Branding Funny Quotes

It's always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's just hilarious.

Some people were just getting on with their lives, chatting, being young. It simply wouldn't do.

Sometimes he hated that voice in his brain, the one that slapped him upside the head anytime he got too stupid. Funny, it happened a lot with Sienna.

Yeah, you bet Romani.' Percy bared his forearm and showed them the brand he'd got at Camp Jupiter- the SPQR mark, with the trident of Neptune. 'You mix Greek and Roman, and you know what you get? You get BAM!' He stomped his foot, and the empousai scrambled back. One fell off the boulder where she'd been perched.

Trojan, Durex, Lifestyles, Trojan Magnum (oh yeah, my three foot cock definitely needed those), Contempo, Vivid and Rough Rider. Seriously? There was a condom brand called Rough Rider? Why not just go with Fuck Her Hard and be done with it? I stood in the "Family Planning" aisle of the grocery store, trying to decide which condom brand was more effective. Family Planning…give me a break. How many people came to this aisle because they were planning a family? They came to this aisle to AVOID planning a family. --Carter

It's a funny thing, character, the way it brands people as they age, rising from within to leave its scar.

Over the road there was a church: a modern gray building, which constantly played a recording of church bells. Strange it was. Why no proper bells? I never went in but I bet it was a robot church for androids, where the Bible was in binary and their Jesus had laser eyes and metal claws.

We sometimes try to impress people we just met by not trying to impress them.

A professional headshot in front of a bookshelf says you're an intellectual. A professional headshot peeking though a bookshelf says you're probably under a restraining order.

Love, he realized, was like the daggers he made in his forge: When you first got one it was shiny and new and the blade glinted bright in the light. Holding it against your palm, you were full of optimism for what it would be like in the field, and you couldn't wait to try it out. Except those first couple of nights out were usually awkward as you got used to it and it got used to you. Over time, the steel lost its brand-new gleam, and the hilt became stained, and maybe you nicked the shit out of the thing a couple of times. What you got in return, however, saved your life: Once the pair of you were well acquainted, it became such a part of you that it was an extension of your own arm. It protected you and gave you a means to protect your brothers; it provided you with the confidnece and the power to face whatever came out of the night; and wherever you went, it stayed with you, right over your heart, always there when you needed it. You had to keep the blade up, however. And rewrap the hilt from time to time. And double-check the weight. Funny...all of that was well, duh when it came to weapons. Why hadn't it dawned on him that matings were the same? (From the thoughts of Vishous)

An hour later, a nameless, cold-faced man returned with a tray of fresh pasta, warm bread, and a few bags of brand new comfort clothes: yoga pants, tees, a few sports bras, and...pink thong underwear? Well, of course. Wouldn't want to be held prisoner and have panty lines.

Time is tricky. You have whole months, even years, when nothing changes a speck, when you don’t go anywhere or do anything or think one new thought. And then you can get hit with a day, or an hour, or a half a second when so much happens it’s almost like you got born all over again into some brand-new person you for damn sure never expected to meet.

Marketing is so powerful that it can make even an extremely untalented musician a one-hundred-hits wonder.

This is no time for drinking a mug of water - which you would do nowhere else in the world. A mug of water! You just don't drink water from mugs, do ya? Except on the telly. Water out of a mug! Should be a hot drink... mug of water.

For every guy who loves being a dad, there’s another who realizes too late that he’s created something his wife loves more than him.

Girls get their boobs and forget they were ever so gutsy and smart. Boys, too, can display their own brand of clever and funny behavior, but let them get that first erection and they go complete moron for the next sixty years. For both genders, adolescence occurs as a kind of Ice Age of Dumbness.

How do you know they are Hunters?" Lucien asked. "They had guns and knives strapped to their bodies, and I saw the mark of infinity on one of their wrists." Branding themselves was foolish, if you asked him. Like putting a neon sign around their necks that read 'Shoot here'.

I am committing suicide by cigarette,” I replied. She thought that was reasonably funny. I didn’t. I thought it was hideous that I should scorn life that much, sucking away on cancer sticks. My brand is Pall Mall. The authentic suicides ask for Pall Malls. The dilettantes ask for Pell Mells.

Sometimes it's good to be the smartest rat in the sewer.

I promised Fury not to do anything stupid,' Bryce said, her eyes on Syrinx's branded-out tattoo. 'I didn't say I wouldn't do something smart.

Comedy is hard. In many ways, it's like singing: If you have perfect pitch, it's much easier. But you can still go a long way toward mastering the rudiments if you must trust your voice. Most of the mistakes I've seen people make in trying to write funny is that they don't trust their own senses of humor. They don't think they're funny, and they set out to write funny the way they've read other people being funny with a grim determination that pretty much precludes any chance that anybody is going to have fun. Relax, listen to your characters, exploit their fears and flaws, and mine their situations for places in which they can use their own brands of humor.

The two most popular opium brands here are called Patna and Malwa. Both regions in India. From my home straight to yours, Birdie. Isn’t that funny?’ Ramy glanced sideways at him. ‘The British are turning my homeland into a narco-military state to pump drugs into yours. That’s how this empire connects us.

Did you ever get fed up?" I said. "I mean did you ever get scared that everything was going to go lousy unless you did something? I mean do you like school and all that stuff?" "It's a terrific bore." "I mean do you hate it? I know it's a terrific bore, but do you hate it, is what I mean." "Well, I don't exactly hate it. You always have to--" "Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it," I said. "But it isn't just that. It's everything. I hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always--" "Don't shout, please," old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn't even shouting. "Take cars," I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. "Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake. A horse you can at least--" "I don't know what you're even talking about," old Sally said. "You jump from one--" "You know something?" I said. You're probably the only reason I'm in New York right now, or anywhere. If you weren't around, I'd probably be someplace way the hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You're the only reason I'm around, practically." "You're sweet," she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn subject. "You ought to go to a boys' school sometime. Try it sometime," I said. "It's full of phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are on the basketball team stuck together, the Catholics stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little intelligent--" "Now, listen," old Sally said. "Lots of boys get more out of school that that." "I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that's all I get out of it. See? That's my point. That's exactly my goddamn point," I said. "I don't get hardly anything out of anything. I'm in bad shape. I'm in lousy shape." "You certainly are.

