Every I Think You Should Leave sketch, ranked

Tim Robinson and Zach Kanin’s Netflix sketch series was one of the biggest sleeper TV hits of the past few years, its quarter-hour bursts of feet-in-mouths and social situations gone surreally awry sneakily monopolizing the cultural (and, eventually, ) conversation, like a wily oddball whose gradually win them the support and respect of their fellow focus group participants. Appropriate for a show that hinges on so much arguing, it’s caused plenty of discussion and disagreement about which of its sketches is the best, the funniest, the most unpredictable.So, with the recent arrival of a second season, The A.V. Club asked itself once more: Who will be the I Think You Should Leave sketch of the year? One of the show’s many conceptual reveries? A gut-busting reunion with the creators’ former and collaborators? Did Jamie Taco, the complicated patterns of Dan Flashes, or “sloppy steaks” have what it takes to dethrone the previous champion? Also: In the two years since season one debuted, did any of those sketches rise and fall in our estimation? Read on, and maybe by the end of the list, we’ll no longer all be trying to find the guy who did this.Note to desktop users: If you’d like to read this in a scrolling format, simply narrow your browser window.

’ Tommy Pencils, a.k.a. actor and plus-sized male model Andre Belue, crosses over to the I Think You Should Leave-iverse with “Dave Campor,” a sketch that transfers Belue’s manic enthusiasm from van art to owning a Little Buff Boy franchise in Cincinnati. The absurdity of the concept—how many Little Buff Boy franchisees are there? Does the Ohio River Valley really have that voracious of an appetite for child bodybuilder pageants?—begs for an extended exploration. But the sketch’s compact running time, After Effects flourishes, and lack of a skeptical counterpoint to Belue’s frenzied pitch give “Dave Campor” more of a vibe than a Tim Robinson one. [Katie Rife]

Where most ITYSL sketches see a character (usually played by Tim Robinson) escalate things or spiral out of control, “Del Frisco’s Double Eagle” slams on the brakes less than halfway through, then never really picks up momentum again. A man, Leslie (John Early), raves about his friend Hal’s (Danny Nucci) globe-trotting, unpredictable ways at a dinner party. But when he finds himself the winner—or is it loser—of a game called “Credit Card Roulette,” Leslie flatly refuses to pay the group bill. Early’s deadpan is exquisite, as always, but the remainder of the scene is the sketch equivalent of flop sweat. [Danette Chavez]

This is I Think You Should Leave with the factory settings on. A low-status fool (Robinson) has a disproportionate reaction to a public embarrassment, in this case a whoopee cushion placed on his conference room chair. It’s a bit of a meta sketch, its escalation coming by way of Robinson sarcastically asking his co-workers what additional pranks they’re planning to top the faux-flatulence. Bonus points for the “family photo” detail, but “Pink Bag” is a herald of better fart jokes to come. [Erik Adams]

The fifth episode of the first season closes with a sketch that just tries to do too much. It’s pretty good as a showcase for the deep holes Robinson digs for his characters, but the vendetta sprung from a point-by-point dissection of “Babysitter”’s central fib earns its most appropriate reaction from within: The incredulous “What?!” Artie O’Daly lets out when his husband explains why he has to embarrass their friend at this party. [Erik Adams]

ITYSL has plenty of workplace-focused sketches, and “Big Wave” follows yet another meeting gone awry. When the boss steps away, an employee named Paul turns the table into a surfboard, and (nearly) everyone else joins in on the fun. But we all know ITYSL sketches are really about making things extremely awkward, so Russell (Robinson) has to ruin the moment by bringing in “the big wave,” throwing poor Paul off the table. Other workplace sketches like “HD Vac Part One” and “Calico Cut Pants” are far funnier, but there are still some great touches, like Robinson saying he almost killed himself after his coworker Julie gave him “chode jeans” as a gag gift—“a size 54 waist, 10-inch legs, fucking junk.” [Tatiana Tenreyro]

, season two is a bit more somber overall, thanks in part to sketches like “Claire’s.” What’s meant to be a reassuring video for young girls who want to get their ears pierced at the mall turns into a repository for one man’s (Richard Wharton) gastrointestinal issues and regrets. Much of the humor comes from the incongruity of Wharton’s haunted expression in the sea of smiling faces, though the guy slowly losing his shit watching the video is also good for a laugh. It’s a somewhat melancholic note on which to end the season, but we’d expect nothing less from the show. [Danette Chavez]

One of Robinson’s go-to characters comes to the fore in this sketch about hiring a low-rent Johnny Carson impersonator for a birthday bash: the exasperated guy who doesn’t understand why everyone else is having such a hard time grasping a seemingly basic concept. In this case, it’s the fact that the low rental fee for the faux-Carson means the impersonator is allowed to hit whomever he wants—though that right isn’t extended to the George Kennedy or George Bush lookalikes. It’s straightforward enough, but bonus points for “Carson” stunning everyone into silence with his brutal slaps, then muttering, “Wild stuff.” [Alex McLevy]

