Van Wilder

you're a little soft.
Wow, all this time I thought I was more
to you than just some flaccid story.

A dilemma has arose up front.
- Don't know if we got our point across.
- Crystal clear, guys.

- This is incredible.
- 100 per cent. Don't go anywhere.

Van is a godsend.

I would have paid him way more
than a grand for this party.

I would have cashed in
my Israel bonds.

- How do you put a price on dignity?
- How do you put a price on poonani?

- Yes!
- Oh, God!

Oh, my God. Feel it!
Whoa. Trick or treat.
What's going on?

This vaginal discharge
won't let us partake in the party.

I'm sure we can accommodate
a few more, yeah?

No can do.
We're at maximum capacity.

- What are you doing here?
- You two know each other?

That's my girlfriend,
gluteous erecti.

- You must be premed Dick.
- Yeah, that's right.

- What's it to you?
- Thanks for the story.

What story?
Brilliant, Pearson.
I have been inundated
with people telling me...

how much they enjoy
reading about this guy.

They want more, and so do I.
I want you to do a follow-up.

I did your story, Elliot.
I'm not doing another one.

Even if I tell you it's gonna be on the
front page of the graduation issue...

in two months?
And I quote,
"Van Wilder is a party pimp. "

Sick Boy.
Can you believe she wrote that?

Van Wilder's phone.
I do not foresee that to be a problem.

And that guy she's with--
all kinds of wrong for her.

- Sick Boy, how are you doing?
- Van, the shingles are all gone.

That ointment really worked.
Lookin' good there, buddy.
- He'll call you back.
- Unbelievable.

Van Wilder's phone.
- Terrible.
- I think so. Yeah.

- Hang on.
- Unbelievable.

Van's room.
Saturday night, yeah.