Isn't it funny that what the Japanese authors consider their first page is our happily-ever-after last one? When you think about it, it's not a bad way to approach life. What appears to be an ending--heartbreaking wounds that you can and cannot see--may just be a beginning, a start of a brand-new adventure.

@mink: Guess what I got in the mail today? A brand-new copy of The Philadelphia Story. @alex: Nice! Love that movie. We should watch that together sometime if I can find a copy. @mink: Definitely. It’s one of my favorite Cary Grant/Katharine Hepburn films! @alex: Well, in other good news, since I know you LOVE gangster movies so much [insert sarcasm here], I just sent you a ton of Godfather screens with Alex-ified captions, changing things up for you. @mink: I’m looking at them right now. You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you? @alex: Only if you do. @mink: You made orange juice go up my nose. @alex: That’s all I ever wanted, Mink.

You’re wonderful. You’re the reason for the word wonderful. It really shouldn’t be used for anything else. You make me want to see the best in everyone. You’re the person I want to be with when everything’s going wrong, instead of just wanting to skip over those times entirely. I love that you’re so present that you always forget to keep track of your phone, and I love that when you’re late, you never make excuses but you always have a good reason. “You’re the most generous person I’ve ever met, even to people who’ve given you no reason to be generous, and you always come through for the people you care about. I honestly can’t totally figure out why someone as good as you would love me, when I can be kind of a pessimistic asshole. But I do feel like the luckiest person in the world, to be who you want. Because I want you too. I love you too. I love you in a way that feels brand-new. You make every single thing that went wrong feel like it was just a step in the right direction, and it—it makes me excited. For life to keep surprising me. “You aren’t what I pictured,” I say. “You are so, so, so much better than what my cynical little brain could’ve ever come up with.

Most nobodies are somebodies and most somebodies are nobodies somewhere.

I’ve always had a bit of a feminine aura, but I don’t mind. Russell Brand has one, too.

I'd gotten myself thrown into, then out of a drama school - ironically for being too dramatic.

Its my experience that girls tend to be terrifically smart until they grow breasts. You may dismiss this observation as my personal prejudice, based on my own tender age, but thirteen years seems to be when human beings reach their fullest flower of intelligence, personality, and pluck. Both girls and boys... Let girls get their menstruation or boys have their first wet dream, and they instantly forget their own brilliance and talent... Girls get their boobs and forget they were ever so gutsy and smart. Boys, too, can display their own brand of clever and funny behaviour, but let them get that first erection and they go complete moron for the next 60 years. For both genders, adolescence occurs as a kind of Ice Age of Dumbness.

All right, she thought I was a funny little geezer, but my charred Phaethon had impressed her, I was very obviously available, and she was out for revenge. What makes Greek tragedies great is that this brand of psychological nonsense doesn't enter into it at all. I had wanted to tell her that too, but unfortunately conversations consist for the most part of things one does not say. We are descendents, we do not have mythical lives, but psychological ones. And we know everything, we are always our own chorus.

Its my experience that girls tend to be terrifically smart until they grow breasts. You may dismiss this observation as my personal prejudice, based on my own tender age, but thirteen years seems to be when human beings reach their fullest flower of intelligence, personality, and pluck. Both girls and bots... Let girls get their menstruation or boys have their first wet dream, and they instantly forget their own brilliance and talent... Girls get their boobs and forget they were ever so gutsy and smart. Boys, too, can display their own brand of clever and funny behaviour, but let them get that first erection and they go complete moron for the next 60 years. For both genders, adolescence occurs as a kind of Ice Age of Dumbness.

I'm not most people.' 'Most people aren't as insane as you,' I said in a throaty voice that wasn't mine. 'That's not a very nice thing to say.' He scraped harder with his sharp teeth, just below where he'd bitten me before, and I gasped as my body jerked. 'And the truth is, you like my brand of insanity.' My blood pounded through me in a dizzying push. 'I don't like anything about you.' He laughed as his lips skimmed the side of my throat. 'I love how you lie.

It’s all supposed to be so innocent, upwardly mobile snob, designer shades, beret, so desperate to show he’s got good taste, except he’s also dyslexic so he gets ‘good taste’ mixed up with ‘taste good,’ but it’s worse than that! Far, far worse! Charlie really has this, like, obsessive death wish! Yes! he, wants to be caught, processed, put in a can, not just any can, you dig, it has to be StarKist! suicidal brand loyalty, man, deep parable of consumer capitalism, they won’t be happy with anything less than drift-netting us all, chopping us up and stacking us on the shelves of Suprmarket Amerika, and subconsciously the horrible thing is, is we want them to do it. . . .” “Saunch, wow, that’s. . .” “It’s been on my mind. And another thing. Why is there Chicken of the Sea, but no Tuna of the Farm?” “Um. . .” Doc actually beginning to think about this. “And don’t forget,” Sauncho went on to remind him darkly, “that Charles Manson and the Vietcong are also named Charlie.

