Axl: [on the phone] Oh, ho! Epic fail! You munched it bad, Darrin. Okay. Yeah, I gotta dash. Stew in your stupid, bro. You blew it. [hangs up] You will not believe what a bonehead Darrin is.
Mike: Oh, I might.
Axl: You don't text a chick to ask her to prom before the 15th. It's, like, an ironclad rule.
Mike: In my opinion, you don't "text a chick" to ask her anything. You talk to her face-to-face.
Axl: Yeah, well, I'm not some dinosaur from the 1800s. No offense.
Mike: Oh, none taken. So what's so special about the 15th?
Axl: It's basic science. Two weeks out, you go after your gold-circle hotties, you know, your premium, floor-level seats. And if you land one, sweet. But if you get shot down, you lower your requirements day after day as the chicks' desperation grows until they converge and bam! You lock in your level somewhere between front row and loge. Now if you start too early, you got no chance at the floor seats. You're stuck up in the nosebleeds with some uggo.