Annoying Orange Quotes

You know what they say, Two pairs a company, cheese a croud

Orange: Uh Oh Mario: Uh oh what? Orange.... Uh-Oh spaghettio's *LAUGH* Mario: Not Funny

Ren took his time perusing the menu and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. I didn’t even pick my menu up. He shot me meaningful glances while I sat silently, trying to avoid making eye contact. When she came back, she spoke to him briefly and gestured to me. I smiled, and in a syrupy sweet voice, said, “I’ll have whatever will get me out of here the fastest. Like a salad, maybe.” Ren smiled benignly back at me and rattled off what sounded like a banquet of choices, which the waitress was more than happy to take her time writing down. She kept touching him and laughing with him too. Which I found very, very annoying. When she left, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his water. I broke the silence first and hissed at him quietly, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you only have about two minutes left, so I hope you ordered the steak tartar, Tiger.” He grinned mischievously. “We’ll see, Kells. We’ll see.” “Fine. No skin off my nose. I can’t wait to see what happens when a white tiger runs through this nice establishment creating mayhem and havoc. Perhaps they will lose one of their stars because they put their patrons in danger. Maybe your new waitress girlfriend will run away screaming.” I smiled at the thought. Ren affected shock, “Why, Kelsey! Are you jealous?” I snorted in a very unladylike way. “No! Of course not.” He grinned. Nervously, I played with my cloth napkin. “I can’t believe you convinced Mr. Kadam to play along with you like this. It’s shocking, really.” He opened his napkin and winked at the waitress when she came to bring us a basket of rolls. When she left, I challenged, “Are you winking at her? Unbelievable!” He laughed quietly and pulled out a steaming roll, buttered it, and put it on my plate. “Eat, Kelsey,” he commanded. Then he sat forward. “Unless you are reconsidering seeing the view from my lap.” Angrily, I tore apart my roll and swallowed a few pieces before I even noticed how delicious they were-light and flaky with little flecks of orange rind mixed into the dough. I would have eaten another one, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Uh- you shouldn't mock orange if I were you - Why not? *everyone sings* He will He will mock you He will He will mock you *orange starts singing* Hey buddy bannana You live in a habana you small like a cabana but sdon't worry it's gonna be great someday Really? Orange: Nope..Not really *Everyone sings* He will He will mock you He will He will mock you.

Go ahead, you guys. I'm not done with Kim yet." Braden made annoying kissing noises while Michelle giggled. "Fine with me," Kim said. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground. Sweat glistened on the tight muscles of his chest. Standing under the orange glow of the setting sun, he looked like a golden statue brought to life. "That's not fair." I struggled to swallow past the sudden dryness of my tongue. "That's distracting." He flashed me a grin that ignited a fire low inside me. "That would be the point. Call it a tactical move." Braden used the tree to pull himself up. "Well, boys and girls, I think it's time we moved along. This fight is about to lose its PG-13 rating." Michelle nudged him in the side. "I think it's cute." Something prickled on the back of my neck and I turned to find Quentin staring at me with a look between confusion and pain. As I tried to decipher its meaning, Kim used that moment to snatch my wrist and twist it behind my back. He pulled me in, pinning me against his chest, and lowered his head to place a kiss just below my ear. "I may need to take notes." Braden pretended to open an invisible notebook. "So, what do you call this martial arts style, Kim? Kung fu-ling around? How about jujits-you-some?

Orange Nya Nya Style.... Orange Nya Nya Style.... I am an orange, people think that I'm annoying Say what you want 'cuz I'm certainly not boring I hang out in the stables with a bunch of unicorns and i ride them into outspace - honking unihorns! I hangout with pear In the kitchen every we really like it here We do? We're having fun times even squash is here ..... Marshmallow is really happy with his teddy bear - his evil teddy bear

She browned onions and garlic, and from the pot on the windowsill, chopped a few winter-sad leaves of tarragon. The smell was green and strong, and she thought of spring. Spring in Dijon, when she and Al would hike into the mountains with the Club Alpin, the old women forever chiding her tentative steps, her newborn French: la petite violette, violette américaine. She would turn back to Al, annoyed, and he would laugh. Hardly his delicate flower. When they stopped for lunch, it was Mary Frances with the soufflé of calves' brains, whatever was made liver or marrow, ordering enough strong wine that everyone was laughing. The way home, the women let her be. If she wanted calves' brains now, she wouldn't even know where to begin to look or how to pay. She and Al seemed to be living on vegetables and books, tobacco, quiet. She blanched a bunch of spinach and chopped it. She beat eggs with the tarragon, heated the skillet once again. There was a salad of avocados and oranges. There was a cold bottle of ale and bread. Enough, for tonight.

