definition of insane
Hostile 17
I actually do love season 4. I likes the funny.
Willow: [spots Oz] Ooh, boyfriend! It's my on campus boyfriend!
Buffy: Oh no, I forgot to pick mine up, the line's probably really long now too.
Xander: Whoa! Giles has a TV! Everybody... Giles has a TV, he's shallow like us!
Willow: I'm Joan of Arc. I figured we had a lot in common, seeing as how I was almost burned at the stake, plus she has that close relationship with God.
Xander: [to Oz] And you are?
[Oz opens his jacket and reveals a name tag that says "God."]
Xander: Of course. I wish I'd thought of that before I put down my deposit. I could've been God.
Oz: Blasphemer.
Xander: Who's a little fear demon? Come on! Who's a little fear demon?
Giles: Don't taunt the fear demon.
Xander: Why, can he hurt me?
Giles: No, it's just... tacky.
Riley: Did Willow tell you I like cheese?
(hahaha! Cheese love!)
Buffy: Will, I think you better get used to- a Twinkie!? That's his lunch? Oh, he is so gonna be punished.
Willow: Everyone's getting spanked but me.
Spike: You know why I really hate you, Summers?
Faith [in Buffy's body]: 'Cause I'm a stuck up tight-ass with no sense of fun?
Spike: Well, yeah. That covers a lot of it.
Faith [in Buffy's body]: 'Cause I could do anything I want and instead I choose to pout and whine and feel the burden of Slayerness. I mean, I could be rich, I could be famous. I could have anything. Anyone. Even you, Spike. I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. And you know why I don't? [mockingly] Because it's wrong.
Buffy: Are you drunk?
Giles: Yes, quite a bit, actually.
Buffy: Well, stop it!!
Buffy: But what else could I expect from a bunch of low-rent, no-account hoodlums like you? Hoodlums, yes, I mean you and your friends, your whole sex. Throw 'em in the sea for all I care. Throw 'em in and wait for the bubbles. Men, with your groping and spitting. All groin, no brain. Three billion of ya' passin' around the same worn out urge. Men... with your sales.
Willow: [spots Oz] Ooh, boyfriend! It's my on campus boyfriend!
Buffy: Oh no, I forgot to pick mine up, the line's probably really long now too.
Xander: Whoa! Giles has a TV! Everybody... Giles has a TV, he's shallow like us!
Willow: I'm Joan of Arc. I figured we had a lot in common, seeing as how I was almost burned at the stake, plus she has that close relationship with God.
Xander: [to Oz] And you are?
[Oz opens his jacket and reveals a name tag that says "God."]
Xander: Of course. I wish I'd thought of that before I put down my deposit. I could've been God.
Oz: Blasphemer.
Xander: Who's a little fear demon? Come on! Who's a little fear demon?
Giles: Don't taunt the fear demon.
Xander: Why, can he hurt me?
Giles: No, it's just... tacky.
Riley: Did Willow tell you I like cheese?
(hahaha! Cheese love!)
Buffy: Will, I think you better get used to- a Twinkie!? That's his lunch? Oh, he is so gonna be punished.
Willow: Everyone's getting spanked but me.
Spike: You know why I really hate you, Summers?
Faith [in Buffy's body]: 'Cause I'm a stuck up tight-ass with no sense of fun?
Spike: Well, yeah. That covers a lot of it.
Faith [in Buffy's body]: 'Cause I could do anything I want and instead I choose to pout and whine and feel the burden of Slayerness. I mean, I could be rich, I could be famous. I could have anything. Anyone. Even you, Spike. I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. And you know why I don't? [mockingly] Because it's wrong.
Buffy: Are you drunk?
Giles: Yes, quite a bit, actually.
Buffy: Well, stop it!!
Buffy: But what else could I expect from a bunch of low-rent, no-account hoodlums like you? Hoodlums, yes, I mean you and your friends, your whole sex. Throw 'em in the sea for all I care. Throw 'em in and wait for the bubbles. Men, with your groping and spitting. All groin, no brain. Three billion of ya' passin' around the same worn out urge. Men... with your sales.