Emma Roberts: Sloane

Holidate

Sloane

Sloane: When did Halloween go from dressing up like a princess to dressing up like a whore?
Abby: Oh, I dunno, like, sixth grade?
Daisy: What's a whore?
Abby: Um, somebody who gets paid to play with boys.
Violet: I wanna be a whore.
Daisy: Me, too.
Abby: Okay, but just remember that the house gets fifty per cent.

[Sloane sits at the kids dinner table to avoid annoying adult inquiries, yet...]
Daisy: So, Aunt Sloane, why DIDN'T you call Rodney?
Sloane: Why didn't YOU call Rodney?
Daisy: Because I already have a boyfriend. His name is Levi, and he shares his juice box with me every day at recess.
Sloane: Well, good for you, Daisy. You enjoy it while you can, 'cause one day you are gonna walk outside and you're gonna catch Levi sharing his juice box with a Starbucks barista named Rainbow. Yeah. Not a good day, Daisy. It hurts. It hardens you. And the next thing you know, you're just south of thirty sitting at the kids table numbing the pain with a vodka.

Jackson: [awaking from a night of drinking] So I guess we might have...
Sloane: [also awaking from a night of drinking] No, we didn't.
[Sloane stands up]
Jackson: You're wearing my underwear.
Sloane: [looks down and gasps] Well, that doesn't... mean anything. I... probably got cold in the night... after my... panties fell... off.
[espies panties, grabs them, and ducks behind a tall-backed chair to change]
Jackson: Ah, come on. You must be able to tell somehow.
Sloane: Tell how?
Jackson: I don't know. I don't have a vagina.
Sloane: Well, there's no forensic evidence, nothing's dried on my leg. There's no... wrapper on the floor, if that's what you're wondering.
[throws his underwear at him]
Jackson: Okay.
Sloane: Can't YOU tell?
Jackson: [takes a look at himself under the blanket] I mean, he looks a little tired, but... I don't think he's really satisfied.
Sloane: I'm telling you we didn't do it. One of us would for sure be able to tell.
Jackson: Sweet. Let's go with that.

Elaine: I want you to find someone who has real potential, not this holidate crap like your aunt.
Sloane: She seems like she's having fun.
Elaine: She's gonna die alone in a wheelchair and a diaper. Is that what you want?
Sloane: Do I get a male nurse?

Elaine: Oh, well, I know the holidays can be stressful, but no man wants to marry a smoker... who lies.
Sloane: Well, no man wants a bitchy mother-in-law, so I guess that's three strikes.

Jackson: Human beings aren't meant to be alone on the holidays. W-we actually need, you know, warmth, companionship, and someone to drunk-mock strangers with at parties.
Sloane: I do enjoy drunk-mocking strangers at parties
Jackson: Well, then, this is perfect. We can be each other's holidate for New Year's Eve.
Sloane: [chuckles] I don't even know you.
Jackson: Yeah, well, that's what makes it perfect. 'Cause there's no pressure. There's no expectations. I mean... I don't even think I find you that attractive.
Sloane: Wow! Calm down with the flattery.

Elaine: She doesn't need another friend. She needs a husband, a partner, someone who is legally bound to be there during the chemo.
Sloane: What chemo?
Elaine: Oh, honey, don't kid yourself. You have bad genes - and bald women don't really get a lot of dates.
Jackson: You have nothing to worry about, okay? Sloane is a great girl - even bald.
Elaine: Then why aren't you sleeping with her?

Sloane: So, Daisy, how are things with Levi the juice box king?
Daisy: We broke up.
Sloane: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
Daisy: It's okay. He wasn't ready for a real relationship. I need someone who's gonna put ME first. Gotta go.
Sloane: [to Jackson after Daisy's exit] Wow. She is in such great shape.

Jackson: Hey, if it's any consolation, I spent my holiday in an ugly Christmas sweater sipping mocktails with a room full of people who I think were in a cult.
Sloane: I'll see your ugly Christmas sweater and raise you a seat at the kids table, my little brother getting engaged, and catching my aunt getting her cookie licked by a mall Santa.
Jackson: That's a... festive visual.
Sloane: Seared into my brain like a bad tattoo.

Sloane: What is it about men and explosives?
Aunt Susan: All about the cock.
Liz: What do fireworks have to do with a man's... anatomy?
Aunt Susan: It's like... jacking off. Men LIVE for the orgasm. If they're not fucking, they're dreamin' about fucking... or blowin' stuff up. Next best thing to fucking.

Sloane: [in an elevator with Jackson] Just rip it. Okay, just, just... You know? Just-just rip it. Just... just rip it. Just... just... RIP MY FUCKING PANTS OFF!
[doors open]

Sloane: Thank you.
Jackson: Hmm.
Sloane: I owe you.
Jackson: That's better. Now, I'll take my hand job in the parking lot, thank you.
Sloane: Oh, a hand job. What are you, like, twelve?
Jackson: You gave hand jobs at twelve?
Sloane: I developed early.

Jackson: [referring to pretzels] I don't eat that crap. Do you know what that does to your body?
Sloane: Yeah. It fills me with warm, delicious happiness. Like Christmas used to, before I realized Santa was a big scam.
Jackson: Yeah. Christmas peaked for me at about ten. I got a surfboard and my first complete set of golf clubs.
Sloane: Hmm.
Jackson: It was good.
Sloane: My best Christmas... was a Barbie Dream House, preassembled, and a ventriloquist puppet named Lester. He looked like Jaleel White.
Jackson: Hmm?
Sloane: I sort of had a thing for Urkel. I spent months learning to throw my voice.
Jackson: Well, come on, let's hear it.
Sloane: No.
Jackson: Excuse me. I bought you a free pretzel. So, you owe me an Urkel. Come on. Come on.
Sloane: [clears throat then in monotone voice] Did I do that? Did I do that?
Jackson: Nice.

Elaine: This is what you wear to Christmas dinner? Don't you even own a dress?
Sloane: I'm great, Mom. Thanks. House looks... beautiful.
Elaine: Well, your Aunt Susan brought at-the-mall Santa home, and, uh, your nephew just pooped in the manger.
Abby: Ugh, it was a tiny poo. I mean, he moved the baby Jesus first.