Kirsten Smith

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.

I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call.

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time.

I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people's expectations instead of my own?

You can't just buy me a guitar every time you screw up, you know?

And don't just think you can - !

Don't, for one minute, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.

Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing.

Romantic? Hemingway? He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half of his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.

My mission in life. But, obviously I struck your fancy so you see it worked. The world makes sense again.

Bogey's party is just a lame excuse for all the idiots at our school to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves from the pathetic emptiness of their meaningless...

You don't always have to be who they want you to be, you know?

Well, now that you've seen "the plan", I'm gonna go and show "the plan" to someone else.

Can you even imagine? Who the hell would go to that antiquated mating-ritual?

Do you really wanna get all dressed up, so some Drakkar Noir-wearing dexter with a boner can feel you up while you're forced to listen to a band that, by definition, blows?

Have you seen the unwashed miscreants that go to that school?

You're not as vile as I thought you were.

You're looking at this from entirely the wrong perspective. We're making a statement.

I'm sorry. Looks like you'll just have to miss out on the witty repartee of Joey "eat me" Donner.

Oh, I know, I've got a great idea! Why don't we pass the time with you telling me how much *fun* you and Colin had having sex in Los Angeles?

What?

Oh, c'mon, I never had a chance with you.

Oh, yeah? Well what does that mean?

Yeah, it is scary. It's terrifying. Especially when I'm in love with a psycho like you.

I just told you that I loved you and all you heard was "psycho." Well you're the definition of neurotic.

Shut up! Yet again I just told you I'm in love with you and you're standing here giving me a vocabulary lesson.

Beats the shit out of me, but I am.

Let me tell you something about women. Women would have us believe that they are the victims; That we break their hearts for sport. That's crap. They say they want romance, they say they want true love, but all they want is a check list. Is he perfect? Is he handsome? Is he a doctor? For you men who fit the criteria, don't kid yourselves. Cuz they're not sleeping with you, they're sleeping with a carefully calculated set of venal choices. Money over substance, looks over soul, polished over principles. No gesture, no matter how real or romantic will ever compensate for a really impressive list of credentials.

I want to thank you for getting me this gig, I would never have gotten it without you. You and I? We make good TV.

YOU make imbecillic trash watched by house-bound inbreds who are so busy with their hands down their pants they can't change the remote.

I, I hadn't really been picturing you that way, but it's a nice image.

Well, you want to thank your pussy for me, then?

You have to be two people. The saint and the sinner. The librarian and the stripper.

Now, we have to teach you flirting.

You know how to flirt. "Oh, my name's Abby and I love reading Tolstoy. I also love cats, gardening, and romantic picnics." I don't think so.

Hey, you know what? I wouldn't say that, and I wouldn't grab ass.

He's an idiot. I figured you out in two. Now tell him good night and stick your tits out, we're going to give this one last shot.

You are just totally trying to kill my buzz.

Well, for your information, it was more than just one. It was more like a parade. Codependent girls, unfaithful girls, depressed girls, narcissistic girls, phony girls. Girls who, it turned out, didn't actually like me. By the time I hit 30, I realized that you can only have so many lousy relationships before you figure out there's no such thing as a good one.

So there you have it. Never assume a girl is easy or assume she's a prude. There are many layers in between, and it's your job, gentlemen, to peel back those layers and figure out exactly what type of woman you're dealing with.

Because once you do peel back those layers, my friends, her lady garden awaits.

I broke up with Colin in Los Angeles, you jackass!

Oh, oh yeah, that's got your interest. Well if you think we're going to finish what we started in L. A. you are out of your mind. You lost your chance.

You're right. I had a momentary lapse in judgement when I thought you were more than you are, but you aren't. Clearly.

I'm Mike Chadway. I like girls in Jello. I like to fuck like a monkey. Don't fall in love. It's scary.

I am not a psycho!

No! The definition of neurotic is a person who suffers from anxiety, obessive thoughts, compulsive acts, and, and physical ailments without any objective evidence of…

You're in love with me. Why?