This could get a little hairy,” I tell them in interruption. Seriously, I don’t want to know this secret. I’ve got too much other shit going on. I grimace at the very questionable intestines that belong to some fabled creature that surely can’t exist under the radar if all that fit inside it. “If you’re a respawner instead of an unkillable being, get out of the kitchen and at least a mile from the house.” Mom assured me there’s a five mile seclusion radius. Damien starts speaking to me, almost as though he’s too tired to deal with my tinkering right now. “Violet, that potion has to be fresh. There’s no need-" ... There’s a loud, bubbling, sizzling noise that cracks through the air, and I drop to the floor, as a pulse shoots from the pot. Damien yelps, as he and Emit are thrown into one wall, and Mom curses seconds before she and Arion are launched almost into each other, hitting opposing walls instead, when they manage to twist in the air to avoid touching. Everyone crashes to the ground at almost the same time. Groans and grunts and coughs of pain all ring out in annoyed unison. “I warned you,” I call out, even as most of them narrow their eyes in my direction. Damien shoots me a look of exasperation, and I shrug a shoulder. “She did warn us,” Mom grumbles as she remains lying on the floor, while everyone else pushes to their feet. “No one fucks up a potion better than I do. If I fuck it up enough, less power will be needed to raise them,” I go on, smiling over at Emit…who is just staring at me like he’s confused. “But it’s the exact right ingredients,” he says warily, as he stands. “She’s apples and oranges. You can’t compare her to anyone else using those ingredients for that reason,” Mom says dismissively, as I gesture to Vance. “Take him with you; I’m going to be a while. That was just the first volatile ingredient. I don’t think you want to be here for the yacktite—” “Ylacklatite,” they all correct in unison. “You don’t want to be here for those gross, possibly toxic, hard-to-say, fabled-creature intestines. It’s going to probably get crazy up in here,” I say as I twirl my finger around, staying on the floor for a minute longer. Sometimes there’s an echo. “Raise your heartbeat. You’re not taking this seriously enough,” Mom scolds. “What are you doing letting your heartbeat drop so much?” “You really should go. It gets unpredictable when—” The echo pulse I worried would come knocks Arion, Emit, and Damien to the ceiling this time, and I cringe when I hear things crack. When they drop, Arion and Emit land in a crouch, and Damien lands hard on his back, cursing the pot on the stove like it’s singled him out and has it in for sexual deviants. Arion’s lips twitch as he stares over at me, likely thinking what sort of punch a pencil could pack with this concoction. But I’ll be damned if Shera steals any of this juice for his freaky pencils. “Do you rip up those dolls to use them as a timer?” the vampire asks, as he stays on the floor, causing Mom to sneer in his direction. Another pulse cracks some glass, but everyone is under the reach of it now. Damien just shakes his head. “You have drawers full of toxic pencils I don’t even want to know the purpose of,” I tell him dryly. “You don’t get to judge.” His grin grows like he’s pleased with something. I think Mom is seconds away from a brain aneurism

