Bottom Feeders Quotes

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!

You are...the embodiment of immediate good karma. The equalizer between bottom feeders and the sanctimonious cogs in the system.

You've gotten to play big fish in this little pond, but you don't' know what it is to be a bottom feeder in a place like this.

About Hollywood. I feel like it’s a big ocean, full of bottom feeders, midlevel fish, the occasional shark, and some wonderful savvy whales, the elders, and the ones who guide you on your way. If you’re lucky enough, you get to be a dolphin and have your waves broken by the passage of these elders before you, but at the same time, you get an occasional shark bite in the tail and maybe one of the bottom feeders comes up and takes a little nibble. But I see myself as cresting a series of waves, dipping down, sometimes, lower than I’d like, but mainly kind of happily staying above. (smiles and takes a long drag of her cigarette) And, of course, I try to avoid the fishnets.

Yes I do. And I think you’re a racist, intolerant, dickhead, mindless bottom-feeder –

But never underestimate me. Never. When life throws me a curve ball, I swing. Sometimes I hit, sometimes I miss, but you can bet every pressed suit in your closet that I give everything.

The darkness would always be my first love. My point is: my family wasn’t nearly as disgusting as the Lucchese Family. They had no moral code. They played by no rules. They had no respect for anyone, any thing, or any aspect of life. They were bottom-feeders. The lowest of the low. And they needed to be eradicated.

The punter sweated on top of Marina, his lips all over her young body, his tongue slipping out from rows of crooked teeth, pushing hungrily from between his shrivelled lips like a clam from a shell, a bottom feeder searching for salty nutrition.

We are talking about a bunch of mindless bottom feeders who is general ignorance of a way of life is tempered only by their indifference to human suffering, we are all agreed on that?" "Is this the politicians all the killers?" "good point, but I meant the killers.

I thought about that, watching the ambulance growing smaller in the distance, thought about the bottomless abuse of power by the bottom feeders gorging on the feedbag of greed while plowing scars into the souls of others, justified for the purported good of the masses, when it was really all about them.

Headlining also meant a higher caliber of groupie—as in, they had enough self-respect to hide their track marks and cutting scars on the insides of their thighs, like ladies. These bitches were bold, too. Entitled even. Opening act groupies were bottom-feeders. Skittish. Easily scared off by a ninety-five-pound nineteen-year-old with a platinum-blonde pixie haircut and one hell of a stink eye. Headliner groupies, on the other hand, were scrappers. They were working on their retirement plans, goddamn it, and they weren’t going to let a little thing like me (or a condom) get between them and eighteen years of rock star–sized child-support checks.

Behind Hagedorn’s back, Kawakita had nicknamed the administrator “Stumpy.” Only Margo and a few of Frock’s other graduate students had known the name referred not to Hagedorn’s diminutive size, but to Stumpiniceps troglodytes, a particularly mundane kind of bottom-feeder that populated the oceans of the Carboniferous period.

Being rejected by someone you knew you never stood a chance with is like pouring salt on a wound that already has salt in it. It preserves the hurt.

Trees, the Nightmare muttered, scraping his claws. Now we must play at tea with Blunder’s bottom-feeders? You said joining these fools would be dangerous. You said nothing of torture.

Don’t you dare ever hope for more. There’s no such thing as living happily ever after or pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. The world is how it is and there always has to be bottom-feeders. People like you and me, we’re it, and the world might want us to believe we can have more, but the moment we try to break out of the water they’ll shove us down into the mud. It’s better to know the truth. It hurts less if you accept society’s crappy rules.

You cannot break me. I was broken long before I met you. I may be weak and I may be hurting, but I am still—and will always remain—on my feet.

Back during the McCarthy years, institutions like UMass — and outside academia as well; in Hollywood and other parts of the culture industry, and throughout the economy as a whole — were run by nervous administrators and managers and CEOs who wanted to be in compliance with the government. I’m not talking about the true believer anticommunists; just run-of-the-mill, apolitical or even liberal, apparatchiks whose first duty, they felt, was to their job and their institution. Uncertain about the law and the rules, fearful that if they broke them their institutions would suffer, these administrators turned to outside consultants — often, lawyers — for “advice.” Except that the advice industry was itself stacked with two types: either true-believing anticommunists, who had a vested interest in purging the country of reds and leftists and liberals and more, or bottom-liners (and bottom-feeders) whose livelihood depended upon institutions like UMass needing their “advice.” The combination of this advice industry and nervous administrators was lethal: through some elaborate dance of advice and consent, repressive policies were propounded. Not by force, not by threat, but voluntarily, consensually. It wasn’t simply the state that was the problem; it was the relay system of coercion that private actors in civil society set up, that radiated power far beyond what it was capable of, that made the whole system of repression as widespread as it was. This, incidentally, was precisely the kind of society Hobbes envisioned in Leviathan: not simply an all-powerful sovereign, but an army of preachers and teachers, working in churches and — wait for it: universities — who would extend the power of the sovereign far beyond what it could muster.