Shirogane: "This is a brand-new show called 'Naze? Naze? Neeze!' " I'm Shirogane, the teacher of course.♥" " We're covering Arithmethic!" "Here we have Akira-kun and Kengo-kun, who will tackle the questions with us!" Kengo: "Hello there!" ^_^ Akira: "I'm a high school student, by the way!" "Why do I have to do arithmethic?!" Shirogane: "And here's my assistant, kokuchi!" Kokuchi: "HISS!" Akira: "HEY! I don't get why a kokuchi is here...Besides, does it even remotely understand our language." Shirogane:"Here's the first question" "Akira-kun, what's three times four?" Akira: "Twelve..." Shirogane: "CORRECT!!!" "Wonderful Akira-kun! Fantastic Job!" "You're so smart. Can I call you genius from now on?" Akira: "Only if you want a pencil shoved in your eye!" "Stop making fun of me right now!" Shirogane: "Let's move on to the next question.♥ (Shirogane spinning) Akira: "Why are you so hyper today?" "You're acting like a different person!" Shirogane: "Kengo-kun what is 23 minus 15?" Kengo: "Twe--" Shirogane: "WRONG." " If you can't solve a simple problem like this, you don't even deserve to be considered human. You'd be better off dead. SO JUST DIE." Kengo: "I made a small mistake! No need to walk all over me like that!!" Shirogane: "Let me explain this problem so that stupid Kengo-kun can understand." Kengo: "I...I am not stupid!" Shirogane: "First, you have 23 kokuchi..." "...You take 15 from the 23..." "...AND KILL THEM" (Shirogane killing the Kokuchi) Kengo: "OMG, Akira! Can you stop him?!" Akira: "Well...Why should I? I don't really care...I'm tired." Kengo: "AKIRA!!" (Shirogane covered in Kokuchi blood) Shirogane: Now then! How many kokuchi do we have left now, Kengo-kun." (Kokuchi shivers) Kengo: "SO GROSS! EI--EIGHT! THE ANSWER IS EIGHT!" Shirogane: "Yes you are correct! Well, the dumb boy finally understood the problem, and it's time for us to say goodbye!" "Take care and see you next week!" (Akira sleeping) Kengo: Not likely..." Shirogane: "GOODBYE!

It’s our bad luck to have teachers in this world, but since we’re stuck with them, the best we can do is hope to get a brand-new one instead of a mean old fart. New teachers don’t know the rules, so you can get away with things the old-timers would squash you for. That was my theory. So I was feeling pretty excited to start fifth grade, since I was getting a rookie teacher—a guy named Mr. Terupt. Right away, I put him to the test. If the bathroom pass is free, all you have to do is take it and go. This year, the bathrooms were right across the hall. It’s always been an easy way to get out of doing work. I can be really sneaky like that. I take the pass all the time and the teachers never notice. And like I said, Mr. Terupt was a rookie, so I knew he wasn’t going to catch me. Once you’re in the bathroom, it’s mess-around time. All the other teachers on our floor were women, so you didn’t have to worry about them barging in on you. Grab the bars to the stalls and swing. Try to touch your feet to the ceiling. Swing hard. If someone’s in the stall, it’s really funny to swing and kick his door in, especially if he’s a younger kid. If you scare him bad enough, he might pee on himself a little. That’s funny. Or if your buddy’s using the urinal, you can push him from behind and flush it at the same time. Then he might get a little wet. That’s pretty funny, too. Some kids like to plug the toilets with big wads of toilet paper, but I don’t suggest you try doing that. You can get in big trouble. My older brother told me his friend got caught and he had to scrub the toilets with a toothbrush. He said the principal made him brush his teeth with that toothbrush afterward, too. Mrs. Williams is pretty tough, but I don’t think she’d give out that kind of punishment. I don’t want to find out, either. When I came back into the classroom after my fourth or fifth trip, Mr. Terupt looked at me and said, “Boy, Peter, I’m gonna have to call you Mr. Peebody, or better yet, Peter the Pee-er. You do more peein’ than a dog walking by a mile of fire hydrants.

It starts with what customers first see when they visit our Web site. In the United States, we offer free shipping both ways to make the transaction as easy as possible and risk-free for our customers. A lot of customers will order five different pairs of shoes, try them on with five different outfits in the comfort of their living rooms, and then send back the ones that don’t fit or they simply don’t like—free of charge. The additional shipping costs are expensive for us, but we really view those costs as a marketing expense. We also offer a 365-day return policy for people who have trouble committing or making up their minds. At most Web sites, the contact information is usually buried at least five links deep and even when you find it, it’s a form or e-mail address that you can only contact once. We take the exact opposite approach. We put our phone number (1-800-927-7671) at the top of every single page of our Web site, because we actually want to talk to our customers. And we staff our call center 24/7. I personally think it’s kind of funny when I attend marketing or branding conferences and

What did I do now?” He reluctantly pulled the car the curb. I needed to get out of this car – like now. I couldn’t breathe. I unbuckled and flung open the door. “Thanks for the ride. Bye.” I slammed the door shut and began down the sidewalk. Behind me, I heard the engine turn off and his door open and shut. I quickened my stride as James jogged up to me. I slowed down knowing I couldn’t escape his long legs anyway. Plus, I didn’t want to get home all sweaty and have to explain myself. “What happened?” James asked, matching my pace. “Leave me alone!” I snapped back. I felt his hand grab my elbow, halting me easily. “Stop,” he ordered. Damn it, he’s strong! “What are you pissed about now?” He towered over me. I was trapped in front of him, if he tugged a bit, I’d be in his embrace. “It’s so funny huh? I’m that bad? I’m a clown, I’m so funny!” I jerked my arm, trying to break free of his grip. “Let me go!” “No!” He squeezed tighter, pulling me closer. “Leave me alone!” I spit the words like venom, pulling my arm with all my might. “What’s your problem?” James demanded loudly. His hand tightened on my arm with each attempt to pull away. My energy was dwindling and I was mentally exhausted. I stopped jerking my arm back, deciding it was pointless because he was too strong; there was no way I could pull my arm back without first kneeing him in the balls. We were alone, standing in the dark of night in a neighborhood that didn’t see much traffic. “Fireball?” he murmured softly. “What?” I replied quietly, defeated. Hesitantly, he asked, “Did I say something to make you sad?” I wasn’t going to mention the boyfriend thing; there was no way. “Yes,” I whimpered. That’s just great, way to sound strong there, now he’ll have no reason not to pity you! “I’m sorry,” came his quiet reply. Well maybe ‘I’m sorry’ just isn’t good enough. The damage is already done! “Whatever.” “What can I do to make it all better?” “There’s nothing you could–” I began but was interrupted by him pulling me against his body. His arms encircled my waist, holding me tight. My arms instinctively bent upwards, hands firmly planted against his solid chest. Any resentment I had swiftly melted away as something brand new took its place: pleasure. Jesus! “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked him softly; his face was only a few inches from mine. “What do you think you’re doing?” James asked back, looking down at my hands on his chest. I slowly slid my arms up around his neck. I can’t believe I just did that! “That’s better.” Our bodies were plastered against one another; I felt a new kind of nervousness touch every single inch of my body, it prickled electrically. “James,” I murmured softly. “Fireball,” he whispered back. “What do you think you’re doing?” I repeated; my brain felt frozen. My heart had stopped beating a mile a minute instead issuing slow, heavy beats. James uncurled one of his arms from my waist and trailed it along my back to the base of my neck, holding it firmly yet delicately. Blood rushed to the very spot he was holding, heat filled my eyes as I stared at him. “What are you doing?” My bewilderment was audible in the hush. I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to speak anymore. That function had fled along with the bitch. Her replacement was a delicate flower that yearned to be touched and taken care of. I felt his hand shift on my neck, ever so slightly, causing my head to tilt up to him. Slowly, inch by inch, his face descended on mine, stopping just a breath away from my trembling lips. I wanted it. Badly. My lips parted a fraction, letting a thread of air escape. “Can I?” His breath was warm on my lips. Fuck it! “Yeah,” I whispered back. He closed the distance until his lush lips covered mine. My first kiss…damn! His lips moved softly over mine. I felt his grip on my neck squeeze as his lips pressed deeper into

