Bong Quotes

He's like six hundred years younger than you are. I refuse to be the moral compass of our cell! Most weekends I have an intoxispell bong attached to my mouth like a respirator. I love scatological humor, and I list 'pranks involving nuclear waste' and 'making demons eat things' as my hobbies.

They’d even made him imitate the different patterns of the bells. A necessity, but he’d felt like a fool chanting, “Bing bong bing bing bong. No, wait, bing bing bong bing bing.

Nix to Declan: Begin transcript— Testing. Hello, hellooo, anybody out there? Check, check, one, two. Soft pee. Puh, puh. Resonance! Sooooooft pee. Alpha bravo disco tango duck. This is Nïx! I’m the Ever-Knowing One, a goddess incandescent, incomparable, and irresistible. But enough about what you think of me. It’s a beautiful day in New Orleans. The wind is out of the east at a steady five knots and clouds look like rabbits … But enough about what you think of me! Now, down to business— Squirrel! Where was I? [Long pause] Why am I in Regin’s car? Bertil, you crawl right back out of that bong this minute! Oh, I remember! I am hereby laying down this track for Magister Declan Chase. If you are a mortal of the recorder peon class, know that Dekko and I go waaaaay back, and he’ll go berserk (snicker snicker) if he doesn’t receive this transmittal. … Chase, riddle me this: what’s beautiful but monstrous, long of tooth but sharp of tooth and soft of mind, and can never ever tell a lie? That’s right. The Enemy of Old can be very useful to you. So use him already. P.S. Your middle name’s about to be spelled r-e-g-r-e-t. And with that, I must bid you adieu. Don’t worry, we’ll catch up very soon. … [Muffled] Who’s mummy’s wittle echolocator? That’s right—you are! —End transcript

After the rings, the priest should just say, “Enjoy it, bing-bongs. Due to our brain’s tendency toward hedonic adaptation, you won’t feel quite this giddy in a few years. All right, where’s the pigs in a blanket? I’m outta here.

The brambles and the thorns grew thick and thicker in a ticking thicket of bickering crickets. Farther along and stronger, bonged the gongs of a throng of frogs, green and vivid on their lily pads. From the sky came the crying of flies, and the pilgrims leaped over a bleating sheep creeping knee-deep in a sleepy stream, in which swift and slippery snakes slid and slithered silkily, whispering sinful secrets.

On the Ning Nang Nong Where the Cows go Bong! And the Monkeys all say Boo! Theres a Nang Nong Ning Where the trees go Ping! And the tea pots Jibber Jabber Joo On the Nong Ning Nang All the Mice go Clang! And you just cant catch em when they do! So its Ning Nang Nong! Cows go Bong! Nong Nang Ning! Trees go Ping! Nong Ning Nang! The mice go Clang! What a noisy place to belong,Is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!

He loves weed like Alaska loves sex," the Colonel said. "This is a man who once constructed a bong using only the barrel of an air rifle, a ripe pear, and an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of Anna Kournikova. Not the brightest gem in the jewelry shop, but you've got to admire his single-minded dedication to drug abuse.

BONG-BOOP-BOOP-BEEP-BEEP-BOOP-BOOP-BEEP PLAP PLEEP PLWAAAAAAANG SCREEEEWAAAAAA KLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESHWAAAANG GLAW CEGLAW SSCHHEHEHHEHEHHHHHHHHHHWHHHHHHHHH

My mother was, for the most part, delighted with my brother and regarded him with the bemused curiosity of a brood hen discovering she has hatched a completely different species. 'I think it was very nice of Paul to give me this vase,' she once said, arranging a bouquet of wildflowers into the skull-shaped bong my brother had left on the kitchen table. 'It's nontraditional, but that's the Rooster's way. He's a free spirit, and we're lucky to have him.

Ten Best Song to Strip 1. Any hip-swiveling R&B fuckjam. This category includes The Greatest Stripping Song of All Time: "Remix to Ignition" by R. Kelly. 2. "Purple Rain" by Prince, but you have to be really theatrical about it. Arch your back like Prince himself is daubing body glitter on your abdomen. Most effective in nearly empty, pathos-ridden juice bars. 3. "Honky Tonk Woman" by the Rolling Stones. Insta-attitude. Makes even the clumsiest troglodyte strut like Anita Pallenberg. (However, the Troggs will make you look like even more of a troglodyte, so avoid if possible.) 4. "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard. The Lep's shouted choruses and relentless programmed drums prove ideal for chicks who can really stomp. (Coincidence: I once saw a stripper who, like Rick Allen, had only one arm.) 5. "Amber" by 311. This fluid stoner anthem is a favorite of midnight tokers at strip joints everywhere. Mellow enough that even the most shitfaced dancer can make it through the song and back to her Graffix bong without breaking a sweat. Pass the Fritos Scoops, dude. 6. "Miserable" by Lit, but mostly because Pamela Anderson is in the video, and she's like Jesus for strippers (blonde, plastic, capable of parlaying a broken nail into a domestic battery charge, damaged liver). Alos, you can't go wrong stripping to a song that opens with the line "You make me come." 7. "Back Door Man" by The Doors. Almost too easy. The mere implication that you like it in the ass will thrill the average strip-club patron. Just get on all fours and crawl your way toward the down payment on that condo in Cozumel. (Unless, like most strippers, you'd rather blow your nest egg on tacky pimped-out SUVs and Coach purses.) 8. Back in Black" by AC/DC. Producer Mutt Lange wants you to strip. He does. He told me. 9. "I Touch Myself" by the Devinyls. Strip to this, and that guy at the tip rail with the bitch tits and the shop teacher glasses will actually believe that he alone has inspired you to masturbate. Take his money, then go masturbate and think about someone else. 10. "Hash Pipe" by Weezer. Sure, it smells of nerd. But River Cuomo is obsessed with Asian chicks and nose candy, and that's just the spirit you want to evoke in a strip club. I recommend busting out your most crunk pole tricks during this one.

