HOT GIRL (talking to Montanaface): I know this sounds forward, but you are EXACTLY my type. You wanna maybe Netflix and chill my brains out? MONTANAFACE: I only got one rule in my life, babe--never trust a chick with bangs. What's she got under there, I don't know! Secrets? Lies? Rumors? A rabid family of mice? Is she wearing a wire? God knows. No thanks, you duplicitous harpy. HOT GIRL (now only in sexy lingerie, holding a scissors and a handful of hastily chopped off bangs): ...The only 'bangs' I care about involve you, me, a quart of body chocolate, and-- MONTANAFACE: Imma stop you right there, Zooey Lay-from-hell. If I wanted to have nightmarish casual relations with a deranged barber, I'd open up a questionable meat pie shop on Fleet Street. No means no, you smoking-hot daffy fringe witch!