Samantha: [In midst of a fight because Nikki wants to move out] Let me tell you something. You are getting older. You're losing your looks. And you're only charming 'cause you're cute. You're not really charming. You're not funny. And you're not smart. I hope you understand that. You're nothing but six inches and a pretty face and you're gonna have to suffer just like everybody else.
Nikki: It's seven.
Samantha: It's not seven.
[She then walks up and slaps him very hard... twice]
Nikki: [on picking up women] Roll the windows down, turn the music up, and make an ass of yourself. It puts them at ease.
Nikki: My whole life it was obvious I would going to end up in this city. And I'm still here...
Nikki: [after having scoped out the club and giving the audience the scoop on all the fine young things he spies that he's already slept with] But tonight I'm not looking for the tight skin of a 20-year old. I'm in need of assiduation and that changes the game.
[He spies Samantha]
Nikki: Ah... here we go. The jacket's Dolce, the jeans are by Helmut Lang and the complexion comes from a strict regimen of facials. I'm guessing she drives a Mercedes. By the way, there's only one pick-up line. Everything else is cheese.
[Following her and not longer speak to the audience]
Nikki: Hi. What's your name?
Samantha: [Continuing to walk towards the door] Samantha.
Nikki: Hi, Samantha. I'm Nikki.
Samantha: [Flattered, but shaking her head] I'm leaving.
Nikki: Really? Why?
Samantha: It's late.
Nikki: You're right. We should get going. So wait a second. You had dinner here? What'd you have?
Samantha: I had a salad.
Nikki: What kind of salad?
Samantha: A Greek salad.
Nikki: You had a Greek salad at a French restaurant? I like that. Oh. Valet, huh? I bet you're a bad driver. You want me to drive? I'll flip you for it. Here. Heads, I drive; tails, you drive. There it is.
Samantha: It's tails. You flipped it.
Nikki: Well, you always flip it. Don't be a sore loser.
Samantha: Look, you're cute and everything, but you're not coming home with me. Thank you.
[She gives her ticket to the valet attendant as they reach the sidewalk outside]
Nikki: You're gonna have to do better than that. "You're cute and everything"? What's is that?
Samantha: I was trying not to be rude.
Nikki: You're far from rude.
Nikki: I'll help you out. Tell me you're married.
Samantha: I am not married. That would be a lie.
Nikki: You're not. Tell me that you're madly in love with someone.
Samantha: That would also be a lie.
Nikki: Mm-hmm. Then tell me why I can't come home with you?
Nikki: [She laughs and he then the bends in for a kiss which she accepts. We see the valet bringing her car up. Cut to the two of them in her car. He the speaks to the audience again] Roll the windows down, turn the music up and make an ass of yourself. It puts them at ease.
Nikki: [as he's preparing a meal] It doesn't matter if you can cook or not. Women grade on effort. It's almost better when the meal's a flop. It shows you're willing to make a fool of yourself. It's all about creating equity. Think of it as a point system. One for flowers, two for dinner, three for an orgasm. You need 26 points for them to trust you. And then you can go back to watching football.
Nikki: When a girl tells you you're not getting any, before you ask, before you even try, you're getting some.
Nikki: My whole life it was obvious I was going to end up in this city. I don't want to be arrogant here, but I'm an incredibly attractive man. I can't help it, I don't try to be, I just am. When I was a kid my mother's best friend used to tell me that I was gonna be a little heart breaker. Turns out she was right. Her husband came home from work one day and found us fuckin' on the Stairmaster. Los Angeles, California - that's where all the beautiful little heart breakers go to live the dream. 30,000 of them arrive here every single month. 30,000 prom kings and queens, and Little Miss Cute Tits every one of them with stars in their eyes and a dream in their heart. When I first came out here, I had a dream - a dream of an easy life. I was gonna get rich from lyin' around having my picture taken. I was gonna live in the hills and drive a noisy yellow sports car and f*ck 6' girls who weighed 89 lbs. Guess what? Most of it came true.
Nikki: How do you like my new house?
Harry: You think any girls are gonna believe this is your house?
Nikki: The young ones do. Oh FYI, I'm a graphic designer if anyone asks.
[is looking glum]
Nikki: What? What happened?
Harry: I blew it.
Nikki: With who?
Harry: El Paso Erin.
Nikki: That DJ girl?
Harry: No, that's Hi-fi Tara. No El Paso's a somatologist. She's...
Harry: I fuckin' froze up. I couldn't say anything. I... I started making cricket noises.
Nikki: You know what your problem is? You care too much. You gotta cut out the conversation, right? And just say something to piss 'em off.
Nikki: 'Cause once you piss 'em off, you set up the apology. And once you apologize you look like a sensitive guy.
Harry: I am a sensitive guy.
Nikki: All right, but you've gotta look like a rebel before you look like a sensitive guy.
Nikki: When I first came here, I thought every day was gonna be a Van Halen video... hot chicks wearing bikinis riding around on roller skates drinking cocktails by the pool. Damn you, Van Halen.
Nikki: What the f*ck are you doing?
Nikki: Look, I'm sorry about what happened, but this is not f*cking cool.
Heather: What happened?
Nikki: I called you an asshole. I kicked you out. I called you a whore. I'm sorry.
Heather: [laughs] That's strange. 'Cause it seems like you and I are maybe playing the same cards.
Heather: Last time I checked, you were living in a $5 million house. Now you're turning tricks for a sandwich.
Nikki: I'm not turning anything.
Heather: Tell me something though... out of everybody here, why her?
Nikki: I don't think you understand my situation, OK? I'm about to get evicted from the Sahara Motel Inn. I'm selling my near-mint sweaters for nine bucks. And that club sandwich is gonna be the first thing I've had to eat all day. I don't really have time to be picky.