He wasn’t just my father, but my friend. We did things together, talked about things, and formed a bong that was undeniable but indescribable at the same time.

Wanting can be done sitting on the couch with a bong in your hand and a travel magazine in your lap.     Deciding means jumping in all the way, doing whatever it takes, and going after your dreams with the tenacity of a dateless cheerleader a week before prom night. You

Latar belakang tidak penting. Yang penting adalah latar depan.

THE MOON AND THE YEW TREE This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary. The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God, Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility. Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to. The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection. At the end, they soberly bong out their names. The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars. Inside the church, the saints will be all blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness -- blackness and silence. --written 22 October 1961

Are you on crack? Or did I take a righteous bong hit before coming here?

Bing Bing Bong Bong Bing (This is a quote)

Did she ever reply?” Bong Cha narrowed her eyes at Sam, deciding if her grandson was trying to trick her into appearing foolish. “Yes, in my mind, she did. I knew your mother so well I could play her part. The same with my own mother and my grandmother and my childhood best friend, Euna, who drowned in the lake by her cousin’s house. There are no ghosts, but up here”—she gestured toward her head—“it’s a haunted house.

There is no nature that exists devoid of nurture; there is no nurture that develops without nature. To say otherwise is like saying that the area of a field is determined by its length but not its width. Every behavior is the product of an instinct trained by experience. The study of human beings remained resolutely unreformed by these ideas until a few years ago. Even now, most anthropologists and social scientists are firmly committed to the view that evolution has nothing to tell them. Human bodies are products of "culture," and human culture does not reflect human nature, but the reverse. This restricts social scientists to investigation only differences between cultures and between individuals--and to exaggerating them. Yet what is most interesting to me about human beings is the things that are the same, not what is different--things like grammatical language, hierarchy, romantic love, sexual jealousy, long-term bongs between the genders ("marriage", in a sense). These are trainable instincts peculiar to out species and are just as surely the products of evolution as eyes and thumbs.

Once you overcome the one-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.

The message for all students should be: Put down the bong and get to work, because the number of curious, eager-to-learn peers around the world with the means and ambition to get a great college education is about to increase a thousandfold.

Someone said that thirty was a significant birthday, and everyone around the table agreed. Someone else said it was the first time you heard the bell. What bell? someone asked. But they all knew what bell. It was like you'd already completed a few laps, observed another, but this was the first time you'd properly heard the bell. There had been one at seven, but you hadn't heard it because you were so young; and then one at fourteen but you hadn't heard it because you were too busy looking over your shoulder; then another at twenty-one but you hadn't heard it because you were too busy talking; and then one at twenty-eight which for some reason took two years before you heard it. But they all agreed you did hear that one, eventually. Your lousy career, said one guest. Babies, said one of the women. Lovers, friends, travel, said another. Parents aging. Bong. All the things you hadn't done. Might not do. Bong.

This is a man who once constructed a bong using only the barrel of an air rifle, a ripe pear, and an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of Anna Kournikova. Not the brightest gem in the jewelry shop, but you’ve got to admire his single-minded dedication to drug abuse.

Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations. Digests, Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending.” “Snap ending.” Mildred nodded. “Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet (you know the title certainly, Montag; it is probably only a faint rumor of a title to you, Mrs. Montag), whose sole knowledge, as I say, of Hamlet was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: now at last you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors. Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there’s your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more.” Mildred arose and began to move around the room, picking things up and putting them down. Beatty ignored her and continued: “Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click, Pic, Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man’s mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!” Mildred smoothed the bedclothes. Montag felt his heart jump and jump again as she patted his pillow. Right now she was pulling at his shoulder to try to get him to move so she could take the pillow out and fix it nicely and put it back. And perhaps cry out and stare or simply reach down her hand and say, “What’s this?” and hold up the hidden book with touching innocence. “School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?

He didn't understand that it's all connected, that one subject leads to another and forms a kind of chain that rises its head and nods like cobra when you're sucking on a bong after three days of no sleep. On acid, it's even wilder and appears to eat things. But not having gone to college, my dad had no concept of a well-rounded liberal arts education.

And that's why De Niro is superior to Pacino. Can you pass the bong?" - Opening line, Blood Will Have Blood

And that's why De Niro is superior to Pacino. Can you pass the bong?

Bong may have been a better shot but, Tommie was the best fighter pilot in the Pacific by far.

I went into college knowing Latin and calculus. After four years, I'd forgotten them both. Blame the apple bong for that.

The constable lit the bong and lost himself in the scuba bubbles of sweet comforting smoke.

How did we get through?' Bong Cha had been baffled by Sam's question. 'We got up in the morning.

when Miss St. John called “le bon pain,” “lee bong pang.