The Apocalypse gave you your time back. The time you can now use to look, to see, and to focus on your conscious process of cognitive evolution.” Master repeats the word ‘see’ in three local synonyms. Back then, they thought they all meant the same. Except, they didn’t. “The Apocalypse took your society, responsibilities, and useless recreations. Those were the distractions. Those things slow the process,” Master continues in the scene, the side of his face glowing from the daylight entering the cave. The visual details are as much as his brain retrieved from his memory. “Is this why monks hate recreation? Society?” Ruem asks—he looks just as Yuan’s memory recollected Ruem’s teenage self. “They don’t hate recreation,” Master says in the scene. “They just know they have to hate it.” “So, you like recreation?” Ruem asks in a confused tone. “Did I say I am a monk?” Master replies in the scene. “You never answer the question!” Ruem sounds annoyed. And for a moment, it makes the Monk—wrapped in the old shawl—smile as he watches his own old memory, remembering how impatient they both were before. “Fine,” Master begins. “The monks force themselves out of recreation because the rulebooks tell them to. People only follow rulebooks. But they don’t know why they should follow them. They don’t look at the true purpose of their rituals. They blindly follow, evolving neither spiritually nor physically.” “So, we should accept recreation, society?” asks Yuan’s teenage self, in the hologram scene. “Yes and No, my boy. It’s a perspective. You can find the secret from wherever you are as long as you aren’t drunk on indulgence, distracted from the One.” “Master, do you know why you wear orange cloth?” Ruem asks. “You caught me, my boy!” says Master, chuckling. “No, I don’t know. I wore it because the rulebooks told me to. Now it doesn’t matter which color I wear. No need for pointless rebellion over some uniform color!” “Because everything is the same?” Yuan’s teenage self asks. “Because everything is One.” Master’s eyes twinkle.

Ow! Son of a—” Before she could complete the expletive, Baird was there, staring at her with concern. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he demanded even as he scanned the area with those inhumanly golden eyes, obviously searching for a threat. “I’m fine. I just…” Liv gestured to her wounded foot with irritation. “I dropped my orange juice when those goons came to get me and I stepped on a shard of glass.” His face fell. “You were hurt all this time and I didn’t notice?” “I didn’t notice half the time myself,” Liv assured him. “I had, uh, other things on my mind.” Like finding out exactly what I was getting myself into with you. “I’ve stopped bleeding so I guess I forgot until I stepped on it out here.” “You’re bleeding?” He looked even more alarmed. Getting down on one knee he gestured her forward. “Let me see.” “No, honestly, it’s all right.” Liv felt both annoyed and shy. Why was he making such a big deal out of this? She’d seen people with foreign objects imbedded in their bodies every day of the week as a nursing student in the Tampa General ER. Didn’t they ever step on sharp things where he came from? “Olivia, come here.” His voice was a low growl—not menacing so much as stern. To her intense irritation, Liv found herself obeying him. “It’s just a piece of glass,” she protested even as she allowed him to settle her on his knee and lift her foot. “If you’ll just give me a first aid kit I can take care of it myself.” “No you won’t.” He examined the heel of her foot with care as though assessing a grave and dangerous injury. “Wait until we get up to the ship and let Sylvan look at it. He’s a medic.” “And I’m a nurse,” Liv protested, feeling even more irritated. “I can handle myself, thank you.” “Even a small injury like this can get infected and it’s hard to work on yourself.” The growl had come back to his voice again and his eyes flashed from dark amber to pale gold in a second. “You need a medic and that’s what you’ll get, Lilenta.” “My

into lava. Trust me.” “Right, got it,” said Alex. “Lava is the blue one, right? And water is the orange one?” “No!” said Dave. “Water is blue, lava is orange.” “Ok,” said Alex, “I think I’ve got it now. And… water is the bad one?” “No!” said Dave. He was trying not to get too annoyed with Alex, but her brain was a bit like Steve’s—all over the place. “Anyone for a drink?” Porkins called from the front door of the house. “Can I have a glass of lava please?” Alex shouted back. “I’m feeling a bit thirsty.” Dave put his head in his hands. Over the next few hours, Dave showed Alex how to dig for materials—showing her what was useful and what was not. Robo-Steve had made all five of them new backpacks, out of the leather from a herd of nearby cows, so they had plenty of room to store the useful blocks that they found. Soon Alex’s wood pickaxe broke, so Dave showed her how to make a stone one out of cobblestone. She kept on digging, and soon dug up some coal and iron ore. “Ooo, is this iron?” Alex asked, holding up a tiny block full of shiny chunks. “Let’s make an iron sword! Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh!” “You need to smelt it first,” Dave told her. Alex gave the block a sniff. “It doesn’t smell like anything,” she said. “Not

