Gob: Fleeing the country. You bastard.
Michael: No. I'm still not fleeing. Okay? I'm just here to pick up my son's girlfriend. She ran off the last time we were leaving.
Ann: Actually, I was sitting right there the whole time.
George Michael: Yeah? Way to plant, Ann.
Michael: George Michael, uh, listen. Why don't you and Plant wait in the stair car.