..:A brand new pair of shoes feels bit tight. We have to constantly use them in order to loose them up and mold them according to our feet. When we firtst start to take baby steps to greatness, it will feel weird, ackward and funny. It might feel uncomfortable at first but if you stick to it and decipline yourself, with time, you'll not be the same. You'll be a brand new and better person. But you have to stay committed and be decipline. You have to be willing to change, and pay the price. You have got to stay possitive even in the midst of adversiry. Commit yourself to whatever you decide to do and don't quit. And in no time, you'll be where you want to be and be who you want to be:..

Brooding is more something I do when I'm working. I know so much more about sitting around worrying about a work project than I do about worrying about kids. This could just be a fact of life for older moms. We've worked and worked and worked and if we are lucky enough to finally have a child or two, we find ourselves suddenly catapulted into a most alien kind of chaos. Work is so much easier. Anyone will tell you that. To have a desk, where you have everything all lined up, and a schedule you more or less get to agree to. Work. I am a worker. This is so funny because I never really think of my work as work. I certainly never though of myself as having a career. Writing, work, this is just who I am. I am a person who sits at a desk and makes phone calls and taps at a computer keyboard and sips coffee and calls her mom at five. That I am anything better or smaller than that has come as sudden news to me. Brand new. News.

Rape humor is designed to remind women that they are still not quite equal. Just as their bodies and reproductive freedom are open to legislation and public discourse, so are their other issues. When women respond negatively to misogynistic or rape humor, they are “sensitive” and branded as “feminist,” a word that has, as of late, become a catchall term for “woman who does not tolerate bullshit.” Perhaps rape jokes are funny, but I cannot fathom how. Humor is subjective, but is it that subjective? I don’t have it in me to find rape jokes funny or to tolerate them in any way. It’s too close a topic. Rape is many things—humiliating, degrading, physically and emotionally painful, exhausting, irritating, and sometimes, it is even banal. It is rarely funny for most women. There are not enough years in this lifetime to create the kind of distance where I could laugh and say, “That one time when I was gang-raped was totally hilarious, a real laugh riot.

Vern did not trust humans was the long and short of it. Not a single one. He had known many in his life, even liked a few, but in the end they all sold him out to the angry mob. Which was why he holed up in Honey Island Swamp out of harm's way. Vern liked the swamp okay. As much as he liked anything after all these years. Goddamn, so many years just stretching out behind him like bricks in that road old King Darius put down back in who gives a shit BC. Funny how things came back out of the blue. Like that ancient Persian road. He couldn't remember last week, and now he was flashing back a couple thousand years, give or take. Vern had baked half those bricks his own self, back when he still did a little blue-collar. Nearly wore out the internal combustion engine. Shed his skin two seasons early because of that bitch of a job. That and diet. No one had a clue about nutrition in those days. Vern was mostly ketogenic now, high fat, low carbs, apart from his beloved breakfast cereals. Keto made perfect sense for a dragon, especially with his core temperature. Unfortunately, it meant that beer had to go, but he got by on vodka. Absolut was his preferred brand. A little high on alcohol but easiest on the system.

Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it,” I said. “But it isn’t just that. It’s everything. I hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always—” “Don’t shout, please,” old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn’t even shouting. “Take cars,” I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. “Take most people, they’re crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they’re always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that’s even newer. I don’t even like old cars. I mean they don’t even interest me. I’d rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God’s sake. A horse you can at least—” “I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” old Sally said. “You jump from one—” “You know something?” I said. “You’re probably the only reason I’m in New York right now, or anywhere. If you weren’t around, I’d probably be someplace way the hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You’re the only reason I’m around, practically.” “You’re sweet,” she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn subject. “You ought to go to a boys’ school sometime. Try it sometime,” I said. “It’s full of phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are on the basketball team stick together, the Catholics stick together, the goddam intellectuals stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little intelligent—” “Now, listen,” old Sally said. “Lots of boys get more out of school than that.” “I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that’s all I get out of it. See? That’s my point. That’s exactly my goddam point,” I said. “I don’t get hardly anything out of anything. I’m in bad shape. I’m in lousy shape.” “You certainly are.