Combining elements of “Tammy Craps” and “HD Vac,” “Dave Suit” is the least inspired of I Think You Should Leave’s workplace sketches in season two, largely because it strays from its core concept. By the time we get to the last episode of the season, Luca’s (Robinson) in real trouble, sitting in a disciplinary meeting with his boss, his coworker, and a guy he hired to come into the office and take “huge shits” he then blames on his hapless colleague. Unlike previous sketches, however, Robinson’s character seems to know that he’s done something wrong, changing his story several times before shifting into random outbursts presumably designed to distract from the matter at hand. But that very randomness throws off the equilibrium of the sketch, which lands with more of a splat than a bang. [Katie Rife]

The vast majority of I Think You Should Leave sketches play out as an elaborate game of “Who’s The Asshole Here?”. But for once, that all-important title seems to float around a bit, from the overly aggressive stage magician who plays a little too rough with poor, good-natured Charlie, to Cecily Strong as the wife outraged that her husband let “that fat piece of shit” “pull his little dick out and jerk you off in front of everyone,” to, eventually, the beleaguered Charlie himself. Only Strong really nails it, though, with her understated, heartbroken “Why the fuck didn’t you stick up for yourself?” delivering the sketch’s biggest punchline, despite the fact that it has two minutes of runtime (and a very “eh, whatever” text flash ending) left to go. [William Hughes]

If its only contribution was to introduce the concept of sloppy steaks (“It’s a steak with water dumped on it! It’s really, really good!”) to I Think You Should Leave canon, ”Baby Cries” would be a worthy addition to the season. But it also features some top-notch Tim Robinson line readings—”I don’t give a rat’s ass!” is particularly weird and funny—as well as a nod to executive producers Lonely Island with the cocaine-chic music video for “Dangerous Night.” Despite its memorable elements, however, the first half of “Baby Cries” serves more as a bridge than a fully formed sketch, which keeps this one out of the top tier. That being said, good luck holding a baby ever again without looking into its eyes and wondering if it knows you used to be a piece of shit. [Katie Rife]

Never underestimate an I Think You Should Leave protagonist’s ability to make someone else’s moment all about themselves. Here, Robinson dons a jazz-nerd Groucho Marx getup to present Herbie Hancock (not the actual “Rockit” man, but an incredible simulation) with a lifetime achievement honor, but he can’t stop himself from revisiting a moment earlier in the ceremony, when he was “bit” by a dog. The truth of the matter is only slightly funnier than the lie, a pratfall caught on camera that fails to earn the sympathy of a hostile audience or the deadpan man of the hour. [Erik Adams]

This sketch couldn’t be simpler or more one-note, and that’s why it works. When a frustrated driver confronts the guy blocking his way, his angry rhetorical question—”Don’t you know how to fucking drive?!”—has an unexpectedly literal reply. “I don’t know what any of this shit is, and I’m fucking scared,” Robinson’s clueless wannabe driver admits, and the short interaction soon pivots to his attempts to shame the other man for yelling, getting startled by accidentally sounding the horn, and ultimately sullenly refusing to move. It’s the epitome of a so-dumb-it’s-funny premise, and the second round of Robinson scaring himself with the horn is what really sells it. [Alex McLevy]

This update of season one’s “Which Hand” swaps an insulting magician for an animatronic alien at a Mars-themed restaurant. When the robot turns its crosshairs on Gary (Tim Heidecker) and a date (Tracey Birdsall), the guy revolts at the idea that they’re “boring” by divulging personal information about his date. The sketch heightens with sordid tales of the date’s unfortunate family as a growing list of bodily fluids the mother consumed keeps the sketch above water, but it doesn’t make a case for why this robot would keep engaging them. Still, did we mention there’s also a whole chunk in here about a woman with a standing invitation from a local radio station to drink puke? [Matt Schimkowitz]

Not every I Think You Should Leave sketch ventures into full-blown absurdity, some instead digging into familiar, mildly uncomfortable situations, made more uncomfortable by a character’s overblown, counterintuitive response. In “Bozo,” a split sketch, a group of coworkers waiting for a meeting entertain themselves by watching viral YouTube videos, each suggesting their favorite and echoing each other’s “so funny”s before even clicking. The humor lies more in Robinson’s performance than anything else, his Reggie growing increasingly distressed that he neither recognizes any of the videos nor has a favorite of his own. “It’s fine if you don’t have one,” a colleague reassures him, before Reggie comes up with an, of course, ill-advised plan. You won’t believe what happens in part two of this sketch. So funny. [Laura Adamczyk]