What anguish! Cincinnatus, what anguish! What stone anguish, Cincinnatus—the merciless bong of the clock, and the obese spider, and the yellow walls, and the roughness of the black wool blanket. The skim on the chocolate. Pluck it with two fingers at the very center and snatch it whole from the surface, no longer a flat covering, but a wrinkled brown little skirt. The liquid is tepid underneath, sweetish and stagnant. Three slices of toast with tortoise shell burns. A round pat of butter embossed with the monogram of the director. What anguish, Cincinnatus, how many crumbs in the bed!

even college students, free to booze and fornicate, bring about their own ends in large numbers. Imagine what it was like for the Lisbon girls, shut up in their house with no blaring stereo or ready bong around.

Readers of this memo will be disappointed to know that Bong-Bong Gad (sic), designer/owner/driver/proprietor of the vehicle, anticipated the inevitable "there but for THE GRACE OF GOD go I" witticism by unloading same on Yours Truly while we were still shaking hands (Filipinos go in for long handshakes, and the first party to initiate termination of a handshake—usually the non-Filipino—is invariably left with a nagging feeling that he is a shithead)

Everything was bathed in a celestial light. I listened to Jack and Lars talk about pinball, motorcycles, female kick-boxing, and was heartwarmed at their attempts to include me in the conversation. Lars offered me a bong hit. The gesture was, to me, tremendously touching and all of a sudden I realized I had been wrong about these people. These were good people, common people; the salt of the earth; people whom I should count myself fortunate to know.

It's supposed to go bing-bing or bong-bong or ding-ding when tires go over it. The one at Dave's stopped working several years ago, and he won't have it fixed because he feels as I do - that none of us need to be reminded we exist.

You know more useless crap, St. Clair. Good thing you're so darn cute," Josh says. St. Clair smiles. "At least 'cemetary' sounds classier. And you must admit-this place is pretty classy. Or,I'm sorry." He turns back to me. "Would you rather be at the Lambert bash? I hear Dave Higgenbottom is bringing his beer bong." "Higgenbaum." "That's what I said. Higgenbum." "Oh,leave him alone.Besides, by the time this place closes, we'll still have plenty of time to party." I roll my eyes at this last word.None of us have plans to attend,despite what I told Dave yesterday at lunch. St. Clair nudges me with a tall thermos. "Perhaps you're upset because he won't have the opportunity to woo you with his astonishing knowledge of urban street racing." I laugh. "Cut it out." "And I hear he has exquisite taste in film. Maybe he'll take you to a midnight showing of Scooby-Doo 2." I whack St. Clair with my bag, and he dodges aside,laughing.

Mungu hutumia watu 'wajinga' na 'wapumbavu' kufanya mambo makubwa katika maisha yao na ya watu wengine. Katika Biblia, Musa aliitwa mjinga alipokiuka amri ya Farao ya kuendelea kuwafanya watumwa wana wa Israeli nchini Misri; Nuhu aliitwa mpumbavu alipohubiri kwa miaka mia kuhusu gharika, katika kipindi ambacho watu hawakujua mvua ni nini; Daudi aliitwa mjinga alipojitolea kupambana na Goliati bonge la mtu, shujaa wa Gathi; Yusufu aliitwa mjinga alipokataa kulala na mke wa bosi wake, baada ya kuwa ameuzwa na nduguze kama mtumwa nchini Misri; Abrahamu aliitwa mjinga alipoamua kuhama nchi aliyoipenda na kwenda katika nchi ya ahadi, eti kwa sababu Mungu alimwambia kufanya hivyo; Yesu aliitwa mjinga mpaka akasulubiwa aliposema yeye ni Mfalme na Mwana wa Mungu. LAKINI, Musa alitenganisha Bahari ya Shamu na kuwapeleka Waisraeli katika nchi ya ahadi, ambako aliwakomboa kutoka utumwani. Nuhu aliokoa dunia. Daudi alimshinda Goliati. Yusufu aliokoa familia yake kutokana na njaa. Abrahamu alikuwa baba wa imani. Yesu aliyashinda mauti. Wakati mwingine tunatakiwa kufanya mambo makubwa kulingana na jinsi Roho Mtakatifu anavyotutuma, bila kujali watu au dunia itasemaje.

He considered getting up to check the color of the bong he’d be using but decided that obsessive checking and convulsive movements could compromise the atmosphere of casual calm he needed to maintain while he waited, protruding but not moving, for the woman he’d met at a design session for his agency’s small campaign for her small theater company’s new Wedekind festival, while he waited for this woman, with whom he’d had intercourse twice, to honor her casual promise.

Josy was certain of a few things in his life. He wanted to be an actor. He had an agent who cared about his future. He had friends he’d somehow managed to carve into a family. He liked weed and funky socks with animals on them. He was good at radio trivia (which for some reason didn’t translate so well to bar trivia). He had a bong named Vlad the Inhaler, and maybe his parents would never come around to seeing that while his life would never be what they wanted, it was still a life worth living. And Josiah Erickson was certain that what he felt for Quincy Moore went beyond simple affection. Regardless of what happened tomorrow or any day after, he would remember this moment when he felt so full of light he thought he’d burst.

We were leaving a pleasant region, an Oriental farmer’s paradise, that was more prosperous and secure under communist control than the area around Bong Son was under ARVN control. I wondered if the form of government really mattered to those peasant farmers.

He didn’t say anything, he barely even breathed. I wanted to kiss him, but I had to laugh. He was a sophomore, and all he really cared about was his guitar. He took a bong hoot every half-hour. I think he might’ve been in love with me, but I didn’t love him back.

