Robby: Check this out. We get seersucker suits...
Schmidt: Yeah.
Robby: And two more guys, and then we serenade her with a barbershop quartet.
Schmidt: Well, if we got ten more guys and a plan, we'd form an Ocean's Twelve. I would be Brad Pitt, you'd be the crafty Asian fellow who does the, uh, who does the flippies.
Robby: Oh, I got a great idea. We can name a star after her, all right? I know this Web site, and we could put one that's right near the Robbies one through eight.
Schmidt: You have eight stars?
Robby: There's, like, a billion stars, they're really cheap.
Schmidt: But eight of them are yours?
Robby: That's only going to go up in value.
Schmidt: It's a horrible investment. I know she's into that Gandhi crapola. We could self-immolate.
Robby: I feel like we're so close.