It's funny, you know. We're free. We make choices. We weigh things in our minds, consider everything carefully, use all the tools of logic and education. And in the end, what we mostly do is what we have no choice but to do. Makes you think, why bother? But you bother because you do, that's why. Because you're a DNA-brand computer running Childhood 1.0 software. They update the software but the changes are always just around the edges. You have the brain you have, the intelligence, the talents, the strengths and weaknesses you have, from the moment they take you out of the box and throw away the Styrofoam padding. But you have the fears you picked up along the way. The terrors of age four or six or eight are never suspended, just layered over. The dread I'd felt so recently, a dread that should be so much greater because the facts had been so much more horrible, still could not diminish the impact of memories that had been laid down long years before. It's that way all through life, I guess. I have a relative who says she still gets depressed every September because in the back of her mind it's time for school to start again. She's my great-aunt. The woman is sixty-seven and still bumming over the first day of school five-plus decades ago. It's sad in a way because the pleasures of life get old and dated fast. The teenage me doesn't get the jolt the six-year-old me got from a package of Pop Rocks. The me I've become doesn't rush at the memories of the day I skated down a parking ramp however many years ago. Pleasure fades, gets old, gets thrown out with last year's fad. Fear, guilt, all that stuff stays fresh. Maybe that's why people get so enraged when someone does something to a kid. Hurt a kid and he hurts forever. Maybe an adult can shake it off. Maybe. But with a kid, you hurt them and it turns them, shapes them, becomes part of the deep, underlying software of their lives. No delete. I don't know. I don't know much. I feel like I know less all the time. Rate I'm going, by the time I'm twenty-one I won't know a damned thing. But still I was me. Had no choice, I guess. I don't know, maybe that's bull and I was just feeling sorry for myself. But, bottom line, I dried my eyes, and I pushed my dirty, greasy hair back off my face, and I started off down the road again because whatever I was, whoever I was, however messed up I might be, I wasn't leaving April behind. Maybe it was all an act programmed into me from the get-go, or maybe it grew up out of some deep-buried fear, I mean maybe at some level I was really just as pathetic as Senna thought I was. Maybe I was a fake. Whatever. Didn't matter. I was going back to the damned dragon, and then I was getting April out, and everything and everyone else could go screw themselves. One good thing: For now at least, I was done being scared.

It’s a funny thing, character, the way it brands people as they age, rising from within to leave its scar.

Rape humor is designed to remind women that they are still not quite equal. Just as their bodies and reproductive freedom are open to legislation and public discourse, so are their other issues. When women respond negatively to misogynistic or rape humor, they are “sensitive” and branded as “feminist,” a word that has, as of late, become a catchall term for “woman who does not tolerate bullshit.” Perhaps rape jokes are funny, but I cannot fathom how. Humor is subjective, but is it that subjective? I don’t have it in me to find rape jokes funny or to tolerate them in any way. It’s too close a topic. Rape is many things—humiliating, degrading, physically and emotionally painful, exhausting, irritating, and sometimes, it is even banal. It is rarely funny for most women. There are not enough years in this lifetime to create the kind of distance where I could laugh and say, “That one time when I was gang-raped was totally hilarious, a real laugh riot.

‪There is autotune where a voice can be enhanced, embellished and gently shifted or corrected to pitch.‬ ‪Then there is autotuna which stinks to high hell in the excess of making people sound talented that have little to none at all.‬

A brand-new tape recorder, completely worn out. Bought with funny money that the store is willing to accept. Worthless money, worthless article purchased; it has a sort of logic to it.

I don't want you getting too cold, ' he added, his breath warm against my temple. He was so much taller, even sitting as straight as I was, my head still didn't reach his chin. 'I feel like that's an important part of my duty as your personal Royal Guard.' 'Is that what you're doing right now? Protecting me from the cold by pulling me into your lap?' 'Exactly.' His hand was against my side, the weight like a brand. I stared at what I thought might be his throat. 'This is incredibly inappropriate.' 'More inappropriate than reading a dirty journal?' 'Yes,' I insisted, heat creeping into my face. 'No.' His deep chuckle rumbled through me. 'I can't even lie. This is inappropriate.' 'Then why?' 'Why?' His chin grazed the top of my head. 'Because I wanted to.' I blinked once and then twice. 'And what if I didn't want to?' Another chuckle sent an acute shiver through me. 'Princess, I'm confident that if you didn't want me to do something, I'd be lying flat on my back with a dagger at my throat before I even took my next breath. Even if you can't see an inch in front of you.

Morning, Vex. Forget something?” She almost asked him what until she saw the way his gaze smoldered and caressed her almost naked body. Oops. Had she jumped out of bed in only her panties? Nudity wasn’t something that Meena usually noted or cared about. Mother, on the other hand, was always yelling at her to put clothes on. She and Leo had a lot in common. “You should get dressed.” “Why? I’m perfectly comfortable.” So comfortable she brought her shoulders back and made sure to give her boobs a little jiggle. He noticed. He stared. Oh my. Was it getting hot in here? Funny how the heat in her body, though, didn’t stop her nipples from hardening as if struck by a cold breeze. Except, in this case, it was more of an ardent perusal. Did Leo imagine his mouth latched onto a sensitive peak just like she was? “While I am sure you are comfortable, if we’re to go out, then in order to avoid a possible arrest for indecent exposure, you might want to cover your assets.” “We’re going out? Together?” He nodded. “Where?” “It’s a surprise.” She clapped her hands and squealed, “Yay,” only to frown a second later. Leo was acting awfully strange. “Wait a second, this isn’t one of those things where you blindfold me and tell me you’ve got a great surprise, only to dump me on a twelve-hour train to Kansas, is it? Or a plane to Newfoundland, Canada?” His lips twitched. “No. I promise we have a destination, and I am going with you.” “And will I be back here tonight?” “Perhaps. Unless you choose to sleep elsewhere.” Those enigmatic words weren’t his last. “Be downstairs and ready in twenty minutes, Vex. I really want you to come.” Did he purr that last word? Was that even possible? Could he tease her any harder? Please. “How should I dress? Fancy, casual, slutty, or prim and proper?” She eyed him in his khaki shorts and collared short-sleeved shirt. Casual with a hint of elegance. He looked ready for a day at a gentleman’s golf club. And she wanted to be his corrupting caddy, who ruined his shot and dragged him in the woods to show him her version of a tee off. “Your clothes won’t matter. You won’t wear them for long.” Good thing she was close to a wall. Her knees weakened to the point that she almost buckled to the floor. Leaning against it, she wondered if he purposely teased her. Did her serious Pookie even realize how his words could be taken? He approached her until he stood right in front of her. Close enough she could have reached out and hugged him. She didn’t, but only because he drew her close. His essence surrounded her. His hands splayed over the flesh of her lower back, branding her. She leaned into him, totally relying on him to hold her up on wobbly legs. “What about breakfast?” she asked. “I’ve got pastries and coffee in my truck. Lots of yummy treats with lickable icing.” Staring at his mouth, she knew of only one treat she wanted to lick. Alas, she didn’t get a chance. With a slap on her ass, he walked off toward the condo door. Leo. Slapped. My. Ass. She gaped at his retreating broad back. “Don’t make me wait. I’d hate to start without you.” With a wink— yes, a real freaking wink— Leo shut the door behind him. He was waiting for her. Why the hell was she standing there? She sprinted for the shower.

