Annoying Villagers Quotes

Remember, the village idiot was the spiritual man who built the ark and saved his family. Keep being you and never give up marching to the beat of your own drum!

It really was annoying, she thought, when the job for which she’d been formally trained and which she was paid to perform by the local government got in the way of her unpaid amateur homicide detection.

As one who long in populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, Forth issuing on a summer’s morn, to breathe Among the pleasant villages and farms Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight;

You feel safer in your bedroom, but you’re actually much safer in the shelter.” It didn’t matter how I felt. She made me go into the shelter every time the sirens wailed. Men came and removed all the signposts from the roads around the village, so that when Hitler invaded he wouldn’t know where he was. When he invaded, we were to bury our radio. Jamie had already dug a hole for it in the garden. When Hitler invaded we were to say nothing, do nothing to help the enemy. If he invaded while I was out riding, I was to return home at once, as fast as possible by the shortest route. I’d know it was an invasion, not an air raid, because all the church bells would ring. “What if the Germans take Butter?” I asked Susan. “They won’t,” she said, but I was sure she was lying. “Bloody huns,” Fred muttered, when I went to help with chores. “They come here, I’ll stab ’em with a pitchfork, I will.” Fred was not happy. The riding horses, the Thortons’ fine hunters, were all out to grass, and the grass was good, but the hayfields had been turned over to wheat and Fred didn’t know how he’d feed the horses through the winter. Plus the Land Girls staying in the loft annoyed him. “Work twelve hours a day, then go out dancing,” he said. “Bunch of lightfoots. In my day girls didn’t act like that.” I thought the Land Girls seemed friendly, but I knew better than to say so to Fred. You could get used to anything. After a few weeks, I didn’t panic when I went into the shelter. I quit worrying about the invasion. I put Jamie up behind me on Butter

Max cooked up a story about an enderman who wants to be a professional swimmer. The enderman is willing to pay 500 emeralds for a Potion of Water Resistance (so he doesn't burn while in the water). ② After hearing about the enderman, tons of kids at school freaked out. They wanted to brew that potion. Kids kept bugging the Brewing teacher about it. How do I craft one? What's the secret recipe? And so on. (The Brewing teacher got so annoyed, he called in sick today.) ③ Max and I dug up most of the sand around the village. (You need sand to make glass, glass to craft bottles, and bottles to brew potions.) ④ Yesterday, we spent hours crafting bottles.

Syn pulled Furi to his chest. “Furi, I want you to go back through the bar and go wait at my place. I’m going to have a little chat with your ex-husband,” Syn said extra loudly. Furi huffed in annoyance, “Syn, I took six months of self-defense courses at the YMCA this year. I can fight for myself.” Syn looked at Furi like he’d lost his damn mind. “At the Y? Well hell, that’s great Furious. If you ever get jumped by the Village People, feel free to pull out those moves. As for now, I want you to take your karate-kicking-YMCA-going-ass back to my apartment,” Syn snarled at Furi, urging him toward the door, having neither the time nor the patience to argue with his ridiculous pride. Thankfully, with one final glare Furi went back into the pub. When Syn turned back, God and Day were looking back and forth between him and his two foes. “What’s going on here, fellas?” God asked casually, not acknowledging Syn.

the man who has spread the knowledge of English from Cape St. Vincent to the Ural Mountains is the Englishman who, unable or unwilling to learn a single word of any language but his own, travels purse in hand into every corner of the Continent. One may be shocked at his ignorance, annoyed at his stupidity, angry at his presumption. But the practical fact remains; he it is that is anglicising Europe. For him the Swiss peasant tramps through the snow on winter evenings to attend the English class open in every village. For him the coachman and the guard, the chambermaid and the laundress, pore over their English grammars and colloquial phrase books. For him the foreign shopkeeper and merchant send their sons and daughters in their thousands to study in every English town. For him it is that every foreign hotel- and restaurant-keeper adds to his advertisement: "Only those with fair knowledge of English need apply." Did the English-speaking races make it their rule to speak anything else than English, the marvellous progress of the English tongue throughout the world would stop. The English-speaking man stands amid the strangers and jingles his gold. "Here," cries, "is payment for all such as can speak English." He it is who is the great educator. Theoretically we may scold him; practically we should take our hats off to him. He is the missionary of the English tongue.

