Torrance Shipman: Courtney, this is not a democracy, it's a cheerocracy. I'm sorry, but I'm overruling you.
Courtney: You are being a cheer-tator Torrance and a pain in my ass.
Torrance Shipman: You're a great cheerleader, Aaron, it's just that... maybe you're not exactly "boyfriend material." Buh-bye.
Isis: You wanna make it right? Then when you go to Nationals... bring it. Don't slack off because you feel sorry for us. That way, when we beat you, we'll know it's because we're better.
Torrance Shipman: Oh, I'll bring it. Don't worry.
Isis: I never do.
Aaron: We'll be reunited at Cal State Dominguez Hills! I'll be the experienced sophomore, you'll be the hot new freshman. It'll be just like high school, only better. Dorm rooms.
Big Red: You are all great athletes, thanks in large part... to me.
Jenelope: Can we just beat these Buffys down so I can go home? I'm on curfew girl.
Torrance Shipman: Missy is bank.
Courtney: Uh, bankrupt.
Missy: So is every game that eventful?
Torrance Shipman: No, thank God. We have a real situation on our hands. I mean, we were humiliated on our own turf.
Missy: We might have to have a rumble.
Torrance Shipman: This is a serious problem.
Missy: Oh, so is your breath.
Les: You know, everyone's saying that your ambition broke Carver's leg.
Torrance Shipman: When really it was the angle in which she slammed into the ground.
Les: Kasey did a massive e-mail last night, misspelled "leg."
Torrance Shipman: Shut up.
Les: Two G's.
Darcy: The words "big" and "britches" come to mind.
Whitney: She's crazy. She'll kill us all.
Courtney: Some of us haven't spent the whole summer working out. Right, Carver?
Courtney: Tell me we're not actually continuing the masquerade and having try-outs. Let's cut the crap and pick somebody now! Whitney's little sister Jamie is really teeny. She'll be easy to toss, and she doesn't give lip.
Jan: Just tongue.
Whitney: Kiss my ass, Jan.
Jan: I'd love to.
Torrance Shipman: Well, I hope you're not too busy to hear this. Kiss my ass, Aaron. It's over.
Sparky: I am a choreographer. That's what I do. You are cheerleaders. Cheerleaders are dancers who have gone retarded. What you do is a tiny, pathetic subset of dancing. I will attempt to turn your robotic routines into poetry, written with the human body. Follow me, or perish, sweater monkeys.
Courtney: Where the hell are my spanky pants?
Jan: You know, all the cheerleaders in the world wouldn't help our football team.
Les: It's just wrong. Cheering for them is just plain mean.
Missy: See, I'm a hardcore gymnast. No way jumping up and down yelling "Go Team Go!" is gonna satisfy me.
Torrance Shipman: We're gymnasts too, except no beams, no bars, no vault.
Courtney: I hate to be predictable, but I don't give a shit! We learned that routine fair and square. We logged the man-hours. Don't punish the squad for Big Red's mistake. This isn't about cheating. This is about winning. Everyone in favor of winning?
Darcy: Remember: They give extra points for alacrity and effulgence.
Kasey: Did we bring those?
Courtney: Darcy thinks she should get captain 'cause her dad pays for everything.
Whitney: He should use some of that money to buy her a clue.
Darcy: Big Red ran the show, man. We were just flying ignorami, for sobbing out loud.