Arik had already gone two weeks longer than usual for this haircut because of an overseas business trip. Time to get back to his highest priority. “How long until Dominic is back?” “A week, maybe two. I told him to take his time. Granddad doesn’t often take time off, and he’s getting up there in years.” A few weeks? He’d look like a wildebeest if he waited that long. “That’s no good. I need a cut. Are there any male barbers available?” “Afraid to let a girl touch your precious hair?” She smirked. “I can peek at the schedule and see if we can squeeze you in this afternoon.” “I don’t have time to come back. I need it done now.” Usually when he used the word now, people jumped to do his bidding. She, on the other hand, shook her head. “Not happening, unless you’ve changed your mind and are willing to let me cut it.” “You’re a hairdresser.” “Exactly.” “I want a barber.” “Same thing.” Said the girl without a Y chromosome. “I think I’ll wait.” Arik turned away from her, only to freeze as she muttered, “Pussy.” If she only knew how right she was. But, of course, she didn’t mean the feline version. Pride made him pivot back. “You know what. On second thought, you may cut my hair.” “How gracious of you, Your Majesty.” She sketched him a mock bow. Not funny, even if accurate. He glared in reply. “I see someone’s too uptight for a sense of humor.” “I greatly enjoy comedy, when I hear it.” “Sorry if my brand of sarcasm is too simple for you to understand, big guy. Now, if you’re done, sit down so we can get this over with and send you and your precious hair back to your office.

I’d been at the plant for three weeks when Curly invited me to his trailer for a drink. He lived just outside Hood River in a double-wide he shared with his mother, a woman he often spoke about. “I told Mother what you said about Dorothy’s mouth looking like a gunshot wound and, Lord, she just about bust a gut, she was laughing so hard. She is one funny lady, my mother. Nothing tickles her funny bone better than a knock-knock joke. You know any good sidesplitters?” Desperate as I was for company, I understood that I was clearly dealing with a loser. Management seemed the perfect career for a person like Curly. I could easily picture him in a short-sleeved shirt, the pocket lined with pens. Someone would ask him to check the time cards and he’d probably say something goofy like “Okey-dokey, artichokey.” I’d tried to straighten him out, but there’s only so much you can do for a person who thinks Auschwitz is a brand of beer. He

Look, a couple years ago my mom and dad got on that big game show. Remember, Brand? Mom spent a month makin' those funny costumes. She was a giant egg. Dad was a frying pan. Dad kept sayin' we were gonna live on Easy Street. So we drove all the way to Hollywood. When we got there, they put us in this big audience with all these other people in funny costumes. Then some dude with lipstick and sprayed hair came down the stairs. He

Can you smash a bottle with the power of your mind?" Anna said. Brand looked around him and spotted an empty glass iced tea bottle on the arm of a lawn chair. He went over, picked it up, and smashed it against the pavement. He said," Mind move hand. Hand move bottle. Bottle smash.

I love you in a way that feels brand-new.

My girlfriend left a note at my brand new Porsche. It said, “This is not working!” I got nervous. I started the car and it is working fine!

Follow someone you like and start interacting. And be genuine. I never give a compliment I don’t mean. And my best tip: Be helpful and give freely. It’s funny how generous people become when you are generous first.

let’s clarify what I mean when I talk about your brand’s “tone” and “voice.” Although they’re related, these concepts mean separate things. Your brand’s tone defines how you want to communicate. Your tone can fluctuate. You might be playful and funny on TikTok and more serious and informative in webinars. It’s a good idea to decide what tone you want to hit for each type of content you create. If you’re stuck, go back to the audience and the purpose of each piece of content. Your brand’s voice shouldn’t change from one platform to another. It represents your brand’s personality and includes everything that makes you unique. People should have the same experience whether they are reading your website, downloading a white paper, or reading an email from your sales team. You have a personal tone and voice, even if you have never thought about it. Your unique voice comes across no matter whom you talk to.

It's official,' Casteel said, watching Emil as he stopped to speak to one of the Guardians. 'I'm going to have to kill him.' My head whipped in his direction. 'What? Why?' 'I don't like the way he looks at you.' Confused, I glanced back to where Emil was walking toward the stairwell. 'How does he look at me?' His hand was a scalding brand on my hip, even through the layers of clothing. 'He looks at you like I do.' My brows lifted. 'That's not true. You look at me like...' Those heated amber eyes met mine. 'How do I look at you, Princess?' 'You look at me like...' I cleared my throat. 'Like you want to eat me.' Casteel's eyes narrowed into thin slits as his gaze return to Emil. 'Exactly, he snarled.

I know that that heroic myth is part of my programming. That I’m quite a funny, normal bloke, that there’s a bit of bad in the best of us and a bit of good in the worst of us, that any centralized power structure with an egocentric figure at its helm will become corrupt. The only solution is to develop a template built on ecological responsibility and equality.

Molly once told you the sign for home was originally a combination of the signs for food (bring your hand to your mouth, fingers closed, as if you were putting food in your mouth) and bed (hands in prayer position lifted to the side of the head as if you were sleeping on them). Home was the place you ate and slept. That old sign was like your previous homes. But ASL signs evolve, often foreshortening or migrating on the body for ease of use. Frequently they will be replaced by a brand-new sign altogether. Today, the sign for home is done by gathering the fingertips, but instead of bringing them to the mouth as before, the signer just touches the side of the chin and then, keeping the same hand shape, touches the top of the cheekbone. The funny thing is that same hand shape (the gathered fingers touching your face or body) is almost exactly like the sign for kiss. So the sign for home is like someone kissing your twice, once near the mouth and once on your cheek just below your eye. Home went from being a place where you eat and sleep to the place where someone loves you. You take your fingers and make the sign for home on Shri's face. Home.