As a super villain banished from my village, it wasn’t a problem for me anymore, but mom used to be really annoying when she told me to pick my clothes up!

Traditionally, the needs of ethnically diverse consumers had been met by smaller companies—the equivalent, in movie terms, of independent filmmakers. In the seventies, Shindana introduced two Barbie-like fashion dolls: Malaika, taller and stouter than Barbie; and Career Girl Wanda, about three-quarters as tall as Barbie and as proportionately svelte. But in 1991, when Mattel brought out its "Shani" line—three Barbie-sized African-American dolls available with mahogany, tawny, or beige complexions— there could be no doubt that "politically correct" was profitable. "For six years, I had been preaching these demographics—showing pie charts of black kids under ten representing eighteen percent of the under-ten population and Hispanic kids representing sixteen percent—and nobody was interested," said Yla Eason, an African-American graduate of Harvard Business School who in 1985 founded Olmec Corporation, which makes dolls and action figures of color. "But when Mattel came out with those same demographics and said, 'Ethnically correct is the way,' it legitimatized our business." Some say that the toy industry's idea of "ethnically correct" doesn't go far enough, however. Ann duCille, chairman of the African-American Studies Program and an associate professor of English at Wesleyan University, is a severe critic. After studying representations of race in fashion dolls for over a year, she feels that the dolls reflect a sort of "easy pluralism." "I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say I'd rather see no black dolls than see something like Shani or Black Barbie," she told me, "but I would hope for something more—which is not about to happen." Nor is she wholly enamored of Imani and Melenik, Olmec's equivalent of Barbie and Ken. "Supposedly these are dolls for black kids to play with that look like them, when in fact they don't look like them. That's a problematic statement, of course, because there's no 'generic black kid.' But those dolls look too like Barbie for me. They have the same body type, the same long, straight hair—and I think it sends a problematic message to kids. It's about marketing, about business—so don't try to pass it off as being about the welfare of black children." Lisa Jones, an African-American writer who chronicled the introduction of Mattel's Shani dolls for the Village Voice, is less harsh. Too old to have played with Christie—Barbie's black friend, born in 1968—Jones recalls as a child having expressed annoyance with her white classmates by ripping the heads and arms off her two white Barbie dolls. Any fashion doll of color, she thinks, would have been better for her than those blondes. "Having been a little girl who grew up without the images," she told me, "I realize that however they fail to reach the Utopian mark, they're still useful.

[The recent heavy exertions, coupled with constant exposure and extreme anxiety and annoyance, no doubt brought on the severe attack which is noticed, as we see in the words of the next few days.] 10th April, 1873.—The headman of the village explained, and we sent two of our men, who had a night's rest with the turnagain fellow of yesterday. I am pale, bloodless, and; weak from bleeding profusely ever since the 31st of March last: an artery gives off a copious stream, and takes away my strength. Oh, how I long to be permitted by the Over Power to finish my work.

