Mr. Rad: Get yo' head up. You lost the money, it's gone. But, you can't lay around in yo' misery too long. Do *not* walk outta' this place and start to second guess yo' talent. You got yo' ass whooped tonight. But, I done seen y'all whoop a many a ass, right in the same place. Now, you lost. Lemme tell you somethin' my father told me, is: "If it don't kill you, it makes you stronger". Remember that.

I already schooled you once tonight homeboy. How many lessons you wanna learn?

DJ

Director Gordon: See, that's my concern... he's not taking this seriously.
Tyler Gage: Well, I'm sorry... it's just that you guys talk about dancing like it's rocket science or something.

Camille: Are you going to jail?
Tyler Gage: No, I'm not going to jail, but they will have to take me to jail if you don't start knocking. Get outta here.

Miles Darby: I left my G-4 at home.
Tyler Gage: [coughing] It's in his bag.

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.

Kasey: Courtney'll get captain. The guys like touching her butt.
Darcy: Yeah, she's got a lot to hang on to. What's the plural for 'butt'? On one person, I mean.
Carver: She puts the "ass" in "massive."
Darcy: You put the "lewd" in "deluded."

Director Gordon: And you say that he can dance?
Nora: He's... adequate.
Tyler Gage: Adequate?
Director Gordon: See. That's my concern. He's not taking this seriously.
Tyler Gage: Look, I'm sorry. It's just... ya'll are talking about dancing like it's rocket science or something.
Nora: It's just for a couple of weeks. Until Andrew gets better.
Tyler Gage: Yeah.
Director Gordon: This would be your risk Nora. It's your Senior piece.
Nora: I know.
Director Gordon: Well, don't make me regret my decision.
Nora: [talking to Tyler] 2:30 tomorrow. Bring your tights.
Tyler Gage: Tights? Wait. What?

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.

Sparky

Missy: Hey, perv.
Cliff: Gahhh!
Missy: Hand over your 15 bucks or get out of here.
Cliff: What are you doing?
Missy: Making money from guys ogling my goodies.
Cliff: Aww, I didn't need to hear that. That was an over-share.

Oh my God! Oh my God! The Lil Saints have won $50,000! I'm La La! I'm out of here! Peace, y'all!

La La Vasquez

[making fun of Skinny, comparing him to a talk show host]
Tyler Gage: You're like Ellen.
Mac Carter: But even she gets more girls than you!

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