So...Piz didn't say anything about the whole party...thing?
Like how you two made out in the hall and then you took off? Why? Is he calling you all the time?
He called once. The day after. But...how would you interpret his mood?
You want me to have this talk? Am I a twelve year old girl?
No...but you're drinking Fresca and watching Joan Crawford movies.
SS Spaghetti Server
It's okay.
SS Spaghetti Server
It's good.
It's probably horrible for you, right? I'll stay with the eggplant. No, wait - what do you think? [pause] I need to see a psychiatrist.
I was thinking more an English professor. What we're dealing with her is an absurd level of symbolism. [to server] Two lasagnas.
I mean, the Bronson Parmigiana is good for me, but, ooh! The Maxuccine looks awfully tempting.
It's not my fault Max won't stop calling. Like you should talk.
Me? I'm not ordering good boy while wishing I ordered bad boy.
No, you gave up bad boy, but keep asking for samples of good boy.
Okay, if Logan is the fettucine... [cellphone rings]
DF Desmond Fellows
[to Veronica] Anyone ever tell you, you look like a feisty young Barbara Eden?
And his role in this enterprise?
Consultant. I'm an ass expert.
Yes, except for the expert part.
I'm an ass? Who would you ask for advice about lions, a lion or a gerbil? Gerbil, you say? No, you would ask a lion, because by virtue of being a lion, a lion is an expert on lions. So... Okay. I don't see how you hope to launch a website about hot asses without me, but fine. It's Friday night. If I walk long enough in a straight line, I'll hit a party.
Helping Piz. You know, his puppy dog eyes on you all the time.
It's weird. Like you said, normal Piz. Like nothing ever happened.
[amused] Which bothers you, because making out with you is supposed to be some life-changing experience.
I don't know. I just... Why are we talking about this?
I thought you liked these kind of conversations.
I was hoping we could follow it up with a cuteness countdown of the Baldwin brothers.
I hope we're still friends after I Taser you.
[showing Mac how his term-paper website works.] For the dumb, billable links at the top, disguised as functions.
So they link without realizing.
And I make a dollar. See, the point of the Internet is to make money off of stupid people.
I like how you think, Max.
That sound you hear is my idealism quietly shattering.
That other sound you hear is my cynicism laughing at your idealism shattering.
Well, it won't be laughing when I crash your greedy little evil website.
I'll be laughing when you try.
Will you? Maybe I'm in your trusted-host table already.
Should I get a camera? There's gotta be someone out there that'd pay to see this hot nerd-on-nerd action.
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