A clearing of a gravelly throat pulled him from his thoughts. He turned and looked at Thomas, the boat captain, who was seventy if he was a day. “I think that’s your party there,” the older man said, nodding toward the gravel lot at the end of the dock. If he seemed a bit uncomfortable, Cooper chalked it up to the rather taciturn older man being thrust into what, based on the bits and pieces of the conversations Cooper had overheard while eating breakfast at the café that morning, was the biggest gossip story to hit the Cove in ages. Maybe the boat captain had been secretly hoping Kerry wouldn’t show and he’d be excused from chaperoning duties. Cooper was too relieved that Kerry had come to get distracted by what the captain was thinking or feeling. He turned around, a welcoming grin on his face, then went completely, utterly still. Even his heart seemed to have stuttered to a stop. Holy jumping mother of--what in the hell was she wearing? He’d just been hoping she’d show at all and assumed he’d have to cajole her out of being annoyed with him for his high-handedness. Again. Only she sure didn’t look annoyed. She looked…like an edible tray of ripe, luscious fruit. With him being the only guest invited to the bountiful buffet. Sweet Jesus. How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself with her wearing nothing more than a glorified bandana? She drew closer, and her smile turned a shade smug. She was clearly enjoying his all but cartoon character worthy, goggling reaction. And well, hell, what did she expect? He was a red-blooded male whose bed had remained strikingly empty since her departure. Since long before then, truth be told. “Hi, Thomas,” she called to the boat captain as she closed the remaining distance between them, still smiling brightly. If she was uncomfortable in her little getup in front of the older man--a man, Cooper supposed, she had to know, given everybody knew everyone in such a small village--she didn’t show it. Instead, she said, “Did they rook you into being our captain today?” The old man’s cheeks were beet red in a way that had nothing to do with decades of harsh weather. He nodded somewhat tensely. “Did indeed, Miss Kerry. Good to, uh, good to see ya,” he managed to choke out, trying to look anywhere but at the expanse of bare leg and curvy cleavage. Cooper would have felt sorry for the man, but he was too busy trying to get his own voice back.

And what have I done?" "What? What?...You've stolen them." With that, Cornelia fled, but Buttercup understood; she knew who "them" was. The boys. The village boys. The beef-witted featherbrained rattleskulled clodpated dim-domed noodle-noggined sapheaded lunk-knobbed boys. How could anybody accuse her of stealing them? Why would anybody want them anyway? What good were they? All they did was pester and vex and annoy.

On the other side of the village Havaa was studying the pale blue flowers on her mother’s skirt, annoyed she couldn’t find them in the Caucasian flora guide. Why invent flowers when so many real ones would be honored to find their faces on a skirt?

What would Seth the Elf do in a situation like this?” Dave asked Carl. “To be honest, in a really dire situation like this there would probably be a cliffhanger,” said Carl. “What’s a cliffhanger?” asked Dave. “It’s when you put the characters in a desperate situation, where it looks as if all hope is lost, then you suddenly end the story,” said Carl. “Then the reader has to wait until the next issue to see what happens.” “That sounds really annoying,” said Dave. “Yeah,” said Carl. “It is a bit.” To be continued…

(In case you don’t know, “hurrrrrrr” is the sound a villager makes when thinking. Or irritated. And right now, I’m super irritated. The mobs can’t get to us in our homes, so they make noises all night just to annoy us.)

said Spidroth. “Have you seen a tiny creeper, a villager with a boring face, a villager with the eyes of a spider, or an evil blonde illager?” “Um, I’m not a slave,” said the robot, sounding annoyed. “Servant, then,” said Spidroth. “I’m a mixologist!” said the robot. “What’s that?” said Spidroth.

And if we see any more silverfish, let’s do our best not to annoy them.” “Hey, they started it,” said Carl. “They bit me.

What’s a cliffhanger?” asked Dave. “It’s when you put the characters in a desperate situation, where it looks as if all hope is lost, then you suddenly end the story,” said Carl. “Then the reader has to wait until the next issue to see what happens.” “That sounds really annoying,” said Dave. “Yeah,” said Carl. “It is a bit.” To be continued…

was not a town, not officially, but one of those odd settlements that form like rust on iron, less by intention than by some process of nature that no one has yet been granted government funds to study. Those who made it their home were for the most part people who found crowded cities unnatural and any large government Orwellian, but were likewise averse to the intimacy of small towns and the officious nature of village councils. The citizens of Peptoe and places like it wanted to have neighbors, though at a respectful distance, which meant cheap land. They wanted a sense of community, but mostly they wanted to live their lives with as few annoyances as possible, beyond the easy reach of thought police and sanctioned con men of all kinds.

It was, to the village, a love song of apology. It was, to Geeta, a bottomless well of annoyance.

Harris, will you shut up with that ‘make a wish’ thing?” Entity 404 snapped. “It’s so annoying!” Then, suddenly, Entity 404’s eyes went wide. Dave saw that Entity 303 had thrust a diamond blade right through 404’s chest. “Why…?” Entity 404 gasped. “Because you’re no fun,” Entity 303 giggled.

