Waitress: You know, the drunker you get, the more obvious you're being with the thermos.
Nick: "Thermose?" "Thermas?" I'm sorry. I don't understand. What's a "thermoos?"
Waitress: That one right there in your hand.
Nick: Oh, the "thermase?"

Winston: A line has been crossed, all right? You, my friend, have become her fluffer.
Nick: Like in porn?
Winston: An emotional fluffer.
Nick: I'm an emotional fluffer?
Winston: You got to set some boundaries, all right? You're gonna start fulfilling ever single need of hers, all right? Doing all the things that a boyfriend would do...
Nick: Winston.
Winston: For some other dude who ain't doing nothing.
Nick: And I'm her friend.
Winston: You're her boyfriend.
Nick: No, I'm not her boyfriend.
Winston: You're a boyfriend without the rewards.

Shelby: You've been cheating on me in your mind?
Winston: Yes, but, like, to be fair, you were there. A lot of times, you would just pop up mad, but you were there.
Shelby: Winston, come on, it's fine. Look, you can think about whatever you want to think about. I know I'm the one you want to be with. Come on, want to come upstairs and watch some SVU?
Winston: You want to watch SVU right now?
Shelby: Well, I'm too wound up to watch Raymond. Look, sometimes after a big fight, I like to cool off with some TV.
Winston: What do you mean, big fight?
Shelby: We just had a fight.
Winston: We hardly talked. Like, I want to talk, I want to fight, I want to do something!
Shelby: Well, maybe we can fight in your mind.

Jess: I need your help. I don't know what to do. I'm terrible at casual sex. I left him in there with crayons and paper, like he's a kid in a restaurant, and I told him I had to check my fantasy football.
Nick: You don't even know what that is.
Jess: No, sir, I do not know what that is. I panicked. Help me.
Nick: Look, you can't separate your feelings from sex? So what? You're a girl.
Jess: I deserve to have a shorty on the side.
Nick: Okay, a shorty is not... that's the wrong use of "shorty."

Schmidt: Jess, I get it... you're the type of person that... you need to ease into these kind of things. Let us take you out tonight, okay? And that way, you... you can feel like, you know, you're going on a date first.
Jess: Yes! Like we're all dating in a large, nonsexual friend group.
Nick: My nightmare. Have fun. I'm out.
Jess: Come on, Nick. Please?
Nick: Why are you doing this, Jess? Why don't you just date a guy that... I don't know... you like?
Jess: This is good for me. I always jump into relationships. Plus, Sam's not the kind of guy you spend Saturdays in your sweatpants with. He's the kind of guy... You bone.

Nick: Whoa. Wow. I forgot what you look like when you're not dressed like the Loft Troll.
Jess: Pardon?
Nick: Sorry, I didn't... What I mean to say is you look va-va-va-vavooms! Hello, nurse! Hubba-bubba! Meow! Zing! You can stop me at any time.

Woman: Excuse me. My friend is too embarrassed to come over here, but she said she heard from someone in line that you're a Romney.
Schmidt: I am...
Woman: She's right over there.
Schmidt: Yeah, I'm a Romney. Hell, yeah, I'm a Romney.
Cece: [scoffs] Come on!
Schmidt: Security, remove the threat. Remove the threat. Code red.

Megan: I'm so sorry. I am a huge supporter. In '08, I was the national cochair of Kappas for Romney.
Schmidt: You caught me. I'm a Romney. I'm trying to be incognito, so just...
Megan: You're... Tagg?
Schmidt: Tugg.
Megan: Tugg?
Schmidt: Tugg Romney, yeah. I'm Tugg Romney. Tagg's everywhere. Too much Tagg for me.
Megan: Tugg.

Jess: Whoo! What a night. What a crazy night.
Nick: Yeah, me, too. I found a dollar on my way out of the restaurant. I used it to buy a slice of pizza. One day closer to death!

Cece: You're gonna get caught.
Schmidt: Impossible. I've been studying Romney trivia all day long. Memorizing Dad's gestures so I can mimic him.
Cece: You're calling Mitt Romney "Dad" now? That's where we're at?
Schmidt: Mm-hmm.
Cece: Schmidt, we get it. He's the dad you never had.
Schmidt: Okay, all-knowing Indian god Ganesha, this is about sex. You know they have Romney Olympics every summer at the lake house? I bet that's a hoot. I'm sure it's like the real Olympics, only the white people win the sprints.