I'm not that girl. The girl who's turned on by this bad-boy crap. I'm not skipping home to scribble in my journal that maybe you're a vampire.

— Finally! A fully formed female. I am so over freshmen. I do not find retainers hot.
— Are you confused that a fully formed female could kick your ass?

— When the girls see me carrying all these flowers, they'll wonder, "Who's that guy?"
— Or they'll think you're a float.

Lesson learned: do not hit on a man wearing rubber gloves.

— Don't let her fool you. She's 15. She's dangerous.
— Oh, I was the same way. Now the only thing dangerous in my life is the chance that one of these packages has anthrax in it.

— Oh! Yearbook photo girl. Want a pick?
— Thanks, but I have plenty of shots of girls who desperately need attention from boys to prop up their self-esteem.

— Why don't you try a car wash? I remember the summer before sophomore year...
— Something really boring happend. Awesome story, Dad.
— A car wash? I love it! Thanks, Daddy.
— Great idea, Dad. Half-naked cheerleaders, wet and soapy, standing on the street asking for money.
— No car wash.
— Daddy!

— Did you understand what I said?
— See, that's the problem. Great with the repeating, not so great with the understanding. But I'm guessing it was about flowers. Props for bringing props, by the way!

— You girls are late. Where were you?
— We were having sex with the soccer team. It took longer then expected.

— So what happens tomorrow if you don't get a flower?
— I'll just go home sick... and never come back.

Your booty needs to pop like that whitehead on your chin.

— Herpes. I know firsthand that's nothing to smile about.
— ?
— I'm a gynecologist.

— So you're not hoping to get one? Not even a teeny, tiny bit?
— From who? Every guy here has the depth of an inflatable kiddie pool.
— What about Patrick Verona?
— I would rather lick that toilet sit. Why would you even ask me that?