Troy: Hello during a random dessert, the month and day of which coincide numerically with your expulsion from a uterus.
Shirley: Here, let me help you with that.
Pierce: I broke my legs, not my gender.
Jeff: You were born 21 years ago.
Troy: Which would make me 20, because everyone is 10 for two years. Because fifth grade is really hard for every…one. Mom how many lies have I been living!?
Troy: Yes. I want to bathe in manhood.
Jeff: There’s a place at Third and Water. It’s fun, divey but not staph infection divey. It’s either got a gross name, or an ironically fancy one. Possibly both.
Britta: Oh, The Ballroom. Good.
Britta: The Red Door.
Jeff: Oh yeah, The Red Door, the red hipster.
Britta: Not hipster, hipsters haven’t discovered it yet. It’s underground.
Annie: I don’t think this girl looks very much like me.
Britta: Come on, she’s a white brunette.
Annie: So is Anne Hathaway.
Jeff: Jeez. Look, just–the women are your problem, and the men are going to the Ballroom. And now I guess I am being clever.
Annie: Howdy y’all, I’m Caroline Decker.
Annie: I’m not a relaxed person Britta. I think ahead. I prepare. I don’t improvise my life like Caroline Decker, who probably has really bad credit and an unfinished mermaid tattoo.
Troy: It’s the same bar? You two have saying one bar is lame and the one is awesome ALL night, and it’s the SAME BAR?
Troy: I just spent the last two years thinking that you guys knew more than me about life, and I just found out you guys are just as dumb as me.
Britta: Duh doi.
Jeff: Yeah. Duh doi.
Abed: They were making out.
Jeff: Why would you say that?
Abed: Why would you do it in front of me? I’m not a coat rack.