April: Hey, we're almost done, so we can leave soon.
Derek: [as an old man] Yes. I'll take you for an ice cream malted, and then we can go choose our caskets.
April: God, why does everything we do have to be cloaked in, like, 15 layers of irony?
Derek: Here's something un-ironic. Ever since you've been hanging out with that meathead, you've become completely lame.
April: You know what? We're breaking up.
Derek: Fine, then you can't make out with me when you're drunk anymore.
April: Fine, then I'll make out with Ben.
Ben: Pass.
Derek: No, he's my boyfriend. You can either make out with both of us or none of us.
April: Fine, none of you.
Derek: Fine.