So I had this idea that the building or buildings were going to look like that scene in National Treasure with Nicolas Cage. It ended up turning in to much more humbling experience.

When women respond negatively to misogynistic or rape humor, they are “sensitive” and branded as “feminist,” a word that has, as of late, become a catchall term for “woman who does not tolerate bullshit.” Perhaps rape jokes are funny, but I cannot fathom how. Humor is subjective, but is it that subjective?

His name is Colin Boddie. And yes, I know, that’s not funny. Only it is; of course it is. He’s heard the gags so many times he’s developed his own brand of pathological humour to go with it. It can sound crass, if you don’t know him, but it’s just a form of carapace. A way to keep the horror at bay. And what they’ve got here – despite the daylight and all the busy professional apparatus – is still the stuff of nightmares.

For me, writing any piece of advertising is unnerving. You sit down with your partner and put your feet up. You read the strategist's brief, draw a square on a pad of paper, and you both stare at the damned thing. You stare at each other's shoes. You look at the square. You give up and go to lunch. You come back. The empty square is still there. Is the square gonna be a poster? Will it be a branded sitcom, a radio spot, a website? You don't know. All you know is the square's still empty. So you both go through the brand stories you find online, on the client's website, what people are saying in the Amazon reviews. You go through the reams of material the account team left in your office. You discover the bourbon you're working on is manufactured in a little town with a funny name. You point this out to your partner. Your partner keeps staring out the window at some speck in the distance. (Or is that a speck on the glass? Can't be sure.) He says, “Oh.” Down the hallway, a phone rings. Paging through an industry magazine, your partner points out that every few months the distillers rotate the aging barrels a quarter turn. You go, “Hmm.” On some blog, you read how moss on trees happens to grow faster on the sides that face a distillery's aging house. Now that's interesting. You feel the shapeless form of an idea begin to bubble up from the depths. You poise your pencil over the page…and it all comes out in a flash of creativity. (Whoa. Someone call 911. Report a fire on my drawing pad 'cause I am SMOKIN' hot.) You put your pencil down, smile, and read what you've written. It's complete rubbish. You call it a day and slink out to see a movie. This process continues for several days, even weeks, and then one day, completely without warning, an idea just shows up at your door, all nattied up like a Jehovah's Witness. You don't know where it comes from. It just shows up. That's how you come up with ideas. Sorry, there's no big secret. That's basically the drill.

In the coming months, I’d actually figure out a way to stay in touch with all of my clientele and my wholesalers and to continue Magnolia as a home-furnishings brand without having a physical shop too. I felt good about having made the decision to walk away and lock that door. It’s funny, though, looking back on it now, because one very simple concept in life never occurred to me as I was walking away: Even locked doors can be unlocked in time. I simply never could have imagined just how much God had in store for us, and I certainly couldn’t have dreamed just how many keys to other doors God had already placed in our hands.

Taste-based loyalty is only one example of brands setting standards that are difficult to beat. Amazon taught Americans how one-click shopping works. WeChat showed Chinese consumers how to use a messaging app to pay for just about everything. Airbnb set our expectations for ways to find private accommodations. At times, a brand’s name becomes synonymous with the activity; we Google information, wipe our faces with Kleenex, and TikTok funny videos.

Viewers who craved other visions of creativity, other styles of filmmaking, or a different brand of funny or beautiful, felt that pressure, too; we felt it from without (in media messages that certain art was less important) but also from within. It was hard not to internalize these rules, even when you resisted them, even when they excluded your story.

What are you doing in here?” “You screamed,” Kael said. His eyes were still roaming her body, as if the vision of her naked figure would be forever branded on his retinas. “Yes, because the water was cold! Not because I needed help.” “How was I to know the difference between your screams?” “Well, you claim to know me! Figure out my screams.

That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking, what's your vice and what brand of trouble does it lead to?

and then once you put yourself there in that hopeless place, what are your options? Say you lose everything—the house, the school for the kids, the ability to interface with what had been your lifelines—what do you do? And whuddya know, I came up with something! I saw myself as a teacher at NYU or some noble institution for the arts, back in New York City, living in a two-bedroom in what-the-fuck-ever neighborhood we could afford on a teacher’s pay. And it was good, it was fine. Life went on. And it was a good life. And suddenly calm washed over me, almost as if to make me fearless. Because I just dealt with the worst-case scenario and came out the other side unscathed, with everything intact. And I even had some amazing memories of all the glory days I had in showbiz. I was smiling. Fuck, I was happy. And the energy changed. All of a sudden I was giving off a different brand of pheromones. Calmness replaced anxiety. My worst fears had been addressed, and I still had everything that matters, and then some. And sure enough, a funny thing happened

Marilyn was twenty-two and more frightened than he had ever seen her, terrified of motherhood and its ironclad accompanying responsibility—but the minute Wendy arrived, the very second he laid her, squalling, on her mother’s chest, Marilyn shifted. She came of age instantaneously and suddenly she was Wendy’s mom; she was in her element and everything clicked. And he stood there, his eyes filled with tears, a brand-new and unexpected panic roiling in his gut. And it had been the same thing three times over—another girl, another girl, another girl—despite mounting responsibility and the steady accumulation of debt and details and obligations and years, simple numerical age. Each time his wife shifted fluidly into the mother of two, then three, then four; into a homeowner, a bookkeeper, a crisis counselor, a chauffeur. Caring for their house and their children while also tending to his aging father—Richard now declining, on dialysis, and in need of at-home nursing care—to their rambunctious dog, to him. She did this, and the structure of his daily life remained relatively unchanged, and yet he was the one fucking things up. He, on this terrible night, had given her one more enormous crisis, a ten-foot wave of malicious ineptitude. And she—his lovely wife—had cried herself to sleep, landing in a contorted position that would have been funny under better circumstances.