The series’ very first sketch has perhaps the simplest premise: a man leaving an interview in a coffee shop insists to his potential employer that the door he’s pulling instead of pushing can actually open both ways, despite all evidence to the contrary. Rather than save face and just push the door open, Robinson’s doomed interviewee pulls until the frame splinters, the door hinges screeching while a slow line of drool creeps down his chin. It’s the perfect introduction to I Think You Should Leave: a character doubling down on a minor mistake, anchored by Robinson’s expertly calibrated, red-faced performance. Plus: It’s a nice little toss-off line when Robinson tells the interviewer, “You were great.” [Laura Adamczyk]

The bridge between the conceptual density of “Wife Joke” and the satisfying endurance test of “Calico Cut Pants” is pure escalation. The passive-aggression, the speed of the editing, the dancing, the volume of the music, the barking, and the objections of the other partygoers just build and build and build. You can’t trust an I Think You Should Leave character who says, “I think I might be able to help,” but at least he can whip up a tornado of emotion to the tune of “I Can’t Turn You Loose.” [Erik Adams]

The hip soundtrack, the weirdly hazy hallways, the floppy-haired, troubled heartthrob who appears at least four years too old to be in high-school: “River Mountain High” is a precision tooled  parody, but then Robinson’s voice barges in from offscreen, tugging the teen drama into the depths of product-integration hell. Culminating in a more straightforward sales pitch for TC Tuggers by TC Topps (“The only shirt with a dope tugging knob”) the two-part “River Mountain High” gets its punch from editing, cutting between the exceedingly patient and surprisingly curious young couple and their gawky principal, tripping over his lines and pausing to take a big gulp from a water bottle. [Erik Adams]

There’s a brief survey of modern sketch in the credits of every I Think You Should Leave, from the directing duo of Akiva Schaffer (The Lonely Island) and Alice Mathias (, ) to the alumni of , , , and among its producers. With its Too Many Cooks horror-comedy punchline and sea-sick color palette, “Party House” feels like it owes the biggest debts to Adult Swim, but it’s also a wonderful prop-based premise, with Robinson passing the obliviousness torch off to Kate Berlant as they and their coworkers conduct the serious business of an intervention on and around furniture shaped like Garfield, Odie, and Nermal. [Erik Adams]

Male fragility gets taken to the glue factory in this commercial parody, where a couple of amateur cowpokes straight out of a Cialis ad discover the joys of mounting steeds whose members are no larger than the average man’s. Ted and Emily Skull (any relation to “Baby Of The Year” pediatrician Dr. Skull?) are all too proud to show off their dinky calling cards, the sight of tiny horse penises played just as straight as Ted and Emily’s cheery ad copy and their business’ stentorian-then-gentle jingle: “Fenton’s Stables And Horse Ranch / Where the horses are hung like you-ou.” “Fenton’s Stables And Horse Ranch” is gleefully sophomoric proof of I Think You Should Leave’s willingness to go all-in on a gag. (R.I.P. Shortstack.) [Erik Adams]

At first, “Little Buff Boys” looks to be a retread of season one’s “Baby Of The Year,” complete with returning MVP Sam Richardson as an overly controlling emcee parading around a stable of young competitors (this time in the form of pre-teen boys in fake muscle shirts). But the humor quickly shifts to Richardson’s laser focus on the boss at this company event, who can’t understand why something called a “Little Buff Boys Competition” is even happening—and worse, why Richardson keeps demanding he pick a winner from these kids in costumes. (“Who’s your carved beef? Who’s your carved ham?”) The answer to both questions is ultimately moot, so long as you don’t pick Troll Boy. [Alex McLevy]

It’s heartening to see some of that old Detroiters spirit carrying over to I Think You Should Leave’s commercial parodies. This one benefits from a -esque conceptual spiral, as celebrity spokesperson Bruno Amato passionately lays out a solution to a nonexistent problem: Giving up a toupee cold turkey without making friends and colleagues feel like you’ve been lying to them about your follicular fortitude. The complications mount quickly within an authentically infomercial-cheap framework, and that’s even before Wilson’s throws a gorilla-suit ambush into the mix. Presented as the ad break within River Mountain High’s TC Topps endorsement, “Wilson’s Toupees” bolsters the previous sketch’s Riverdale send-up, making it clear that while the drama might’ve started out targeting moody teens, its true audience is T-shirt tugging, middle-aged chrome domes who think musty Curly Howard schtick will make them the life of the party. [Erik Adams]

ITYSL loves to blow up commercial parodies, and “HD Vac Commercial” is no exception. A second beat to the season-two premiere sketch “HD Vac” builds upon a ludicrous premise (man choking on a hidden hot dog) and goes full Tim Robinson, complete with a hot dog-hungry vacuum and an emasculated Robinson. There’s a lot to enjoy here, from the vacuum sucking hot dogs from a dummy’s mouth to Robinson’s delivery of “You sure that’s why?” Nevertheless, it gets lost in its looseness (“big wet diaper”) and runs out of steam before the end. Plus, there are simply much better “Robinson yells at the camera” sketches, like “Spectrum.” [Matt Schimkowitz]

