Gob: [licks George Michael's hand] God, what is that inky taste?
George Michael: It's my stamp.
Gob: Oh, I'm so sorry about that.
George Michael: No, that's okay. I probably won't come back in. I'm gonna go see my dad.
Gob: Yeah, you are 'cause you're a good son. [kisses George Michael] Ow! Bit my tongue, that little bitch.
Narrator: Oh, no, he didn't.
Gob: They're always doing that.
Narrator: I mean, no, he didn't.
Gob: Thank you, George Michael. Honestly, I owe you big-time. Not a lot of nephews would do this for their uncles. Now get out of here. I never want to sleep with you again. I mean, I probably will. I don't.