Okay, so you spoke to her. She was definitely not a ghost. Did she ever reply?" Bong Cha narrowed her eyes at Sam, deciding if her grandson was trying to trick her into appearing foolish. "Yes, in my mind, she did. I knew your mother so well I could play her part.

But try as Phoebe might to blend with her peers, it felt like bluffing, mouthing the words to a song she'd never been taught, always a beat late. At best, she fooled them. But the chance to distinguish herself, impress them in the smallest way, was lost. At her vast public high school Phoebe had felt reduced to a pidgin version of herself, as during "conversations" in French class - Where is the cat? Have you seen the cat? Look! Pierre gives the cat a bath - such was her level of fluency while discussing bongs or bands or how fucked-up someone was at a party.

Harvard was need-blind (that was significantly why he had chosen it), but even his generous financial aid package didn’t cover everything. He didn’t owe much, but he couldn’t conceive of asking Dong Hyun and Bong Cha to help with his loans, and he had not gone to Harvard to be a poor person.

When I got on the line again the operator was asking for more coins, so I dropped them in. Mama and I listened to the weird bonging song and didn't say anything to each other for a little bit. 'I just lost somebody I was in love with,' I finally told her. 'I just told him goodbye, and I'm never going to see him again.

A woman plays the Northumberland pipes; from where I’m sitting, on a wall at the back, it looks like she’s giving physiotherapy to a small marsupial wearing callipers and smoking a bong, but the sound is haunting and hypnotic, mournful and melodic at the same time, every note somehow harmonising with the low, droning purr.

20. Mr. Koenig reports that he observed a variety of drug paraphernalia, including, but not limited to, “bongs, bindles, rolling papers, prescription drug bottles, roach clips, one-hitters, pinchies, rigs, works, spoons, and an ‘epic vape.’” A visual scan of the room indicated no controlled substances other than “shake and seeds on the mini-fridge.

Stop Dieting...Start Eating CUte

I The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!" II Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-Tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose. III "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

How did we get through?” Bong Cha had been baffled by Sam’s question. “We got up in the morning,” she said finally. “We went to work. We went to the hospital. We came home. We went to sleep. We did it again.” “But it must have been hard,” Sam persisted. “The beginning was the hardest, but then days passed, and months, and years, and you got better, and it was not quite so hard,” Bong Cha said.

Admittedly, some high school students (including those who use drugs) are dumb. Most students, however, do not shed their brains at the schoolhouse gate, and most students know dumb advocacy when they see it. The notion that the message on this banner ['Bong Hits 4 Jesus'] would actually persuade either the average student or even the dumbest one to change his or her behavior is most implausible.

There was a little optometrist shop on south Broadway tucked in between a pizza joint and what amounted to a head shop where you could buy glow-in-the-dark posters, bongs, and whatever else the hippies began marketing after they went commercial in the '70s... I had never visited the optometrist shop. The entrance had a 1930s look that I liked—art deco molded-tin awning over the doorway, and Bakelite tiles on the foyer walls. It looked like the kind of business that would be owned by an elderly optometrist who had serviced families for generations and personally ground lenses in his back room. I liked the look of the shop, but I drove right past it on my way to Sight City!!! where you could buy Two Pair for the Price of One!!! according to the billboards plastered all over Denver blocking every decent view of the Rocky Mountains.

Phố ta (Lưu Quang Vũ) Phố của ta Những cây táo nở hoa Mùa thu đấy Thân cây đang tróc vỏ Con đường lát đá Nghiêng nghiêng trong sương chiều Năm nay cà chua chín sớm Trên quầy hàng đỏ hồng Chị thợ may đi lấy chồng Chị thợ may goá bụa Năm nay tôi mặc đồ đen. Bác đưa thư, có thư ai đấy? Bác đưa thư kéo chuông Ti-gôn hoa nhỏ Rụng đầy trước hiên. Riêng bác thợ mộc già buồn bã Thở khói thuốc lên trời Anh thợ điện trên mái nhà mắc dây Bà giáo về hưu ngồi dịch sách Dậy cậu con tiếng Pháp Suốt ngày chào: bông-dua Phố của ta Phố nghèo của ta Những giọt nước sa Trên cành thánh thót Lũ trẻ lên gác thượng Thổi bay cao bao bong bóng xà phòng. Em chờ anh trước cổng Con chim sẻ của anh Con chim sẻ tóc xù Con chim sẻ của phố ta Đừng buồn nữa nhá Bác thợ mộc nói sai rồi Nếu cuộc đời này toàn chuyện xấu xa Tại sao cây táo lại nở hoa Sao rãnh nước trong veo đến thế? Con chim sẻ tóc xù ơi Bác thợ mộc nói sai rồi.

Now that you are living on such intimate terms with her, Gwyn has emerged as a slightly different person... She is both funnier and more salacious than you imagined, more vulgar and idiosyncratic, more passionate, more playful, and you are startled to realize how deeply she exults in filthy language and the bizarre slang of sex... Common twentieth-century words do not interest her. She shuns the term making love, for example, in favor of older, more hilarious locutions, such as rumpty-rumpty, quaffing, and bonker bang. A good orgasm is referred to as a bone-shaker. Her ass is a rumdadum. Her crotch is a slittie, a quim, a quim-box, a quimsby. Her breasts are boobs and tits, boobies and titties, her twin girls. At one time or another, your penis is a bong, a blade, a slurp, a shaft, a drill, a quencher, a lancelot, a lightning rod, Charles Dickens, Dick Driver, and Adam Junior... In the grip of approaching orgasm, however, she tends to revert to the contemporary standbys, falling back on the simplest, crudest words in the English lexicon to express her feelings. Cunt, pussy, fuck. Fuck me, Adam. Again and again. Fuck me, Adam. For an entire month you are the captive of that word, the willing prisoner of that word, the embodiment of that word. You dwell in the land of flesh, and your cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life.

