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Undercover At Charm School

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"The fork! Use the fork!"

"It's an egg. I'm not going to use the fucking fork for a fucking egg!"

"Yes, you are going to use the friggin' fork. Know why? 'cause you're supposed to use the friggin' fork! It says so, right here. Look! It's, like, I don't know, an egg fork or something."

"Shit. I'm just so bad at remembering all this shit. Also, why do you say 'friggin'? Nobody says 'friggin', dude. It's like, super old-fashioned and weird and shit. Unless you're a girl. Or, like, old. Older. Or live in, I don't know, some place where everyone says it."

"This stuff's important, okay? I mean, how are you ever going to blend in at a fancy dinner if they serve an egg and everybody reaches for their egg fork and you're all, oh, hey, let me get a spoon for that? Huh? What, you think you can get a rich wife that way?"

"I don't want a rich wife. What I want is for you to stop acting like a fucking moron."

"A rich drugs dealer, then? You want to catch a rich drugs dealer? Because the stuff is real, man. It's friggin' serious, all right? It's real, it's serious, and you can't just ignore stuff like that. Hey, did I just use an Oxford comma?"


"You think I should show Miss Jones that handkerchief we made in Embroidery Class yesterday? I think I did real good there. Really good. I think I did really good."

"It's got, like, blood and shit on it. I don't think you should show it to her."

"You're just jealous because she and I have mad chemistry."

"She talked to you one fucking time. One!"

"Yeah, but our hands almost touched. I think she wanted them to touch. And she said she hoped I was having a good day. I mean, if you don't like someone, why would you care if they're having a good day or not? It's like we're destined to be together, man."

"One, you're not. Two, are you fucking serious right now? Are you?"

"Oops, you caught me. Yeah, you were right about the egg. It was the spoon."

"Gosh golly darn it, Schmidt!"

"Look, I was just teasing you a little. Why do you always have to be like that?"

"Me? Why do you always have to be like that? It's, like, what, I don't exist anymore? We don't have mad chemistry?"

"We don't, actually. I mean, that was last week, when we were undercover at the Academy for Supervillains. And it was just you, because your major was Mad Science. Mine was Henchpeople-person-stuff-ology. Ish."

"You always do this. Always."

"I have no idea what you're talking about right now."

"You're fucking impossible, you know that? Anyone so much as looks at you, you start acting like a fucking slut. Like I don't even exist anymore. And then, when I hang out with someone else, just a friends, you get all clingy and jealous and shit, and it's not fair, and I'm just sick of it, all right? I'm fucking sick of it. I love you. I'm not going to fuck around on you or something."

"Okay, I'm just going to ignore everything except that second to last sentence. Um. I love you, too?"

"Yeah. Okay. Can you help me with this corset thing? 'cause it's really fucking - friggin' tight."

"It is, isn't it? I mean, what - breathing's optional now?"

"And it doesn't even look that great."

"On you, it does. But, hey, you even look kind of hot in spandex and tights, know what I'm saying?"

"Now, don't go bringing yourself down. The Great McQuaid was pretty good-looking, too."

"I thought so as well. I mean, the cape helped, obviously. I fucking loved that cape, man. Can I say that I fucking loved that cape? It was a great cape."

"You can't say the F-word."

"Oh, eff you."

"Eff you back double."

"Seriously, Embroidery Class? Dancing lessons? How to eat a sandwich in unusual and super uncomfortable ways? I don't get this school, man. I don't get these people. They're all weird."

"No, you're weird. You and your 'mad chemistry' with Miss Smith."

"I was acting. That was acting, man. You know, me, being in-character. Hey, you think they're ever going to send us to film school or something? Because I think I'd be a really good actor."

"Your face is wrong."

"You've kissed this face. You told me you fucking love this face."

"I did. I do. It's just, come on, man. You're just not - "

"Not what?"


"Huh. Yeah, okay. Fair enough. And, I mean, who were we going to meet, anyway? Angelina Jolie?"

"Try Matt Bomer."

"Hey, I like that guy. I mean, he can blow my cover any day, know what I'm saying?"

"You're doing it again."

"Well, I mean, if you blew my cover, it'd be kind of a dick move, know what I'm saying? 'cause you're my partner and you're supposed to have my back. But if someone else does it, it's more like, oops. My bad."

"You know what, I'm taking you off my dancing card."

"I was on your dancing card? For the Middleweek Ball?"

"Of course you were on my fucking dancing card for the Middleweek Ball. Who else did you think I was going to put on there?"

"I don't know - a girl?"

"I don't wanna dance with some girl. The only one I want to dance with is you."

"And I'm gonna be wearing a corset, too, you know. We can not-breathe together."

"Fine. I'm not gonna take you off my dancing card."


"Hey, we're best friends, right? That's what best friends do. They put each other's name on their dancing cards and help with corsets and shit."

"Technically, I think we're more, like, fallen men or something. Is that what they say? That just sounds weird. But, you know. All the unmarried sex, all the time."


"Woo me. Woo me now."

"I thought you'd never ask."