The concentration of laughs in Patti Harrison’s first season-two appearance is somewhat diluted by the sketch’s straight-faced parody of a Shark Tank intro. At least the sensibility of her three counterparts emphasizes the outrageousness of Harrison’s investor (and her Peanuts-based path to fortune). There’s skill in “The Captial Room”’s mimicry, but its riches are in the weirdo flourishes Harrison puts on reality-TV cliché. She owns the word “wine” now. [Erik Adams]

When we meet Detective Crashmore, his first words are “Eat fucking bullets, you fuckers!” This sketch is a trailer for an action movie about a detective whose whole family’s been killed. It starts off very campy, but it takes a while to know when exactly the humor will start kicking in. The payoff is so rewarding; turns out the guy playing the gun-toting, nihilistic hardass is none other than jolly ol’ Saint Nick. Bonus: fans can appreciate the parallels between the gun-obsessed, criminal record-holding mall Santa Nathan Fielder encounters and this gritty Santa Claus. [Tatiana Tenreyro]

Three decades after introduced “”—hell, nearly 45 years since —there’s not a lot of comic novelty left in the “dangerous toys” aisle. So major props to “Tammy Craps” for coming up with a doll that no longer has farts in her head, but is chock full of fresh absurdist horrors. Like Tammy’s mandibles, the commercial parody gradually opens up to reveal its secrets: How did the farts get in the Tammys, exactly? And why are the girls talking so much about their weight? breakout grounds the absurdly specific ad copy in something resembling reality, all while turning the whole I Think You Should Leave audience into . [Erik Adams]

“Shops At The Creek” sees the show homing in on oft-ignored advertisements found on closed-circuit hotel television systems. Turning a banal ad for a serene shopping center into bedlam, the show—through a very sneaky aspect ratio change—breaks free of its framing device to reveal what’s going on at Dan Flashes, which is pure mayhem. More of a palate cleanser than a complete sketch, the one-beat segment leaves a lingering sense of dread as men nod their heads feverishly in a desperate and futile attempt to follow the patterns on Flashes’ shirts. As the camera zooms in on the shirt’s fabric, pushing past fibers of spandex and polyester, before cutting to one of I Think You Should Leave’s many colorful interstitials, one must wonder: Does the whole show take place within the patterns of a Dan Flashes shirt? [Matt Schimkowitz]

If “Detective Crashmore Trailer” was a cynical introduction to Santa Claus, “Detective Crashmore Junket” is a hilariously rewarding payoff. The grumpy St. Nick just wants to be taken seriously as an actor; that would be fucking great for him, thank you very much. So what if his seasonal job of delivering Christmas presents to kids is why he’s globally famous? Santa proves he’s an unhinged interviewee—while promoting his cosmic gumbo of a movie, he quickly reveals he’s seen every cock on the planet, tattoos puts you on the naughty list, and he’s been paid $2 million for his leading role. [Saloni Gajjar]

They say you shouldn’t put a hat on a hat—“they” being comedy writers, and “a hat on a hat” being a funny idea that’s had another funny idea piled on top of it, putting both ideas in conflict and negating what’s funny about them, individually. But what about putting 50 Stanzo brand fedoras on top of a hat? That’s the tricky calculus pulled off by “Baby Shower,” in which there isn’t just a pattern to a significant other’s crummy ideas for the titular occasion—there are major financial stakes and a degree of economic thinking that maybe should’ve occurred to him before his mob movie failed to get off the ground? I Think You Should Leave has a great ear for odd turns of phrase, and “Stanzo brand fedoras” and “black slicked-back hair wigs” are the type that’ll tickle your funny bone before worming their way into the recesses of your brain. [Erik Adams]

There’s really only one joke in this sketch, although it’s a good one: The sudden pivot from super-serious courtroom discussions of financial improprieties to gleeful mockery of “Brian’s hat,” complete with a focus snap to the man (and headwear) in question listening in from the back of the room. The rapid-fire recitation of the beats of a basic ITYSL sketch adds some variety to a fairly standard “awkward office meeting” scenario, but the joy of Qualstarr is in seeing Robinson skulking in the back of the courtroom, getting increasingly unhappy about the ways his terrible fashion choice have become a matter of legal record. [William Hughes]

The idea behind “Ghost Tour” is quite terrific, even if the execution isn’t as flawless: Tim goes to a haunted house (of all places) to make new friends. This reveal comes right at the end, so for the most part, he’s just a man with no social cues who loves to swear because he’s been given permission to. As an attendee of the late-night Larbord Oaks Mansion Ghost Tour, he takes advantage of the guide saying “hell” by escalating his questions about the otherworldly residents. “Do any of these fuckers ever blast out of the wall and have like a huge cum shot?” he tearfully asks. It’s a simple sketch but it works because of Robinson’s spiraling performance. [Saloni Gajjar]