Zach, it doesn't matter which talking heads the Republicrats put up as their candidates. Either way you're voting to maintain the status quo. Is that what you want?" "Ummm...." "Are you pro-choice?" "Sure, I guess." Abortion's not something a gay man has to think about often. "And you must be in favour of allowing gays to marry?" "Of course." But I'd have to be dating someone first, right? "And you believe in the decriminalization of marijuana?" "I suppose." There was no way i was going to to argue with a man who sold bongs for a living on that one. "Don't you think you should be able to vote against our out-of-control welfare state without having to vote against those basic rights? Basic rights which should be protected by our constitution?" "Well-" "Have you even read the constitution, Zach?" "I don't think so," I admitted in surprise. He shook his head at me. "Neither has the president, Zach. Think about that." He left a stack of pamphlets on the counter and headed for Ruby's. It was going to be a long campaign season.

I passed him the GameBoy. "Finish this game for me," I said, taking the paper from him. Father Dominic looked down at the GameBoy in dismay. "Oh, my," he said. "I'm afraid I don't -" "Just rotate the shapes to make them fit in the spaces at the bottom. The more rows you complete, the better." "Oh," Father Dominic said. The GameBoy binged and bonged as he frantically pushed buttons. "Oh, dear. Anything more complicated than computer solitaire, and I'm afraid -" His voice trailed off as he became absorbed in the game.

Accélérez encore le film, Montag. Clic ? Ça y est ? Allez, on ouvre l’œil, vite, ça défile, ici, là, au trot, au galop, en haut, en bas, dedans, dehors, pourquoi, comment, qui, quoi, où, hein ? Hé ! Bang ! Paf ! Vlan, bing, bong, boum ! Condensés de condensés. Condensés de condensés de condensés. La politique ? Une colonne, deux phrases, un gros titre ! Et tout se volatilise ! La tête finit par vous tourner à un tel rythme sous le matraquage des éditeurs, diffuseurs, présentateurs, que la force centrifuge fait s’envoler toute pensée inutile, donc toute perte de temps !

Okay, so you spoke to her. She was definitely not a ghost. Did she ever reply?” Bong Cha narrowed her eyes at Sam, deciding if her grandson was trying to trick her into appearing foolish. “Yes, in my mind, she did. I knew your mother so well I could play her part. The same with my own mother and my grandmother and my childhood best friend, Euna, who drowned in the lake by her cousin’s house. There are no ghosts, but up here”—she gestured toward her head—“it’s a haunted house.” She squeezed Sam’s hand and inelegantly changed the subject. “It’s time you learned how to drive.

A Party for New Year (for Lily and Maisie, the ladies what lunch.) Dear Lily, I have bought something frilly, to wear on New Year’s Eve. You may think it sounds rather silly, and, what I tell you, you will never believe. I met a woman in Primark, I know, not my normal shop. Just heard so much about it inside I had to pop. Well, the top I purchased, sparkles. The frills upon it abound. This woman I met in the changing room. On me, she said it looked sound. It's very, very silver you know. A little bit like Lametta. Oh Lily, I feel quite aglow. On no one could it look any better. Dear Maisie, Things are looking a bit hazy. A silver top, for New Year. Are you really, really that crazy? My word, you batty old dear. I'm wearing my old faithful. The black dress, with the gold trim. It's not like we’re doing anything special. In fact proceedings sound quite grim. Sitting on your old sofa With a Baileys, if I'm lucky. Watching the same old things on the box. I'm not excited Ducky. I want to be in the city and feel the atmosphere. It really is a pity that you want to stay right here. Dear Lily. Now you are being silly. What about your knees? Standing about, feeling chilly, and moaning you're going to freeze. Much better to stay indoors and watch a music show. We'll get the bongs at midnight. This you very well know. I don't have any Baileys. You drank it Christmas Day. But I found some cooking sherry. I want that out of the way. I even have some nibbles, so come on, what do you say? We'll have us a little party. Bring your nightie and then you can stay. Dear Maisie, Do you remember Daisy? Her with the wart on her ear. She thinks she'd like to join us to celebrate New Year. Do we really want her with us? She's quite a moaning Minnie. She always makes such a fuss. I'd hoped she'd celebrate with Winnie. I think I will come over Lil'. I'll even bring the wine. We really should start taking turns. Next year, you can come to mine. We'll have a great time, you and me. Go out in the cold? No fear. We'll be fine indoors, just you see. Friends together, celebrating New Year.

I bit down on my lower lip and thought What the hell before saying, “You are just really, really attractive. ”He still didn’t look at me. “You think so?” Bong stopped lecturing to glare at us. “Mr. Stark, care to enlighten us as to what’s so important it can’t wait?” “I can.” I raised my hand and said,“ I was telling Nick here that I think he’s attractive and I was hoping he’d maybe want to hang out since I’m single now.” I knew Nick could be surly, so there was a denite chance he would totally call me out in front of everyone. But it didn’t matter because it was the DONC. He turned his head and looked at me with wide eyes. Bong stuttered, “This is neither the time nor—nor—” “Absolutely I would,” Nick said. I heard a couple of laughs behind us as Nick gave me the smirk that had become very familiar to me.“ Mr. Star—

We laughed and laughed and passed the bong around each other taking turns to burn our lungs. The room was smokier than ever before and it was late in the afternoon when I realised I was stuck. I was stuck to the sofa like glue. My whole body sank deeper and deeper into the material. My blood felt like liquid lead in my limbs as if lifting my arm could not be possible without a powerful crane. My mind drifted to the big cranes you see on building sites and I imagined it attempting to lift my arm as it buckled under the weight. I closed my eyes unable to hold my eyelids open anymore. My body sank even deeper as if the sofa was melting chocolate and my body heat was melting it beneath me. It began to feel like thick treacle beneath me as if it would stick to me making it harder for me to move or get up then I felt his hand again.