The universal constant about the galaxy’s bottom feeders: if you don’t understand it, shoot at it.

There are lots of fish in the sea. Some are sharks, some are angels, and some are bottom feeders.

He was the bottom feeder of the crew, and a part of me wished Lucy hadn't picked him out of what was available.

That the deadly bottom-feeders of the dark Fae give Jericho Barrons a wide berth perturbs me immensely but I’d promise to never ask him another question about it again, if only he’d cut a swath through them right now and save me. I shouted his name until my throat hurt, but no knight-errant rushed to my rescue.

Well good. That means you can join us when we head out to Bottom Feeders in a few weeks; maybe you’ll meet someone who encourages you to extend your stay.” Del winks at Rhett.

Fish are good for eating. But we wouldn’t eat these fish.” “Because they’re pretty.” “No, because they’re bottom feeders. See how their mouths are formed? When they finish with these pellets, they’ll go down to the bottom of the pond and feed off whatever garbage they find there.” He hunkered next to Timmy, watching the swirling koi and thinking how people could swallow little bites of truth on Sunday morning and then dine on garbage all through the week. They could look beautiful, sleek, and healthy and be filled with all manner of evil.

What a bunch. I know you well, gentlemen. You’re in it for the quiet life and the pension, you don’t hurry too much in case the danger is still around when you get there, and the most you ever expected to face was an obstreperous drunk or a particularly difficult cow. Most of you aren’t even coppers, not in your head. In the sea of adventure, you’re bottom-feeders. And now, it’s war . . . and you’re in the middle. Not on either side. You’re the stupid little band of brownjobs. You’re beneath contempt. But believe me, boys – you’ll rise.

We have a saying in my culture. Dios no le diá, alas a los alacranes: God did not give wings to scorpions. No. They seem a little scary at first, but look how small they are, how bitter and ugly. They just have to crawl around in everybody else's mierda, waiting for the chance to sting someone. Pobrecita... don't it just suck to be a bottom feeder? Don't it just?

I'm not truly tempted by the cold water below — suicide is a folded hand and I'm no quitter — but I can remember how it felt down there among the bones and the bottom-feeders: so quiet, so far beyond the scabling, striving, grinding work of survival.

Although there are many kinds of fish who make the Alabaster their home, the most aggressive are channel catfish. They’re mudsuckers, bottom feeders, river vultures, the worst kind of scavengers. Channel cats will eat anything. This is the story of how they came to eat Jimmy Quinn.

You made us into bottom feeders, and you want us to stay bottom feeders.

the meaning of Adam’s work sat on its surface, that he had no opinion of his subjects, good or bad: “Cullen’s abjectness is not luxury at ease; his emptiness is not profundity; when he scribbles, his poor syntax is not a form of epigram. His crudeness is what it is – unabashed … He’s a bottom-feeder, none too pernickety about taste. Every pond needs one, especially the cesspools of popular culture.

Part of the problem is that the stakes are too high and the bar is too low. With a trillion-dollar global problem—for that’s what Alzheimer’s disease is—the temptation is just too great, and this brings out the liars, the bottom-feeders, the snake-oil salesmen, and the like. For instance, even as experts tell me they don’t believe our published, peer-reviewed results, imitators are starting companies that purport to offer the same protocol, even though they have no expertise in the field and no knowledge of the current protocols

NSA was a bottom feeder,

The watchdogs are out The books are burning Your mind is roasting Your insides are slowing Depop around the corner  Get your tin foil hat and boil your water Distilled is better, organic or natural All labeled by a 3 letter monster Feeding the beast and bottom feeders  At the bank across the corner Go drink and be merry while the world burns And the powers that be legalize child porn... Nothing to see folks but the sound of crickets The American public has been so easily silenced Good luck France and bees, and honey and trees Your time is up as we sleep in our virtual dreams... Stéphane St-Pierre

The watchdogs are out The books are burning Your mind is roasting Your insides are slowing Depop around the corner  Get your tin foil hat and boil your water Distilled is better, organic or natural All labeled by a 3 letter monster Feeding the beast and bottom feeders  At the bank across the corner Go drink and be merry while the world burns And the powers that be legalize child porn... Nothing to see folks but the sound of crickets The American public has been so easily silenced Good luck France and bees, and honey and trees Your time is up as we sleep in our virtual dreams... Stéphane St-Pierre

—Finally, he spotted an Asian carp coming their way. The carp wasn’t as big as the elephantine tilapia he had once wrestled, but Lisa was young, and Jeff figured that vanquishing a midsize carp would be enough for someone her age. Jeff hugged his baby girl, gave her a big kiss, and threw her off the rock, right in the path of the bottom feeder. The moral of the story is— —Wait! Wait! What happened? What happened to Lisa? —The carp ate her, of course. She was just a baby! You didn’t really think she was gonna make it, did you? —I…Yes, I did…