It’s wonderful when ITYSL turns the tables on Robinson and puts him on the awkward receiving end of someone else losing their shit. “Grambles Lorelai Lounge” is the perfect example: Professor Yurabay’s slow unraveling as he scrambles to eat Dylan’s (Robinson) burger while dining with his former students—who look on with wide-eyed shock—is truly hysterical. Bob McDuff Wilson’s line delivery of multiple “give me it”s is priceless. It’s an unexpected but triumphant twist for a sketch that starts out by talking about Instagram ads and Scandal. [Saloni Gajjar]

At its core, “Wife Joke” is a surprisingly sweet sketch about Wife Guy Scott (played by ) who loves his wife, because his wife rules. But really, this isn’t about the Wife Guy or his perfectly pleasant wife. This is about Jamie Taco. The name itself automatically makes this a quintessential ITYSL sketch, and he’s exactly the kind of villain you’d find on this show: He’s just a little shit for the sake of being a little shit, stealing Scott’s lines in a play. We’re less concerned about the happy marriage, instead fixated on whether Scott will finally beat Jamie Taco to saying his own lines and stick it to the asshole thespian. [Tatiana Tenreyro]

A prime example of the show’s finely tailored cameos, giving a voice to all the sarcastic self-deprecation in your social media feed: The upspeak that’s long been one of the most potent weapons in Vanessa Bayer’s comedic arsenal. “Instagram” hits its one joke and hits it hard, aided by the glee with which Bayer’s tone-deaf Sunday funday reveler throws out insults like “pig dicks” and “bona fide pieces of hog shit.” [Erik Adams]

While the as-seen-on-TV lawyer with and may not be the most original character in comedy, like many I Think You Should Leave sketches, this one excels for its sharp left turn into silly absurdity. What begins as a spoof on a commercial offering services to rectify a termite infestation in a newly purchased home quickly becomes an ad to correct a way more particular problem, including a pair of prankster exterminators sloshing around in the homeowner’s bathroom and jumping on the furniture while he reads his art books. “Has this ever happened to you?” Robinson’s Mitch Bryant yells into the camera after detailing the long-winded, impossible hypothetical. Well, only the once. Shout-out to the visual gag of a toilet hole so small it’s “just for farts.” [Laura Adamczyk]

Taking a simple prompt—in this case, the writing exercise “how would you describe this item to an alien?”—and using it as a springboard for pure, uncut silliness is one of I Think You Should Leave’s most effective comedic tactics. “Biker Guy” uses both performance and text to reinforce the absurdity: The sketch is laugh-out-loud funny from the get-go, thanks to Robinson’s goofy wig and gravely “Woooooooow” as a motorcycle dude in awe of the sweet hog sitting in front of him on the sidewalk. Then, bit by bit, the sketch builds as Robinson marvels at a bike (“A motorcycle with no motor? Okay!”) and a car (“two motorcycles with a little house in the middle? Daaaang”) before being overwhelmed with ecstasy upon viewing a bus for what seems like the first time. That’s when the sketch takes a turn for the conceptual, as it’s revealed that Robinson is an alien from a biker planet sent down to Earth to make sure that the planet has motorcycles. Which we do, resulting in a happy ending for Robinson and his intergalactic pals. [Katie Rife]

Time to own up to the inherent faultiness of a list like this: One of I Think You Should Leave’s best sketches is best seen within the confines of the fourth episode, which introduces Sam Richardson’s cybernetic post-apocalyptic warrior in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cold open, cutting away shortly after he blurts out an epiphany about his/humanity’s last hope. And that hope surfaces, as such hopes often do, in the seemingly most unlikely of places: A cut-rate TV version of A Christmas Carol, titled The Night Scrooge Saved Christmas in the first indication that this isn’t your grandfather’s Dickens adaptation. The second: Richardson, in mech armor, bursting through the reformed miser’s wall. The head fake only works once; “Christmas Carol” stays fresh by committing fully to the “Christmas Carol is a time-travel story” premise, in all its janky dialogue, whacked-out exposition (“Now go ahead and eat that goop, Scrooge—it’ll give you the Bonie’s sense of humor”), and escalation of all the I Think You Should Leave jokes involving bones and/or skeletons. Richardson has the ability to sell the ludicrous nature of this battle while also making all of the details sound completely plausible—if only he could’ve been on set for the last few Terminator movies. [Erik Adams]

The shining star of this restaurant sketch isn’t the River Mountain High hunk whose presence leads Robinson to choke on an appetizer, lest he humiliate himself in front of multi-hyphenate Caleb Wendt—it’s the strained, gargling quack Robinson adopts as he attempts to play it cool in front of the man who designed his studded leather belt. [Erik Adams]