For this reason alone, Parasite (Korea 2019, Bong Joon-ho) is well worth seeing. What the film avoids is any moralizing idealization of the underdogs in the Frank Capra style. We should oppose here content and form: at the level of content, the upper-class Parks are without any doubt morally superior; they are considerate, sympathetic, and helpful, while the underdogs effectively act like parasites, intruding, manipulating, exploiting . . . However, at the level of form, the Parks are the privileged ones who can afford to be caring and helpful, while the underdogs are pushed by their material circumstances into not very gracious acts. The same holds for the common anti-feminist complaint made by men: “I treat women in a kind, unpatronizing way, but they are so aggressive toward me . . .”—of course they are, since for them this is often the only way to counteract their formal submission. As a rule, it is only those at the top who can afford kindness and sympathy.

Witch Mildred was invited to the wondrous Witches’ Wobble, a Halloween festivity where witches go to gobble. Her snakeskin invitation read: Feasting Starts at Eight! A Grand Buffet (with Skunk Filet!) Hopping on her broomstick, She took off from a thicket. She raced along the back roads to dodge a speeding ticket. A skeleton soon hailed her. (His bones could use some meat!) He pled, “Please! I’m so hungry, I rattle head to feet.” A jack-o’-lantern hollered, “Please take me from this wall, for some, I dread, might use my head as a soccer ball.” Soon the three encountered a ghost who was in tears. “Please take me from this graveyard. It’s much too spooky here.” A shaky, quaky mummy called, “I’m ready to collapse. Please find me a warm hearthside, for I forgot my wraps!” A bat swooped down upon them. He squeaked, “Please wait for me! I’ll go batty when the sexton bongs the bells in my belfry.” A black cat yowled, “Please take me. I need some company, for when I cross their pathways, people run from me!

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!" II Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-Tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose. III "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books levelled down to a sort of paste pudding norm [...]. [...] Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests. Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending. [...] Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet [...] was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: "now at least you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors". Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more. [...] Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click? Pic, Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought! [...] School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts? [...] The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour. [...] Life becomes one big pratfall, Montag; everything bang, boff, and wow!

Are you interested in medical marijuana but have no idea what it is? In recent years, there is a growing cry for the legalization of cannabis because of its proven health benefits. Read on as we try to look into the basics of the drug, what it really does to the human body, and how it can benefit you. Keep in mind that medical marijuana is not for everyone, so it’s important that you know how you’re going to be using it before you actually use it. What is Marijuana? Most likely, everyone has heard of marijuana and know what it is. However, many people hold misconceptions of marijuana because of inaccurate news and reporting, which has led to the drug being demonized—even when numerous studies have proven the health benefits of medical marijuana when it is used in moderation. (Even though yes, weed is also used as a recreational drug.) First and foremost, medical marijuana is a plant. The drug that we know of is made of its shredded leaves and flowers of the cannabis sativa or indica plant. Whatever its strain or form, all types of cannabis alter the mind and have some degree of psychoactivity. The plant is made of chemicals, with tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) being the most powerful and causing the biggest impact on the brain. How is Medical Marijuana Used? There are several ways medical weed is used, depending on the user’s need, convenience and preference. The most common ways are in joint form, and also using bongs and vaporizers. But with its growing legalization, we’re seeing numerous forms of cannabis consumption methods being introduced (like oils, edibles, drinks and many more). ● Joint – Loose marijuana leaves are rolled into a cigarette. Sometimes, it’s mixed with tobacco to cut the intensity of the cannabis. ● Bong – This is a large water pipe that heats weed into smoke, which the user then inhales. ● Vaporizer – Working like small bongs, this is a small gadget that makes it easier to bring and use weed practically anywhere. What’s Some Common Medical Marijuana Lingo? We hear numerous terms from people when it comes to describing medical marijuana, and this list continually grows. An example of this is the growing number of marijuana nicknames which include pot, grass, reefer, Mary Jane, dope, skunk, ganja, boom, chronic and herb among many others. Below are some common marijuana terms and what they really mean. ● Bong – Water pipe that allows for weed to be inhaled ● Blunt – Hollowed-out cigar with the tobacco replaced with weed ● Hash – Mix of medical weed and tobacco ● Joint – Rolled cigarette-like way to consume medical cannabis How Does It Feel to be High? When consumed in moderation, weed’s common effects include a heightened sense of euphoria and well-being. You’ll most likely talk and laugh more. At its height, the high creates a feeling of pensive dreaminess that wears off and becomes sleepiness. In a group setting, there are commonly feelings of exaggerated physical and emotional sensitivity as well as strong feelings of camaraderie. Medical marijuana also has a direct impact on a person’s speech patterns, which will get slower. There will be an impairment in your ability to carry out conversations. Cannabis also affects short-term memory. The usual high that one gets from cannabis can last for about two hours; when you overindulge, it can last for up to 12 hours. Is Using Medical Marijuana Safe? Medical cannabis is scientifically proven to be safer compared to alcohol or nicotine. Marijuana is slowly being legalized around the world because of its numerous health benefits, particularly among people suffering from mental illness like depression, anxiety and stress. It also has physical benefits, like helping in managing pain and the treatment of glaucoma and cancer.

