Chris, there you are. We need to talk. What, are you walkin’ a horse? Did Quagmire get a horse? Oh no, here we go. I want a horse! Peter, it’s not a horse. Chris, what the hell is that? Oh, this is Mr. Quagmire’s horse gimp. What is a “horse gimp”? It’s a sexual fetishist
who derives erotic pleasure from dressing in horse-themed
leather gear. Want to see me feed him a carrot? Absolutely not. Hell yes. Chris, this is no job for a teenage boy. You have to quit right now. I can’t quit. I’m actually
good at this job. Plus, I’m making decent money. You could work at the pharmacy. Quiet, Triscuit! Ooh, hook me to the plow! Chris, I have $1,100 in a
paint can in the garage. Just take that, and we’ll
never speak of this again. Okay. Great. Now let’s all go home. Well, that’s what I get
for horsing around. Ah, your joke wasn’t funny enough.