“Your new boyfriend seems very mature.” “Yeah, Howie’s great, he works at the tobacco shop my mom buys cigars at.” Together, those two lines represent the driving force behind the comedy of I Think You Should Leave: Pushing awkward situations way past the point of uncomfortable and into the realm of the absurd. Tim Heidecker’s been spending his post-Tim And Eric years slowly molding himself into , meaning all it takes is a ponytail to transform him into condescending, flatulent Roy Donk superfan Howie. We’ve all met this guy, and the dynamic between middle-aged Howie and his much younger girlfriend—he tells her she’ll never be a good writer, she tells him he’s going to get cancer—is similarly, painfully real, just with a little room-temperature gazpacho to spice it up. [Katie Rife]

nothing tastes as good as fashions look. At least, that’s the attitude adopted by one of Robinson’s office worker characters, Mike, who foregoes eating so he can stock up on garish, “complicated” prints made for guys “who look a lot like [him].” Robinson is recumbent throughout, but his volatile energy is quickly unleashed upon his colleague Doug, who remains unimpressed by the MS Paint-level designs. Mike’s vigorous defense of the store likely speaks to his drab existence, but there’s no big reveal. Unlike the designers at this fictional mall shop, “Dan Flashes” knows when to quit. [Danette Chavez]

If a mustachioed Fred Willard shows up to fill in for your church’s regular organist, best case scenario is he’ll insult one of the congregation members in a well-meaning but overly familiar manner. Worst case scenario? Well, that’s the beautiful cacophony of “New Joe,” in which the title character brings “his own, much larger organ”—a calliope-type contraption he accompanies with pull cord sound effects and the shattering of flatware—to a funeral service. Even at nearly 80 years old, the late Willard remained the master of this type of comedic guilelessness, that big, goony grin of his and the completely inappropriate cheeriness it brings to New Joe’s exclamations of “My condolences” plugging I Think You Should Leave into a whole continuum of . [Erik Adams]

When given the choice, Robinson’s protagonists will more often than not lie, and when found out—and they are always found out—lie some more for good measure. During a date in what appears to be the early goings of a courtship (complete with banal, dorky conversation beats like “Just play the hits!”), Robinson’s hapless everyman notices that his date is eating all of the fully loaded chips on their shared plate of nachos, leaving him with scraps. Rather than just ask that she stop bogarting all the fully loaded chips, he gets up and asks their waiter to tell his date the restaurant has a rule against such behavior. When Robinson’s request is discovered, it’s the (over)acting that really sells the sketch. Reminiscent of a child caught lying, he becomes utterly invested in the lie, displaying theatrics so overwrought and over-the-top that he has trouble speaking through his (very real) tears. There’s just no turning back. And now there’s no going to that movie either. [Laura Adamczyk]

Will Forte feels the most at home of all of Robinson’s Saturday Night Live castmates who pop up on I Think You Should Leave. Whereas the colorful maniacs Forte specializes in , here they thrive. In “The Man” he adopts a look that might be to ITYSL what were to in order to drag a pair of unsuspecting honeymooners into a letterboxed revenge thriller. This gravel-voiced stranger is menacing right up until the point that he’s not, as the details of his plot and a line of questioning peels away the layers of intimidation and reveals the core of pitifulness and pettiness that’s squirming beneath the surface of all great Forte weirdos. When the tension inevitably breaks, the once () MacGruber doesn’t miss a beat, his vengeful wailing—meant to taunt the former baby who long ago ruined his dream of making the Queen’s Guard laugh—not too far off from his whining to the flight attendant who delivers the death blow to his plan. [Erik Adams]

I Think You Should Leave ends its first episode on something of a comedic thesis statement, taking a very basic sketch premise—guy demands his friend give back a gift receipt so that he can’t return a crappy present—and then twisting it through such a convoluted series of escalations that it’s hardly recognizable by the time it hits its weirdly somber end. Steven Yeun is the perfect foil for this worse-than-usual version of Robinson’s insecure asshole character, providing a gentle voice of reason even as the rest of the crowd slowly gives in to the spreading madness. By its end, “Gift Receipt” takes on the cadence of a horror movie, as each of Yeun’s guests reveal that they’re just as preposterous as poor, doomed Lev, leaving him all alone to reflect on an errant mud pie gone awry. [William Hughes]

Season two kicks off with a premise as absurdly inspired as any of Tim Robinson’s slow-burn builds, from an understandable-enough conceit (you really shouldn’t make people skip lunch) to outlandishly daffy (Robinson’s beleaguered office worker hiding a hot dog up his sleeve and surreptitiously taking bites throughout the meeting, only to choke on it when confronted about the obviousness of his ploy). The mundanity of the setup makes everything which follows that much funnier, from Robinson’s transformation into a “wild animal” when his coworkers try to help, to his closing demand to know whose bag he just threw up on: “I almost tripped on it.” [Alex McLevy]

What begins as a commercial for “minimally invasive spine surgery” turns into a heated flare-up between Robinson’s jilted amateur singer and Conner O’Malley’s song-sharking scam artist that’s still a commercial for “minimally invasive spine surgery.” Laser Spine Specialists’ logo routinely pops up in the bottom corner as Rod and O’Malley argue over the ailing “Moon River Rock,” adding an extra dose of ludicrousness to a sketch that’s already found Rod wanting to fight his wife’s new husband and lift his adult son over his head—he has, after all, been rude to him his whole life. The highlight here, though, is the weird, lived-in details, from O’Malley’s talk of a mixer in Indiana to the arrival of another scammed singer to O’Malley telling Rod his family hates him and “only I love you!” If we were O’Malley, we also would’ve been on the verge of giggles the entire time. [Randall Colburn]