I'm sorry, but Jack Magnun will no longer be able to do 'The Ugly Truth', which should really come as no surprise because men are completely unreliable. Take Mike Chadway, for instance. He up and quit the show, without so much as a word. You think you know what men are going to do. You think you know what men want to do, but when it comes right down to that moment where they need to step up and, I don't know, make a move - they chicken out.

The big strong brave men, that we've all been reading about in novels and watching in movies since we've been nine years old, - -that's a fallacy. They don't exist. Men are not strong. Men are not brave. Men, are afraid. Even if they have a moment in a hotel elevator and it's totally romantic and full of potential, men are incapable of copping to it because, why? Men are weak.

This coming from a man who's never made a gesture other than this one.

I feel comfortable using legal jargon in everyday life.

I object!

I just don't think that Brooke could've done this. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't.

Oh, I like your outfit too, except when I dress up as a frigid bitch, I try not to look so constipated.

Why didn't you call me? We spent a beautiful night together and I haven't heard from you since.

Sorry for what? For breaking my heart, or for giving me the greatest pleasure I've ever known and just taking it away?

Well, forget it. I've spent too much time crying over you.

For that matter, any masturbatory emissions, where the sperm is clearly not seeking an egg, could be termed reckless abandonment.

But if I'm going to be a partner in a law firm by the time I'm 30, I need a boyfriend who's not such a complete bonehead.

You know, a girl in my sorority, Tracy Marcinco got a perm once. We all tried to talk her out of it. Curls weren't a good look for her. She didn't have your bone structure, but thankfully that same day she entered the Pheta Delta Phi wet t-shirt contest where she was completely hosed to down from head to toe...

I have a point, I promise.

Chutney, why is it Tracy Marcinco's curls were ruined when she got hosed down?

Exactly. Because isn't the first cardinal rule of perm maintenance that you're forbidden to wet your hair for at least 24 hours after getting a perm at the risk of deactivating the immonium thygocolate?

And wouldn't somebody who had, say, 30 perms before in their life be well aware of this rule, and if in fact you weren't washing your hair as I suspect you weren't because your curls are still intact, wouldn't you have heard the gunshot, and if in fact you had heard the gunshot Brooke Windham wouldn't have had time to hide the gun before you got downstairs. Which means you would have had to found Brooke Windham with a gun in her hand to make your story plausible, isn't that right?

You, however, Chutney had time to hide the gun after you shot your father.

Did you see him? He's probably still scratching his head.

… and that's why you should vote for me. Elle Woods: future lawyer for the class of 2004.

Going to Harvard is the only way I'm going to get the love of my life back.

Oh Warner, do you remember when we spent those four amazing hours in the hot tub together after winter formal?

Well this is so much better than that! Excuse me, I have some shopping to do.

Hi. I'm Elle Woods and this is Bruiser Woods. We're both Gemini vegetarians.

And last week I saw Cameron Diaz at Fred Segal, and I talked her out of buying this truly heinous angora sweater. Whoever said orange was the new pink was seriously disturbed.

She could use some mascara and some serious highlights, but she's not completely unfortunate looking.

Is that low-viscosity rayon? With a half-loop top stitching on the hem?

It's impossible to use a half-loop stitching on low-viscosity rayon. It would snag the fabric. And you didn't just get it in - I saw it in the June Vogue a year ago. So if you're trying to sell it to me for full price, you've picked the wrong girl.

Because I'm not a Vanderbilt, suddenly I'm white trash? I grew up in Bel Air, Warner. Across the street from Aaron Spelling. I think most people would agree that's a lot better than some stinky old Vanderbilt.

She told me I look like Britney Spears! Why would she say that if she doesn't like me?

The rules of hair care are simple and finite. Any Cosmo girl would have known.

It has come to my attention that the maintenance staff is switching our toilet paper from Charmin… to generic. All those opposed to chafing, please say "Aye".

Oh, it was okay, except for this horrible preppy girl who tried to make me look bad in front of the professor, but no biggie.

All people see when they look at me is blonde hair and big boobs.

Oh! And it's scented! I think it gives it a little something extra, don't you think? Okay, well, see you next class!

Oh, Warner? Do you remember those four amazing hours we spent in the hot tub after Winter Formal?

This is so much better than that! Excuse me, I have some shopping to do!