The goal of all persons who had houses in those days was to possess the smallest number of pieces of furniture needed to sustain life, but to make them as large and heavy and dark as possible. Accordingly, Daniel and Drake ate their potatoes and herring on a table that had the size and weight of a medieval drawbridge. There was no other furniture in the room, although the eight-foot-high grandfather clock in the adjoining hall contributed a sort of immediate presence with the heaving to and fro of its cannonball-sized pendulum, which made the entire house lean from one side to the other like a drunk out for a brisk walk, and the palpable grinding of its gear-train, and the wild clamorous bonging that exploded from it at intervals that seemed suspiciously random, and that caused flocks of migrating waterfowl, thousands of feet overhead, to collide with each other in panic and veer into new courses.

These days the average primary-school child can sit through thirteen consecutive hours of 3D bestial porn on a WAP-enabled Internet bong without so much as blinking.

21bongs.com is about exploring, testing, and recommending the various different bongs that are available on the internet and in your local retail. Visit our website to gain an understand of the good and the bad of different bongs and bong types.

You guys want some? I’ll smoke your body fluids with my bong!

When Mom says “bong,” she means her nebulizer. It turns water into vapor, and she huffs it all day like a singer breathing hot mist before a performance. Except Mom’s machine is handheld. I’m surprised she doesn’t carry it in a gun sling. But my mom is not just inhaling water. “Let’s get some colloidal silver in those lungs,” she says. Second to prayer, colloidal silver is Mom’s insurance policy on life. She makes her own, soaking two silver rods in a glass vat of water that sits next to her kitchen sink. I’ll let her explain it. This is from one of her emails telling me how to live forever: “I use distilled water and 99% pure silver rods. The rods are connected to a positive and negative charge (think of a jumper cable for your car) and they are immersed in the distilled water. Some people leave the rods in the water 2–4 hours. I leave mine in for 8–12 hours so my silver water is extra strength and powerful…I drink ¼ cup colloidal silver in a glass of water before bed, and have for years and years. RARELY am I ever sick. I take a bottle of colloidal silver on every trip (especially overseas) in case I pick up a stomach bug or am around anyone who is sick. I use it on wounds, use it for pink eye, ear infections, the flu, and more because it kills over 600 viruses and most bacteria, including MRSA. There are also studies that show the benefits of colloidal silver against cancer.” Every time I’m home, she gives me a bottle of the stuff to take back to Los Angeles. I, like a good millennial, googled its effectiveness. The scientific establishment seems to believe that colloidal silver does approximately nothing good, and in large quantities, some bad. Perhaps you’ve seen the viral meme of the old blue man? He consumed so much colloidal silver that his skin dyed blue from the inside. He looks like a Smurf with a white beard. Well, he looked like a Smurf. He’s dead. Maybe from something common like heart failure, but… When I told my mother this, she wouldn’t hear it. “I know it works. I’ve been using it for years. I don’t care what those articles say. I’ve read hundreds of articles about it.

¡Qué ben, que a bomba ven co seu rebombio! A bomba, ¡bong!, a bomba, bon amigo, A bomba con aramios, con formigas, con fornos pra asar meniños loiros. A bomba ten lombrices, bombardinos, vermes de luz, bombillas fluorescentes, peixes de chumbo, vómitos, anémonas, estrelas de plutonio plutocrático, esterco de cobalto hidroxenado, martelos, ferraduras, matarratos. A bomba, bong. A bomba, bon amigo. Con átomos que estoupan en cadeia e creban as cadeias que nos atan: Os outos edificios. Os outos funcionarios. Os outos fiñanceiros. Os outos ideais. ¡Todo será borralla radioaitiva! As estúpidas nais que pairen fillos polvo serán, mais polvo namorado. Os estúpidos pais, as prostitutas, as grandes damas da beneficencia, magnates e mangantes, grandes cruces, altezas, escelencias, eminencias, cabaleiros cubertos, descubertos, nada serán meu ben, si a bomba ven, nada o amor, e nada a morte morta con bendiciós e plenas indulxencias. ¡Qué ben, que a bomba ven! Nun instantiño amable primavera faise cinza de vagos isotopos placentarios, de letales surrisas derretidas baixo un arco de átomos triunfaes. A bomba, ¡bong! a bomba co seu bombo de setas e volutas abombadas, axiña ven, vela ahí ven, bon amigo. ¡Estános ben! ¡Está ben! ¡Está bon! ¡¡¡Booong!!!

The instructions read, ‘Dump the monkeys onto the table. Pick up one monkey by the arm. Hook another arm through a second monkey’s arm. Continue making a chain. Your turn is over when you drop a monkey.’ Most of my childhood life at the house on Arce Subdivision had been like that, constantly linking monkeys together and anticipating something going wrong.

I believe they (blind people) visualize the world around them purely by imagination and that their sight is more open than people who can see.

The heart of this story germinated from the seed of an old saying: "The misunderstood and different from the majority is feared and avoided." In the end, there are questions that you and only you can answer: What's more important to you? That you are accepted by others or that you accept yourself? Which current would you choose to float with (before the rain drops)?

