Buzz: You know…I could…I fought for this country, and I know you don’t get to pick and choose the parts you fight for. But I know-*chime*
Bixel: I should go number-two soon.
Abed: Meowmeowbeenz takes everything subjective and unspoken about human interaction and reduces it to explicit, objective numbers. I’ve never felt more alive.
Jeff: As long as you’re happy, I’m unsettled.
Buzz: Nobody is gonna downvote a guy on his birthday.
Britta: As your ratings go up, your ratings of other people become more important.
Annie: It just means the more others like you, the more likeable you can make others. Makes sense to me.
Britta: You know who else it made sense to?
Annie: Say “Hitler” one more time, and I’m giving you a two.
Britta: You’re punishing me for being alive!
Leonard: That’s the general idea, baby.
Annie: Maybe it dilutes or distracts from you excessive intensity.
Britta: Maybe it dilutes or distracts from your stupid butt.
Jeff: I’m gonna become a five and expose this thing for the shame it is.
Britta: Oh, now you’re speaking my language.
Jeff: That’s unintentional, trust me.
Britta: Just make sure you know the real reason you’re doing something, or you’ll fail before you start.
Jeff: That’s actually a good point.
Britta: It is? why? *whipes mustard off face with finger* Oh, come on!
Jeff: So I’m like “that’s two cups,” and she’s like, “what?” I’m like, “two cups, balls back, tops off.” All right, Trent, Mulch, Dave, Herpie, Clutch, Dirt Mouth, Rope, Tingles, Catwoman, Steve. All right, keep it floppy. Haul it, ball it, never call it. Girls are objects.
Abed: Those are other threes, we talk about how we’re glad we’re not twos. Small talk, guys, I make small talk now.
Koogler: Hey. I know what you guys think of me, okay? “Hey, it’s Koogler.” You know. “He’s cool, he likes to get laid, he’s not that old.”
Dean Pelton *over PA*: Threes and twos must leave building one after 7:00. Building one after 7:00 is fours only.
Dean Pelton: Fives have lives, fours have chores, threes have fleas, twos have blue, and ones don’t get a rhyme because they’re garbage.
Jeff: Oh, shit.
Koogler: Ah, the Koog approogs. That’s a five!
Garrett: Can I get a picture? I want my future kids to know this happened.
Jeff: I admire your optimism, Garrett.
Britta: I’m a psych major, words are my weapons!
Guard: I’m a security guard, weapons are my weapons.
Britta: Look at the mustard on my face, but listen to my words!
Koogler: Ladies and gentlemen, please put your tray tables in their party positions. So Sayeth Captain Koogler.
Britta: And do I hear correctly that as a five you thought you could park in handicapped spots?
Koogler: Well, you see, that’s just part of the Koogler style.
Britta: It’s human crap style, RATE HIM!
Britta: All fives were reduced to oneness in the great purge of about two minutes ago.