Joan of Arcadia2003

Luke:
Are you out of your mind?

Friedman:
What?

Luke:
This totally hot girl is doing everything but immolating herself for you. Friedman, the odds of that happening again can only be calculated by a mainframe.

Friedman:
Hey, she's not my type.

Luke:
You don't have a type. You have magazines. Look, you're freaking because you're so used to being the guy that goes chasing after the girl. You can't handle it being the other way around. You think she's either setting you up or there's something wrong with her.

Friedman:
Thank you, Dr. Freud.

Luke:
Please, please just consider the other possible explanation for her interest.

Friedman:
What?

Luke:
Dude, don't - don't make me go there.

Friedman:
What? What?

Luke:
You're in junior mensa. Think.

Friedman:
I got nothin'.

Luke:
You're - [whispering] you're a great guy. You have a lot more going on than people think. You're sensitive and caring and some might say appealing.

Friedman:
Huh?

Luke:
[loudly] Appealing, dude! You're very appealing!

[everyone in the hall stops to look at them]

Luke:
[trying to sound manly] So, dude, let's go shoot some hoops.

[he punches Friedman's shoulder]

Friedman:
What?

[Friedman punches Luke's shoulder]

Luke:
Hoops, dude! That's it. Let's go.