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

To be honest, in a really dire situation like this there would probably be a cliffhanger,” said Carl. “What’s a cliffhanger?” asked Dave. “It’s when you put the characters in a desperate situation, where it looks as if all hope is lost, then you suddenly end the story,” said Carl. “Then the reader has to wait until the next issue to see what happens.” “That sounds really annoying,” said Dave. “Yeah,” said Carl. “It is a bit.

He once recounted a time when he was trying to meditate and kept getting interrupted by sounds from a festival in a nearby village. Then, as he recalls it, he had a realization: “The sound is just the sound. It’s me who is going out to annoy it. If I leave the sound alone, it won’t annoy me. . . . If I don’t go out and bother the sound, it’s not going to bother me.

Go, go, go!” Dave yelled, kicking his legs against the blue creeper’s side. The creeper queen ran forward towards Seth. Entity 303 and Entity 404 both turned to face Dave. “Hee hee, have you come to fight us?” Entity 303 giggled. The blue creeper queen fired a blast of blue flames at the two entities, but Entity 303 quickly created a bedrock wall to block it. “Make a wish!” Entity 303 screamed happily. “Make a wish, make a wish, make a wish!” “Harris, will you shut up with that ‘make a wish’ thing?” Entity 404 snapped. “It’s so annoying!” Then, suddenly, Entity 404’s eyes went wide. Dave saw that Entity 303 had thrust a diamond blade right through 404’s chest. “Why…?” Entity 404 gasped. “Because you’re no fun,” Entity 303 giggled. Entity 404 disappeared in a cloud of shadowy smoke. “He was always a dumb dumb,” said Entity 303. “I used to be his boss, you know. He was a dumb dumb then too!

Middle Head: I’m surrounded by idiots. No really, I’ve got one on either side. Between the gardener and the bleeding heart, it’s amazing that we’ve made it this far. Left is right about one thing, though; the pyramid will make a good base of operations while we plan out our next move. And he’s right that we should probably stop blowing up everything on the way there. We’re making a rather obvious trail of destruction. He’s so annoying when he’s right. Well, I guess “Right” isn’t exactly the right word. Right is a complete idiot. And now I’ve confused him again. Well, it’s easier to just wait until he gets distracted than try to explain it. Right Head: But really, though. Left can’t be Right, right? I’m Right! Is there more than one Right? That has to be it. I’m on our right, but Left would be Right to someone else. Right? @_@ Oh no, my head hurts. Oh, more cacti! I like them a lot! They get so tall! =) And sometimes they blow up! =D Middle says those ones are actually creepers, but I know better. I want to grow my own cactus bombs! >=) Day Fourteen Right Head: The pyramid is super fun! =D I blew it all up!! >=D All it took was one little explosion, and then boom, boom, BOOM!!! Middle isn’t very happy with me, but he’s never happy. =/ Left is pretty mad too. And he never gets mad. =( I didn’t mean to blow everything up, but it was so much fun! I had a good day. =) Middle Head: That complete, utter, absolute moron! We finally make it to the pyramid after a whole day’s journey across the hot desert, and he blows it up! First thing! No conversation! Left says that we should check for booby traps, and then the idiot just starts shooting skulls all over the place! It’s a miracle that the explosion wasn’t even bigger! He’s lucky that we don’t have skin. I would tear his off and make it into a coat. Or shoes, if we had feet. All the fires of the Nether wouldn’t be enough to burn the stink of stupidity from my skull. Humph. Well, Left convinced me that we need to keep looking for Steve. He isn’t in this desert, and east still feels like the best way to go. We’ve been asking any skeletons we see about the best places to look. The zombies are all obsessed with some village nearby, and nothing else seems willing to talk to us.

