Who’s stoned? I am merely traveling incognito.
When did you become Italian?
Your son has been pretending to be a substitute teacher, lecturing the students, uh, giving out homework, uh. Mrs. Glasser has been ill, there was some confusion with the real sub. Your son held a teacher-parent conference yesterday and was planning a class field trip to a French bread factory in Trenton.
He’s our baker.
Pies! Pies! Get yer pies here for the big pie fight!
We can tell your mother we ate it all.
My mom will have an aneurysm, okay, if she finds out we’re playing down here, I’m serious.
How? How could this happen, how could you humiliate me this way? I am ashamed to be your mother!
You took the words right out of my mouth: I’m ashamed to be your father.
No. I am your father.
You just got your asses whipped by a bunch of goddamn nerds. NERDS!
Well, if I was you, I’d do something about it. I would get up and redeem myself in the eyes of my father, my maker, and my COACH!
-“BB”-
But I’m A Cheerleader!
Cheerleaders: Sixty-nine, is divine. Sixty-nine, is divine.
I am a choreographer. That’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 turn your robotic routines into poetry, written with the human body. Follow me, or perish, sweater monkeys.
I don’t know what’s scarier, neurotic cheerleaders or the pressure to win. I could make a killing selling something like Diet Prozac.
I’d buy that for a dollar!
Detroit, I’m gonna take it easy with you this time. I’m shootin’ a dollar.
-“BB”-
Dollar fifty. You buy what I don’t feel like selling will cost you two dollars.
Why, you can get a phonograph record of Minnie the Moocher for 75 cents. And for a buck and a quarter, you can get Minnie.
Men would pay $200 for me, and here you are turning down a freebie. You could get a perfectly good dishwasher for that.