Womynist #2: Stop the penis party!
Droz: Are we having a party tonight or what?
Cecilia: Well, there's no publicity, so there's no people; Gutter never showed up, so there's no beer; instruments just blew out, so there's no band; and I think Raji and Deege may be dead.
Droz: Wait a minute... no beer? Well, where the hell's Gutter?
Katy: Probably in a parking lot somewhere picking his nose.
[cut to Gutter in a parking lot somewhere picking his nose]
Droz: These, Tom, are the Causeheads. They find a world-threatening issue and stick with it for about a week.
Katy: What about Naugahyde Windpipe?
Cecilia: Too metal.
Raji: Oedipus and the Mama's Boys.
Cecilia: Too college radio.
Deeje: My Johnson Is 12 Inches Long.
Cecilia: Interesting, but It doesn't really sound like a band name.
Bantam: America's greatest president.
Rand: It's me, Rand. Open up.
Bantam: America's greatest president.
Rand: Damn it. "Who is Ronald Reagan?"
Bantam: A casual shoe for yachting.
Rand: What are you trying to figure out, B.D.? Who could I be? "What is a blucher?"
Bantam: They killed Jesus Christ.
Rand: "Who are the Jews?" Open up, sucko.
Droz: What's this? You're wearing the shirt of the band you're going to see? Don't be that guy.
Tom: What's he doin?
Droz: He's finishing his senior thesis. Pigman is trying to prove the Caine-Hackman theory. No matter what time it is, 24 hours a day, you can find a Michael Caine or Gene Hackman movie playing on TV.
Tom: That's his thesis?
Droz: Yes! That's the beauty of college these days, Tommy! You can major in Game Boy if you know how to bullshit.
Droz: [stealing a car, finds The Club, still in the package with the words: Police say "Use it"] Well, that's good thinking.
Katy: Hey, Droz, how 'bout this: Tonight, at the Pit, "Everyone Gets Laid."
Droz: It's tasteless, disgusting, and offensive. I love it.
Droz: All right right, whaddya need? Bottle rockets, dental dams, Redi Wips, term papers?
Old Woman: Excuse me, but can you blow me where the pampers is?
Old Woman: Can you blow me where the pampers is?
Old Woman: Can you *show* me where the *campus* is?
Droz: Want some advice?
Tom: Well, yeah.
Droz: Well, here's all you need to know. Classes: nothing before eleven. Beer: it's your best friend, you drink a lot. Women? You're a freshman, so it's pretty much out of the question. Will you have a car?
Tom: Uh, no.
Droz: Someone on your floor will. Find them and make friends with them on the first day.
Droz: Ok, now it's true, the majority of students today are so cravenly PC, they wouldn't know a good time if it was sitting on their face, but there's one thing that will always unite us and them. They're young. They may not realize it yet. They've got the same raging hormones, the same self-destructive desire to get boldly trashed and wildly out of control. Look out that window! That's not a protest! That is cry for help! They're begging us...
Droz: Please have a party! Feed us drinks!
Droz: Get us laid! Aahhhhhh!
Rand: I scheme and plan for MONTHS and it gets screwed up because YOU can't control the students! NEVER send a woman to do a man's job!
President Garcia-Thompson: You cocky, pointy-nosed little Reaganite! If you hadn't provoked them, we wouldn't BE in this mess!
Rand: Whoa! Reality check here! Earth to TALL BITCH! What is your fault? THIS IS!
[turns on Droz]
Rand: Hey, poor boy! Go and have all your parties with all your new friends! I can see it now, Andrews. You and all the knee-jerk, bleeding-heart liberals, sipping tea and playing patty-cake. And those useless hippie pot-heads, those commie-pinko leftists. The bunny huggers, the pillow biters...
Droz: Whoa! Whoa! Which ones are the pillow biters again?
Rand: The BUTT-PIRATES! And those beastly man-haters, tell those chicks to shave their pits then call me! And those goddamn whiny crybaby minorities, you can keep them all!
[Rand realizes that Droz had a microphone close by and that the sign lady has been signing everything he said]
Droz: [to the students] Rand McPherson, everybody. And don't forget the 9:30 show is completely different than the 7:30 show. Enjoy the veal!
[the students then go after Rand]
Moonbeam: MEAT TOSSER!
