Yes, idiot, I did! Because I never forget an insult. [Except when he does, or just shrugs it off. Which is frequently.]

Hey! Corduroy! Get me one of those pinkish drinks! [The native he grabbed before, apparently feeling that Archer is beginning to wear out his welcome, nudges a large open jug toward him. Archer pours it into a small bowl and mixes it with a generous splash of his own vodka reserve before handing it to Chris.] There you go, l'chaim.