I Think You Should Leave doesn’t need much to inspire one of its signature flights of absurdist fancy. In the case of “Traffic,” a simple bumper sticker provides the setup to one of the show’s most elaborate sketches, as Tim Robinson is tortured by the sound of a dude, played by the aforementioned Conner O’Malley, following him everywhere he goes and just laying on his car horn. Turns out the culprit is a bumper sticker on Robinson’s car that says “Honk If You’re Horny,” as he discovers when he finally confronts O’Malley in a cemetery. O’Malley’s pitch-perfect delivery as he thrashes around in horndog pain begging Robinson for “some magazines or a calendar or something” would be the end point for many sketches with this premise. But “Traffic” keeps building from there as Robinson is busted with a trunk full of dirty magazines, leading to a moment of faux-sincere bro bonding capped with a deadpan musical number from Robinson as O’Malley clutches his precious porno. Did we mention this is all taking place during Robinson’s mom’s funeral? [Katie Rife]

In some ways, “Driver’s Ed” plays out like a typical I Think You Should Leave sketch in reverse, as a bizarre situation—Robinson’s driver’s ed teacher screaming at his students not to ask any questions about “the tables,” ITYSL MVP Patti Harrison yelling in an instructional video about Eddie Munster—slowly makes way for dawning clarity. For once, every character’s reaction makes perfect sense: The confused students, the frustrated teacher, and even Freddy Krueger, who probably doesn’t appreciate being yelled at for getting those tables so dirty. The moment when the understanding clicks into place for both the viewer, and the students, is oddly magical in a sketch universe so filled with misunderstanding—at least, until someone asks why there’s so much swearing in a high school instructional video, and Robinson’s character bluntly lies, opening up a whole new set of questions. [William Hughes]

Unlike most ITYSL sketches, Robinson isn’t the one churning out outrageous lies here. Bob Odenkirk gets that honor in “Diner Wink” and boy, does he deliver. He brings his subtle-comedy A game as a diner customer who takes Robinson’s white lie to his daughter and spins it way, way out of control. In his purported fantasy, Odenkirk’s character is a rich dude who’s got doubles, no, triples of vintage cars, a wife who’s a model, and he definitely doesn’t live in a hotel. Just like Robinson does, it’s easy to get immersed into this well-delivered, farcical story. [Saloni Gajjar]

It’s a Chunky! Chunky eats your points and gets very mad! But what does that mean? That’s the question plaguing this sketch, which finds Dan Vega’s Mega Money Quiz derailed by a mascot who hasn’t really mapped out his bit, despite having had “all summer” to think of it. Andy Samberg guests as a bewildered contestant, but the blank-faced, red-furred Chunky steals the sketch, confusedly translating Vega’s nebulous demand to “eat points” into dancing, physical violence, and the sloppy destruction of Samberg’s laptop. One wishes for another twist—it anticlimaxes with Chunky making Samberg wear his own hat—but Robinson keeps things lively with dorky clues—“Melted or cold/from the cow’s utters/over time it will grow mold”—that reveal Mega Money Quiz to have problems bigger than an unimaginative mascot. [Randall Colburn]

Though Robinson bears the brunt of I Think You Should Leave’s assorted faux pas, the show demonstrates a generosity with its mortifying setups. For example, this workplace sketch starring  standout Patti Harrison, who follows an officemate’s clichéd reaction to a new printer—“Christmas must’ve come early this year”—with a flurry of similar, increasingly tortured and poorly received yuletide material. The Santa stuff gets deeply strange, as does Harrison’s way of delivering it. (Where did she find the Forrest Gump/Eeyore voice of “Does that count as what I get for Christmas… as my gift?”, and where can we get more of it?). It’s a desperation for validation that’s all too real, and it comes with a payoff that just goes to show you it’s not the size of the gift, but the thought, that counts. [Erik Adams]

Arriving just two-and-a-half minutes into season two, “Spectrum” sets high expectations for the rest of the season. It’s simple compared to other standouts, but its simplicity is what makes it so enjoyable. Having Tim Robinson shout about people being mad at him and his CornCobTV colleagues for showing a “bunch of naked dead bodies with their spread blue butts flying out of boxes” is funny enough, but it’s in those moments where the camera is off Robinson that the sketch thrives the most. Even when you know it’s coming, the surprise of the bodies crashing out of coffins met with shrieks from onlookers makes you absolutely lose it. [Tatiana Tenreyro]

