Droz: Ladies and gentlemen, I think it's time to revive an ancient tradition we seem to have long forgotten.
Cecilia: They confiscated the altar, Droz.
Droz: No, I'm not talking about human sacrifice, Ceel. I'm talking about something we used to do every Saturday night as a matter of principle. Here's a hint. Legions of hand-stamped meatheads... in coed naked lacrosse T-shirts... power-chugging watered-down Meisterchau... regurgitating on the glue-matted floors.
Mullaney: Kiln-like temperatures, fights with townies... lines of drunken people waiting for the bathroom.
Katy: Wait a second. You guys are talking about a party.
Droz: Ding-ding-ding. Gutter, tell her what's she's won.

Katy: What about Naugahyde Windpipe?
Cecilia: Too metal.
Raji: Oedipus and the Mama's Boys.
Cecilia: Too college radio.
Deeje: My Johnson Is 12 Inches Long.
Cecilia: Interesting, but I don't think it's a band name.

Droz: Are we having a party tonight or what?
Cecilia: Well, there's no publicity, so there's no people; Gutter never showed up, so there's no beer; instruments just blew out, so there's no band; and I think Raji and Deege may be dead.
Droz: Wait a minute... no beer? Well, where the hell's Gutter?
Katy: Probably in a parking lot somewhere picking his nose.

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