That mother didn't kill anybody. She hired a hit man.
You know, people are saying that your ambition broke Carver's leg.
Oh really, [pauses for a second]. You're in for rude awakening, get in.
Are you trying to tell me you speak fag?
Making money from guys oogling my goodies.
Let's just get this over with. [to Torrance] My brother wants to check out your rack.
I don't know what's scarier: neurotic cheerleaders, or the pressure to win. I could make a killing selling something like "Diet Prozac".,
Yeah, and that's a good thing. 'Cause that would be a crime.
This is the living room. It's public domain.
It's not my fault you're in love with a big gay cheerleader who won't return your phone calls.
Oh, what so somebody just made him become a cheerleader?
I am a choreographer. It's what I do. You are cheerleaders. Cheerleaders are dancers who have gone retarded. What you do is a tiny, pathetic subset of dancing. I will attempt to transform your stiff, robotic routines into poetry written with the human body. Follow me or perish, sweater-monkeys.
I want you to think of what you ate today. Got it? Now cut that in half. This is called a diet, people, everyone start one today! Darcy, you should stop eating. You see, when you skip a meal, your body feeds off its fat stores. And if you skip enough, maybe your body will eat your ass!
Because! In cheerleading we throw people into the air. And fat people don't go as high.
Everyone comes to see you ladies anyway.
Oh, live with it! You'll be fighting off major oglers while we're defending our sexuality.
Oh... oh, I didn't need to hear that. That was an overshare.
You know, I begged my parents for a brother.
Remember, they give extra points for alacrity and effulgence.