Happy Star Wars Day!
Miles: Exterior--Hoth. A little spy robot thingy zips through the atmosphere and crashes into the snowy planet below. That's when Chewbacca shows up and blasts it away with his crossbow laser. He shakes his fury fist in the sky in triumph. Chewbacca—Raaar.
Hurley: It's "furry." "Furry fist." I need a spell-check.
Miles: What the hell is this?
Hurley: I'm writing Empire Strikes Back.
Miles: Uh... I'm sorry. What?
Hurley: It's 1977, right? So Star Wars just came out. And pretty soon, George Lucas is gonna be looking for a sequel. I've seen Empire, like, 200 times, so I figured I'd make life easier and send him the script... with a couple improvements.
Miles: That has gotta be the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
Hurley: Oh, yeah? Well, at least I'm not scared to talk to my own dad.
Marry me, Damon Lindelof.
“I just feel like if Paul Newman can make popcorn and salad dressing and God knows what else, why can’t I buy Dharma Initiative ranch dressing in my local supermarket? That would literally make us billions, and by billions I mean thirty dollars.”
Grant doesn’t know how to handle my moves—until he joins in.