I’m almost positive he installed secret cameras outside and is checking the footage on his phone to make sure I’m not being drugged or date-raped or participating in beer bongs or body shots. Or the Nae Nae dance. He’d find that equally unacceptable.

Sometimes the wake-and-bake feels like snuggling a lover while the sun creeps further across the floor with each passing hour. Sometimes those midday bong rips are like sharing mimosas and appetizers with a friend at a cute restaurant in a big city like in the movies. And sometimes at night when she sits on the porch with a joint between her fingers and one behind her ear — as Erica so often did — it feels like being cradled in a rocking chair and then carried to bed by a mother that loves her.

abing, abing, a-bing-bong— “We never even presented the captain with his watch,” said Carrot, taking it out of his pocket.

We will drink the blood of our enemies,’ says President Trump, as he declares war on Democrats,’ said the newsreader, over the first bong of the chimes. ‘‘It won’t be the best blood,’ Trump continued, ‘but when we shit it out the other end, it’ll be the best shit.

Buttons emerged. He was very much changed, and not at all improved. Just bones now, arranged in space in the shape of a mouse, but with all of the fleshy and furry scaffolding that one might hope to see in a mouse dispiritingly absent. He clattered a bit as he walked across the table, came to a halt a few paces from Delly’s coffee cup, and emitted a resonant “Bong.

Shut up, idiot. I’m counting bongs.

BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!

The woman must drink bong water for breakfast and probably made beef jerky out of Don Lewis for lunch.

Perhaps they expected one of the summer students to attack him with a bamboo bong.

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I been a bigot and a faggot I been smug and ugly I’m a long-haired lefty joker and a smoker of bongs.

GETTING A CUSTOMER TO LAUGH IS A GOOD THING. HOWEVER, FIRING UP A BONG IN HIS OFFICE MIGHT NOT BE THE BEST WAY …

When Tyne dropped into an armchair opposite us his bony knees V'ed out, providing an all-to-clear view of Mr. Happy and the Bong Bongs.

The other day I was internetting, and I found a video of a dolphin taking a bong rip.

BUZZ OSBORNE: I thought that Primus—the first time I heard them—was like a combination of the Residents mixed with Captain Beefheart, and Larry Graham thrown in there. That was my impression of it. Unfortunately for them, they’re lumped into that Red Hot Chili Peppers kind of thing a little bit more than they probably deserve. That is not my thing. That’s not my world. That kind of music is like the soundtrack to a date rape at a frat party. I’ve never been interested in the beer-bong set. And when I lived in San Francisco, when I first moved there in the mid-’80s, it was funk metal bands and bands that sounded like Metallica. And that was it. And the funk metal bands I thought was some of the worst crap that I’d ever heard—even worse than the metal bands. Actually, I once saw one of those bands play a barely ironic version of “Brick House” by the Commodores. I was like, I’m done.

Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. “Ah, ’Agrid . . . it is time?” “Bong-sewer,” said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps.

President Carter’s three adult sons spent plenty of time at the White House during his presidency. Florist Ronn Payne, who started at the White House during the Nixon administration and left under Clinton, said he had to do more than freshen the floral arrangements in the Carters’ sons’ rooms on the third floor. “I would regularly have to move bongs,” he said. (The unabashed pot-smoking in the president’s house was confirmed by another member of the household staff on the condition of anonymity.) If any of the Carter sons were found with the illegal drug on the street they would have been arrested, but they smoked inside the White House without fear of any repercussions. President

The man who’d been on the passenger side wore his hair in a ponytail and looked liked that hip, middle-school art teacher who always smelled like a bong. Myron ran through his options. He did this in tenths of a second. That was how it worked. When you’re in danger, time either slows down or the mind races. Hard to say which. Myron

This year, Keystone charges $21,750 in tuition and fees. In comparison, UPenn docked $9,600 for the same in 1984, so for the current cost of a Keystone education, once could attend an Ivy League school for two years, with enough bouncing coins left over for many cases of beer and bong hits. UPenn's tuition and fees are now $47,668. Of course, wages haven't increased fivefold in thirty years. The obscene overpricing of a diluted education is yet another sign that we're failing future generations. To stuff the pockets of a few smirking old farts and their precious scions, countless young people are maimed.

The Times came last night; tonight it was Newsday and the Voice. I want to tell them we were just joking. It’s not a real play, it’s what comes from doodling while you’re holding a bong.

Bong country is beautiful. Lush green forest, a sweet breeze. There are pygmy hippopotamuses here and monkeys; a sense of Liberia’s possibilities. Rich in natural resources, cool in the hills, hot on the beach.

Sure thing,” Bing Bong said. “This way, just past Graham Cracker Castle.” But then he stopped and looked around, confused. The castle was gone. “I wonder why they moved it?” he asked. He walked a bit farther. Suddenly, he realized

Out came an extraordinarily complex network of plastic, brass, and stainless-steel tubing, which in seconds Kona had assembled into what Quinn thought was either a very small and elegant linear particle accelerator or, more likely, the most complex bong ever constructed.

And that’s it,” said Rutspud to Stephen. “I’ve got until the twelve bongs and then I’m going to be stuffed into a room full of kittens until I am ‘better’.” “And these kittens, they’ll … what?” “Sit there and look cute.” Rutspud shuddered within the folds of the habit that Stephen had loaned him. “Or rub themselves up against me. I might even be required to stroke them.” Stephen