After years of , the idea of a TV host pranking people while dressed as a man whose skin looks like it’s slipping off his skeleton is ripe for parody. The show creates something beautiful, simple, horrific, and hilarious here, with Tim standing in the middle of a food court looking like a ghoul from the uncanny valley and threatening to rip his heavy-as-shit chin off and screaming that he doesn’t “even want to be around anymore.” From the makeup to Robinson’s performance, “Prank Show” is I Think You Should Leave at its best: A hyperspecific attempt at a good time ruined by the pain of existence. [Matt Schimkowitz]

The longest sketch in I Think You Should Leave’s entire oeuvre is also the strongest of the second season, buoyed by what may be—and we’re aware that this is a loaded claim—the single most gonzo Tim Robinson performance of the entire show. As the co-worker who leaps in to “save” Mike O’Brien from the extremely minor embarrassment of a few errant pee stains, Robinson gets to play at pretty much every register he’s got: Too helpful, too smug, too intense, and always, excessively, too loud. Meanwhile, the mythology of fake pant website calicocutpants.com only escalates, as do Robinson’s assertions that O’Brien pay for the extremely modest salvation he received. The end result is I Think You Should Leave at its very best, blowing a minor, relatable social anxiety out into an almost literal hellscape. But never forget, friends: You gotta give. [William Hughes]

There’s a lot going on here—from Robinson’s signature brand of comedic gaslighting, to his hyper-specific recitation of online porn sites in the faces of a flummoxed crowd—but it sticks in the memory for two quickly escalating moments of pitch-perfect visual comedy. First: A crowd of people angrily demand to know who crashed a Wiener Hut car into a high-end men’s apparel store, only for Robinson to sidle into frame, decked out in a hot dog suit, and attempting to blend in with the irate pack. And second: The moment shortly after, when he refutes the assertion that he’s the only one there dressed like a hot dog by pointing to a random bystander in a bun-colored suit, mustard tie, and bright red shirt. Zach Kanin’s quiet “Oh no” as he realizes that he is, indeed, dressed as much like a hot dog as you can get (without actually being in a hot dog costume) seals the perfect absurdity of the moment. [William Hughes]

If the Johnny Cash biopic  is to be believed, , a Hail Mary pass intended to impress a gospel-weary Sam Phillips. Billy, the Cash surrogate played by Rhys Coiro in I Think You Should Leave’s fifth episode, tries to pull a similar audible with his murder ballad “The Day That Robert Palins Murdered Me,” but he hasn’t counted on his over-eager bassist (Robinson), who takes the instruction “Follow my lead” a touch too literally. The sketch hinges on the tug-of-war between the singer’s considered storytelling and the bassist’s awkward, supernaturally themed riffing, which gets delightfully hung up on the minutiae of its skeletal antagonists’ underground world. But the performances are just as crucial to that tension, with Coiro allowing just a dash of frustration into his Man In Black composure, as Robinson flails about physically and lyrically, building a country-and-western mythology out of bone money (and also worm money), food surpluses, and hair that’s pulled up but not out. [Erik Adams]

If Tim Robinson’s comedy is built upon an unwavering commitment to the bit, he’s found the perfect collaborator in Ruben Rabasa, an 81-year-old Cuban actor who can not only keep up with Robinson’s cruel, peripatetic whims, but deliver every line as if it were his last. Look at “Focus Group,” which initially finds Rabasa playing the “weird” one in a focus group for a new car model—amidst suggestions for “Bluetooth capability” and “extra cup holders,” for example, he demands “a good steering wheel that doesn’t fly off while you’re driving.” But then Rabasa abruptly turns on mild-mannered Paul (co-creator Zach Kanin), dubbing him “teacher’s pet” and suggesting he’s in love with his mother-in-law, a joke that, hilariously, prompts snickers from the fellow volunteers. In a way, it serves as a microcosm of what makes I Think You Should Leave so special—it takes a brazen, charismatic boldness to so fundamentally disrupt a sketch’s premise and internal logic, but Robinson pivots with such a steady hand that we stay on his level, following him down freakish detours and, somehow, laughing at mother-in-law jokes. [Randall Colburn]

Could there a be a better representation of everything I Think You Should Leave brings to the sketch-comedy table than a sequined Sam Richardson failing to control a crowd that’s out for the blood of an infant in biker gear? “Baby Of The Year” is the first season at its most ambitious, with twirling camerawork, a cutesy graphic package, and an unfortunately detailed “in memoriam” segment (Says Richardson: “Calm down, they’re old ones”)—banal award-show trappings into which the show’s screaming madness is crammed, like an itty bitty bandana straining to cover for Bart Harley Jarvis’ completely flat back of the head. It’s an extension of Detroiters’ sincere silliness blended with the more sinister absurdity of I Think You Should Leave’s Abso Lutely influences, and like a genuine live broadcast, it remains unpredictable until the very last frame. Just don’t believe the emcee’s sign off, the season’s very first “dump it”: In the competition for the very best I Think You Should Leave sketch, it’s “Baby Of The Year” by a mile. [Erik Adams]