ears, the Noble Dark One disappeared. Ishan breathed a sigh of relief once the Noble Dark One was out of sight. “Aargh!” I shouted. “I thought he was cool. What an annoying jerk!” The Ender King stood and looked at the spot where the Noble Dark One had been standing a moment ago. “He is just obeying his master who, from what I can gather, is quite powerful and wise. Perhaps immortal. And so, I think jerk is far from the correct descriptive word.” I glared at the Ender King. “Seriously? He just bailed on us.” The Ender King raised an eyebrow. “Bailed?” “You know … hurrr … abandoned us. Do you know how quickly we could defeat the executioners and Ciaran if the Noble Dark One and his army joined us? Bro, it would be over faster than a zombie burns in the sun.” “Perhaps. Or, perhaps his master…. Does it have a name?” I shrugged. “Pure Evil, I guess. Essence of Evil? Something like that?” The Ender King twitched. “I don’t like any of those options. Anyway, if his master thinks you can handle it, then perhaps you can.” I ground my teeth together in frustration. “Whatever. I’m going back to sleep.” “Why don’t you sleep here? Do you have a bed in your inventory?” I nodded. “Good. We should probably stick together for the remainder of this journey.” The Ender King turned to Isahn. “You should get

High, high in the Chinese hills, there was once a monastery where a distinguished Taoist guru lived with his disciples. In the evenings the monks would gather in the Great Hall to listen to their leader’s teachings and to meditate. But there was a stray cat that had adopted the monastery, and each evening it would follow the monks into the hall. It would mewl, scratch, and generally be annoying throughout their silent meditation. It did this every night until the great teacher became so irritated by it that he told his followers to put a collar on the cat and tether it on the far side of the monastery each evening. This worked well and, for a while, teacher, cat and monks all went through their nightly routine. One day, the learned teacher died. But the monks continued to tie up the cat each evening. More years passed. And eventually the cat died. So the monks went down to the nearest village, found a replacement cat, and tied it up each evening instead. Two centuries later, religious scholars write learned essays on the importance of tying up a cat prior to evening meditation. This is how much of cricket works.

shoulder kindly and then hopped a couple of times onto his right foot. Callum tried to do the same and screwed up his face when he almost tripped. ‘I feel entirely out of my depth,’ he admitted, linking arms with Evie and spinning her around so quickly she almost fell into someone. ‘We weren’t exactly a dancing family and I never got the hang of it. Especially given my height. Give me a fire to fight, a cat to rescue or a cliff to abseil off, and I’m in my element – dancing’s definitely not my thing.’ ‘Give it time,’ Evie advised, taking his hand and leading him across the dance floor as the participants all linked arms and followed each other, skipping slowly in a large circle. ‘You need to get a feel for the people around you, try to predict what they’ll do next.’ She was enjoying him though, enjoying his imperfections. It helped to take her mind off the kiss they’d shared. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to predict that,’ Callum said, gazing at her intently, making butterflies swirl around her stomach. She shook her head and looked away. At the far end of the room, Evie saw Nana Agnes leave Fergus to greet some of her friends, and noticed his eyes follow. He drank a full glass of whisky, tapping his foot on the floor as Agnes hugged and kissed them and began to chat. Then the music stopped as the dance ended, and everyone cheered and clapped. Evie turned to Callum and bowed as he looked at her with an expression of bemusement. ‘Is that it?’ He sounded relieved and followed Evie as she led him off the dance floor towards where Meg was waiting. She glanced at Jason who was still talking to the woman in the green dress. He’d picked up one of the candles from the table and was pointing at it. The last meal they’d shared, he’d talked about physics for the whole evening. The library had taken delivery of a new tome on the subject and Jason had read the whole thing in one night. The woman didn’t look bored though: she looked enchanted. Evie studied her carefully – she wore dark red lipstick the colour of plums and her mouth curved as she listened. Was Jason cheating on her? A feeling of relief spread through Evie before she dismissed it, annoyed with herself. ‘You were brilliant!’ Meg greeted them with a beaming smile and smoothed a hand over her blonde hair. ‘At least, you will be,’ she added, patting Callum gently on the arm. ‘You just need a little more practice. I’m sure Evie could give you some private lessons in the yurt before you head home.’ Callum’s eyes crinkled in the corners, making Evie’s heart thump. ‘Depends on whether she values her feet or not,’ he said with good humour, giving her an out.