The gleaming orange and silver express slid to a stop beside them. Tiger barged his way on board. Bond waited politely for two or three women to precede him. When he sat down beside Tiger, Tiger hissed angrily, "First lesson, Bondo-san! Do not make way for women. Push them, trample them down. Women have no priority in this country. You may be polite to very old men, but to no one else. Is that understood?" "Yes, master," said Bond sarcastically. "And do not make Western-style jokes while you are my pupil. We are engaged on a serious mission." "Oh, all right, Tiger," said Bond resignedly. "But damn it all..." Tiger held up a hand. "And that is another thing. No swearing, please. There are no swearwords in the Japanese language and the usage of bad language does not exist." "But good heavens, Tiger! No self-respecting man could get through the day without his battery of four-letter words to cope with the roughage of life and let off steam. If you're late for a vital appointment with your superiors, and you find that you've left all your papers at home, surely you say, well, Freddie Uncle Charlie Katie, if I may put it so as not to offend." "No," said Tiger. "I would say 'Shimata', which means 'I have made a mistake.'" "Nothing worse?" "There is nothing worse to say." "Well, supposing it was your driver's fault that the papers had been forgotten. Wouldn't you curse him backwards and sideways?" "If I wanted to get myself a new driver, I might conceivably call him 'bakyaro' which means a 'bloody fool', or even 'konchikisho' which means 'you animal'. But these are deadly insults and he would be within his rights to strike me. He would certainly get out of the car and walk away." "And those are the worst words in the Japanese language! What about your taboos? The Emperor, your ancestors, all these gods? Don't you ever wish them in hell, or worse?" "No. That would have no meaning." "Well then, dirty words. Sex words?" "There are two--'chimbo' which is masculine and 'monko' which is feminine. These are nothing but coarse anatomical descriptions. They have no meaning as swearing words. There are no such things in our language." "Well I'm...I mean, well I'm astonished. A violent people without a violent language! I must write a learned paper on this. No wonder you have nothing left but to commit suicide when you fail an exam, or cut your girlfriend's head off when she annoys you." Tiger laughed. "We generally push them under trams or trains." "Well, for my money, you'd do much better to say 'You-------'," Bond fired off the hackneyed string, "and get it off your chest that way." "That is enough, Bondo-san," said Tiger patiently. "The subject is now closed. But you will kindly refrain both from using these words or looking them. Be calm, stoical, impassive. Do not show anger. Smile at misfortune. If you sprain your ankle, laugh.

flight data recorder and the cockpit voice recorder (both painted a conspicuously bright orange, which makes them easier to find and presumably annoys those who insist on calling them `black boxes').

I think you want to be away from Catherine. I think something happened between you.” Leo glanced at the last brilliant orange and purple vestiges of daylight. “The light is going,” he remarked in a pleasant tone. “We should head back.” “You can’t run from your problems, you know.” His mouth twisted in annoyance. “Why do people always say that? Of course you can run from your problems. I do it all the time, and it never fails.” “You’re obsessed with Catherine,” Amelia persisted. “It’s obvious to everyone.” “Now who’s being dramatic?” he asked, striding back toward Ramsay House. “You watch everything she does.” Amelia stubbornly kept pace with him. “Whenever her name is mentioned, you’re all ears. And lately, every time I see you talking or arguing with her, you seem more alive than you have since…” She paused, seeming to think better of what she’d been about to say. “Since when?” Leo asked, daring her to continue. “Since before the scarlet fever.

Orange-Blueberry Muffin Tops There are two kinds of muffin tops in this world. One is caused by low-rise jeans, and we won’t talk about them in this cookbook for obvious reasons. The other kind of muffin top, which I will gladly talk about in this cookbook, is just what it sounds like: the delicious, perfect top from a muffin without all that annoying base. I have seen special muffin top pans in kitchen stores, but it isn’t necessary to have one of those. All you need is a scoop and a sheet pan! (I want that to go on my tombstone, by the way: “All she needed was a scoop and a sheet pan…”) (Right along with “Every bra she ever loved was discontinued…”)