and hoofs.
Cheryl: What the stupid shit are you doing??
Cyril: You said you wanted watermelon.
Cheryl: Watermelon's red?
Cyril: Yes. How do you not know that?
Cheryl: Who am I? Charles Frederick Andress?
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