Bert And Ernie Quotes

Every gay man should be familiar with Bert and Ernie." "And why is that?" Reece rolled his eyes, smiling. "Everyone knows that they're lovers." Ben stopped what he was doing and looked at the man incredulously. "Okay, Reece, seriously, can you hear yourself?" "They are!" Reece said. "They live together, share a bedroom; I'm telling you the sexual tension is very palpable." Ben raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Reece cleared his throat. "You're going to break up with me now, aren't you?

Someday I will stop being young and wanting stupid tattoos. There are 7 people in my house. We each have different genders. I cut my hair over the bathroom sink and everything I own has a hole in it. There is a banner in our living room that says “Love Cats Hate Capitalism.” We sit around the kitchen table and argue about the compost pile and Karl Marx and the necessity of violence when The Rev comes. Whatever the fuck The Rev means. Every time my best friend laughs I want to grab him by the shoulders and shout “Grow old with me and never kiss me on the mouth!” I want us to spend the next 80 years together eating Doritos and riding bikes. I want to be Oscar the Grouch. I want him and his girlfriend to be Bert and Ernie. I want us to live on Sesame Street and I will park my trash can on their front stoop and we will be friends every day. If I ever seem grouchy it’s just because I am a little afraid of all that fun. There is a river running through this city I know as well as my own name. It’s the first place I’ve ever called home. I don’t think its poetry to say I’m in love with the water. I don’t think it’s poetry to say I’m in love with the train tracks. I don’t think it’s blasphemy to say I see God in the skyline. There is always cold beer asking to be slurped on back porches. There are always crushed packs of Marlboro’s in my back pockets. I have been wearing the same patched-up shorts for 10 days. Someday I will stop being young and wanting stupid tattoos.

Okay, before we do this, do you all know which Loculi you’re carrying?” Aliyah asked. I adjusted my pack and stood. “I have Language and Flight.” “Invisibility and Healing,” Cass said. “Bert and Ernie,” Marco said. Aliyah glared at him. “Okay. Underwater Breathing and Teleportation,” Marco said. “Then let’s roll,” I said. Aliyah

I’d like you to meet Bert and Ernie.” She lifted a brow at him and he shrugged. “I didn’t name them. They’re retired military working dogs. I adopted them about three years ago.” He paused. “I wanted Mr. Snuffleupagus too, but one of my buddies took him.

Jim Henson's body was gone, and yet that powerful presence-that undefinable 'something' that compelled men to seek his appreciation and approval, and that women found somehow irresistible-would always remain. Anyone who had ever smiled as Ernie tried to play a rhyming game with Bert, or laughed as Kermit had chased Fozzie off the stage, arms flailing, had felt it. Anyone who had ever wished they could explore a Fraggle hole, save the world with a crystal shard, or dance with a charismatic goblin king had been touched by it.

Christopher Cerf has been composing songs for Sesame Street for twenty-five years. His large Manhattan townhouse is full of Sesame Street memorabilia – photographs of Christopher with his arm around Big Bird, etc. ‘Well, it’s certainly not what I expected when I wrote them,’ Christopher said. ‘I have to admit, my first reaction was, “Oh my gosh, is my music really that terrible?” ’ I laughed. ‘I once wrote a song for Bert and Ernie called “Put Down The Ducky”,’ he said, ‘which might be useful for interrogating members of the Ba’ath Party.’ ‘That’s very good,’ I said. ‘This interview,’ Christopher said, ‘has been brought to you by the letters W, M and D.’ ‘That’s very good,’ I said. We both laughed. I paused. ‘And do you think that the Iraqi prisoners, as well as giving away vital information, are learning new letters and numbers?’ I said. ‘Well, wouldn’t that be an incredible double win?’ said Christopher. Christopher took me upstairs to his studio to play me one of his Sesame Street compositions, called ‘Ya! Ya! Das Is a Mountain!’ ‘The way we do Sesame Street,’ he explained, ‘is that we have educational researchers who test whether these songs are working, whether the kids are learning. And one year they asked me to write a song to explain what a mountain is, and I wrote a silly yodelling song about what a mountain was.’ Christopher sang me a little of the song: Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah! Ya! Ya! Das is a mountain! Part of zee ground zat sticks way up high! ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘forty per cent of the kids had known what a mountain was before they heard the song, and after they heard the song, only about twenty-six per cent knew what a mountain was. That’s all they needed. You don’t know what a mountain is now, right? It’s gone! So I figure if I have the power to suck information out of people’s brains by writing these songs, maybe that’s something that could be useful to the CIA for brainwashing techniques.’ Just then, Christopher’s phone rang. It was a lawyer from his music publishers, BMI. I listened into Christopher’s side of the conversation: ‘Oh really?’ he said. ‘I see . . . Well, theoretically they have to log that and I should be getting a few cents for every prisoner, right? Okay. Bye, bye . . .’ ‘What was that about?’ I asked Christopher. ‘Whether I’m due some money for the performance royalties,’ he explained. ‘Why not? It’s an American thing to do. If I have the knack of writing songs that can drive people crazy sooner and more effectively than others, why shouldn’t I profit from that?’ This is why, later that day, Christopher asked Danny Epstein – who has been the music supervisor of Sesame Street since the very first programme was broadcast in July 1969 – to come to his house. It would be Danny’s responsibility to collect the royalties from the military if they proved negligent in filing a music-cue sheet.