Droz: Hey monkeys, how about a little respect. The presiding person of the university just walked in.
[the band starts playing "Hail to The Chief"]
Droz: We need kegs. Multiple, cold and domestic.
President Garcia-Thompson: You passed out cigarettes for a smoke-a-thon on Earth Day. You installed speed bumps on the handicapped ramps and, most recently, you dumped 100 pounds of... MEAT on a peaceful vegan protest!
Droz: Oh, come on! That was way more than 100 pounds.
Droz: Go to sleep! Why won't you just go to sleep!
Rand: Everyone, I have some good news. First of all...
[looks at Carter]
Rand: You're an idiot, don't you ever make me wait outside the door again!
Droz: Hi, is Sam in there?
Womynist #1: "In there"? What the hell's that supposed to mean?
Womynist #2: Yeah, cock-man-oppressor!
Droz: Why, thank you. Could you just tell her that Mr. Pokey stopped by.
[as the members of Balls And Shaft pass, Droz gives each a fascist salute]
Droz: Ladies and gentlemen, I think it's time to revive an ancient tradition we seem to have long forgotten.
Cecilia: They confiscated the altar, Droz.
Droz: No, I'm not talking about human sacrifice, Ceel. I'm talking about something we used to do every Saturday night as a matter of principle. Here's a hint. Legions of hand-stamped meatheads... in coed naked lacrosse T-shirts... power-chugging watered-down Meisterchau... regurgitating on the glue-matted floors.
Mullaney: Kiln-like temperatures, fights with townies... lines of drunken people waiting for the bathroom.
Katy: Wait a second. You guys are talking about a party.
Droz: Ding-ding-ding. Gutter, tell her what's she's won.
Droz: Well, you call those useless, yerk-toting, frisbee-chucking cheeba-monkeys and you tell them you're gonna be an hour late.
Jock #1: [at a party] What's up, babes?
Womynist #1: Pack up your rape culture and take a hike!
Jock #1: [holds up a beer] You want a brewdog?
Womynist #1: We're not interested in your penis!
Womynist #2: Wait, wait, I think he's offering us a beer.
[turns to jock, speaks slowly]
Womynist #2: Um... Yes. We, would like, a beer.
Jock #1: Okay!
[turns around to get a beer]
Womynist #1: So it's like, if you're nice to them, they *bring* you things?
Womynist #2: Exactly.
Womynist #1: "Mr. Pokey"? What the hell is that?
Womynist #2: I think he was referring to his, ahh, phallus.
[indicates with hands]
Womynist #2: [turns to Sam, coldly] You participated in a phallus-naming?
Droz: Frog And Toad Are Friends, that's with the guy from The Clash, right?
Gutter: [confused] The...
Droz: The Clash. I don't know if you're aware of this, Gutter, but there actually was music recorded before 1989.
Droz: [to Sam about Rand] You remember this guy? He skippered Hitler's catamaran during the war.
Samantha: [at party] Hey not bad, The Naked Guy showed.
Droz: All right, The Naked Guy! Excellent Butt! Now it's a party!
Womynist #2: [shocked] You dated a white male?
Samantha: I was a freshman.
Womynist #1: *Freshperson*, please!
Pigman: "A Bridge Too Far." Caine and Hackman in the same movie. This is my thesis man! This is my closing argument! I CAN STOP WATCHING TV!
Womynist #1: Fine, Sam. Why don't we forget about fighting the phallucracy for a while and go have a good time.
[walks into the party]
Droz: All right, what's your major?
Phys. Ed. Major: Phys. Ed.
Droz: Phys. Ed? All right, stud, you're out of my room. Seriously, get out.
Afrocentrist: ...and the walls are painted white, and the chalk is white, and the copy machine paper is white. This, my friends, is a white devil's conspiracy.
President Garcia-Thompson: So this is the sewer where you persons breed your anti-community crimes.
President Garcia-Thompson: Well I think Bisexual Asian Studies should have its own building. The question is: who goes? The math department or the hockey team? I think the hockey team. Think about it.
Droz: What's your major?
Sanskrit Major: Sanskrit.
Droz: Sanskrit? You are majoring in a 5000 year old dead language?
Sanskrit Major: Yeah.
Droz: [Searches through a pile of theses] Latin, best I can do.