a w e s o m e.

Don’t you have some poor girl to go spy on, and not me?

No, actually. It's your lucky day.

"…well my hair’s better than yours."

"Please. I'm blonde. Chicks dig blondes."

…Then go talk to her, just don’t be gross.

I've never been gross.

“Excuse you! The ladies love the plaid. I rock the lumberjack look!”

"I don't think so, dude. Fat ladies, maybe."

Not enough to think this is normal. It’s creepy.

Now you've hurt my feelings. Shame on you, Lil.

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But not as gross as that. Dude, just sit down, have a beer, and don’t.

I don't want a beer. I want the blonde chick by the bar.

…Right. Barney, you never fail to remind me that you’re disgusting.

You love me.

"What’s that supposed to mean? I wear suits! … occasionally."

"It means you look awesome now. Before you were just... eh."

stinsonlegendary

'Bout time, if you asked me.

How long have you been in here? Actually— I don’t want to know.

Two hou— minutes. Two minutes.

Dude, no. Gross.

You're gross.

Barney, what are you doing here? 

What do you think I'm doing?  Certainly not spying on you...

You see, kids, right from the moment I met your mom, I knew…I have to love this woman as much as I can, for as long as I can, and I can never stop loving her, not even for a second. I carried that lesson with me through every stupid fight we ever had, every 5:00 a.m., Christmas morning, every sleepy Sunday afternoon, through every speed bump. Every pang of jealousy or boredom or uncertainty that came our way, I carried that lesson with me.