Concierge (James Reese): "Mr. 'Styfler', I already told you. You called two tays ago and canceled your reservation. Since you now wish to stay here, I thought you could persuade Mr. Finch to share his room."
Stifler: "Hey bleephead. I didn't cancel my reservation. Mr. bleepface Finch called here, and Mr. Idiot-Behind-The-Desk canceled it."
Finch: "Uh, Kristof, please pardon my friend's uncouth behavior. I did no such thing."
Concierge: "Nor did I, sir, and your rudness and obscenities won't change anything."
Stifler: "Oh. Well, then, I guess it doesn't matter if I call you a crotch-face, you ball-scratching Finch-bleeper. Or better yet, go blow your dad!"
Concierge: "My dad?"
Stifler: "Hear, hear!"
Finch: "Yeah, while you're there, stick a finger up both their asses, while you're down there."
Stifler: "Uh, uh, hey."
Stifler: "Um, Finch, rudeness and obscenity won't change anything."
Finch: "Here's a thought. Grow a sack, fill it with some balls, magically sprout a dick, shove it up your ass, start bleeping yourself with it. Yeah, Baby! Yeah, Baby, you know what I'm sayin'? Oh! Ohh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Yeah!"