He smiled, showing me his pretty fangs. “You’re coming with me.” “No thanks, I have a prior engagement. I’ve got tea with the queen, and then I’ve got therapy with Bert and Ernie, then…” I said, holding my hands up. “Check back tomorrow. In fact, don’t bother. I’ll have my people call your people.

Golden retrievers, especially rescued ones, have an uncanny understanding of the world. They know evil exists, but they treat each person, animal, and opportunity as if it is a birthday gift or a new ball. Until they are given a reason to believe otherwise, they embrace everything with a happy heart and an infectious smile. When they are in pain, they don’t show it. They simply plod along and look for the joy in the situation. If it is a bone on a doctor’s table, a scrap of food from a kind stranger, or a fetch session in the backyard, they find happiness in the simple things. Ernie Bert has mastered this. Instead of worrying

Norah couldn’t remember when she’d last enjoyed herself so much. She particularly enjoyed admiring Ishir’s flexing biceps. Today he was wearing a bow tie decorated with Bert and Ernie on it. The man had style, no doubt about it.

Cy smiles a lot, and I don’t. He’s the Yin to my Yang; the Ernie to my Bert, the Patch Kids to my Sour.

Oh, the airport’s not far from downtown. It’s just a little over an hour commute each way, thanks to this amazing Seattle traffic. The hotel’s not much, but it’s all we need. There’s ten channels’ worth of cable on the TV, and clean sheets on our twin beds, and a picturesque view of the gentlemen’s club next door.” Jimmy thought he saw Agent Miller’s left eye twitch. Jimmy said, “I’m sure that’s very entertaining.” Miller couldn’t take anymore. “It might be,” he said, “if we had a view of the inside, but all we can see is a parking lot full of desperate, lonely men, all of whom seem to look in our window. They seem to be fascinated by the sight of two middleaged men lying in twin beds like Ernie and Bert, watching The Weather Channel because it’s the most exciting thing on. It’s like being an exhibit in an alien zoo, on the planet of the scabby pervs!

Oh, the airport’s not far from downtown. It’s just a little over an hour commute each way, thanks to this amazing Seattle traffic. The hotel’s not much, but it’s all we need. There’s ten channels’ worth of cable on the TV, and clean sheets on our twin beds, and a picturesque view of the gentlemen’s club next door.” Jimmy thought he saw Agent Miller’s left eye twitch. Jimmy said, “I’m sure that’s very entertaining.” Miller couldn’t take anymore. “It might be,” he said, “if we had a view of the inside, but all we can see is a parking lot full of desperate, lonely men, all of whom seem to look in our window. They seem to be fascinated by the sight of two middleaged men lying in twin beds like Ernie and Bert, watching The Weather Channel because it’s the most exciting thing on. It’s like being an exhibit in an alien zoo, on the planet of the scabby pervs!

Be Bert Be Ernie Just Be