My imitations were not very accurate, but my size and panting determination made the attempt funny. Mimicry reassures the weak, and the envious fool takes the risk as often as the visionary who mocks the error and leaves the man alone; I did not like to be reminded by my brand of mimicry.

I love you in a way that feels brand new. You make every single thing that went wrong feel like it was just a step in the right direction … you aren’t what I pictured. You are so so so much better than what my cynical brain could have come up with.

I honestly can't totally figure out why someone as good as you would love me, when I can be kind of a pessimistic asshole. But I do feel like the luckiest person in the world, to be who you want. Because I want you too. I love you too. I love you in a way that feels brand-new. You make every single thing that went wrong feel like it was just a step in the right direction and it - it makes me excited. For life to keep surprising me.

Scary Wheels is a hilariously dark and thrilling physics-based racing game that combines absurd humor with fast-paced action. Inspired by the internet-famous Happy Wheels, this game delivers a chaotic ride full of danger, destruction, and unexpected surprises. With unique characters, deadly obstacles, and ragdoll physics, Scary Wheels offers an experience that is as funny as it is challenging. The core gameplay revolves around controlling oddball characters on unstable vehicles through increasingly difficult obstacle courses. Whether it’s a grandpa in a motorized wheelchair, a daredevil cyclist, or a businessperson on a segway, each character comes with their own brand of awkward movement and vulnerability. The game encourages trial and error, and part of the fun is seeing just how spectacularly things can go wrong. The physics engine is what makes Scary Wheels so addictive. Characters react to terrain and collisions with exaggerated motion and often hilarious consequences. Limbs can detach, vehicles explode, and players are flung into traps if their timing isn’t perfect. This unpredictability keeps every level exciting and makes every small victory satisfying. One of the most entertaining aspects of the game is its use of dark humor. Although the injuries and deaths are exaggerated and cartoonish, they provide a twisted kind of comedy. Players often find themselves laughing out loud after watching their character fly off a cliff or get squashed by a giant hammer. This lighthearted gore gives Scary Wheels a unique identity among racing games. Level design in Scary Wheels is both creative and punishing. Courses are filled with hazards like spinning blades, spikes, mines, collapsing platforms, and swinging axes. Each level is a puzzle that requires a mix of timing, reflexes, and sometimes pure luck. As you progress, the challenges become more intense, demanding better control and more thoughtful strategies. Despite its chaotic nature, the game features simple controls that make it accessible to players of all ages. You move using the arrow keys or WASD, and balance your character to avoid tipping over or crashing. The simplicity of these controls allows anyone to jump in and enjoy the game within minutes, but true mastery requires practice and patience. Replay value is high in Scary Wheels thanks to its diverse selection of characters and ever-changing obstacle courses. Each character behaves differently, giving players a reason to revisit old levels with new strategies. The unpredictability of physics-based gameplay also means no two runs are ever quite the same. Scary Wheels is a perfect blend of laughter and challenge, offering an entertaining experience for gamers who enjoy over-the-top physics and ridiculous, sometimes gruesome outcomes. Whether you’re trying to beat a level or just seeing how much chaos you can cause, the game guarantees fun with every attempt. For fans of ragdoll physics, outrageous fails, and high-stakes obstacle courses, Scary Wheels is a must-play.

By producing a unique and memorable user experience, the design approach known as "Flightd," which emphasizes fluid, lightweight motion, can enhance brand identity. A sense of creativity, agility, and sophistication can be communicated by fluid, intentional animations. Consistent use of "Flightd" across digital touchpoints generates a unique visual language, making the brand readily recognized. A favorable emotional bond with the brand can be fostered by these smooth encounters, which can also increase user engagement and give the impression of seamless navigation. When carefully incorporated, "Flightd" becomes a subdued yet effective component that upholds the character and principles of the brand.

Buy Verified Bitmark Accounts100% Fully Verified & Cheap Price In today’s digital landscape, having a strong online presence is crucial for businesses and individuals alike. One of the most effective ways to enhance your visibility and credibility is by utilizing Verified Bitmark Accounts. These accounts not only offer legitimacy but also open doors to numerous opportunities that can elevate your brand or personal profile. If you’re looking to boost your engagement and reach on this platform, buying Verified Bitmark Accounts might just be the game changer you need. Dive in as we explore the ins and outs of acquiring these valuable assets from Pvatopservice.com, where quality meets affordability! Buy Verified Bitmark Accounts Buying Verified Bitmark Accounts can significantly enhance your online strategy. With these accounts, you gain access to a platform that boosts credibility and fosters trust among users. This is especially vital in a crowded digital marketplace. These verified accounts are not just about status; they provide opportunities for better visibility and engagement. Users tend to interact more with profiles that carry the verification badge, leading to increased followers and potential customers. Additionally, securing a Verified Bitmark Account minimizes the risk of being flagged or suspended. It ensures you’re seen as a legitimate player in your industry, allowing you to focus on growth rather than worrying about compliance issues. Investing in these accounts from reputable sources can also save time and effort. Instead of going through the lengthy process of building up an account organically, you can hit the ground running with established credentials right away. The importance of Verified Bitmark Accounts for businesses Verified Bitmark Accounts are crucial for businesses aiming to establish credibility in the digital landscape. These accounts provide a level of authenticity that can significantly boost consumer trust. In today’s competitive market, customers often seek assurance before engaging with a brand. A verified account acts as a badge of legitimacy, signaling that your business is reliable and reputable. This can lead to increased customer confidence and higher conversion rates. Moreover, having a Verified Bitmark Account enhances visibility on various platforms. It allows businesses to stand out among competitors who may not have gone through the verification process. Additionally, verified accounts are less prone to impersonation or fraudulent activities. This added layer of security protects both the brand and its customers from potential scams or misunderstandings associated with unverified profiles. Benefits of Buying Verified Bitmark Accounts from Pvatopservice.Com Purchasing verified Bitmark accounts from Pvatopservice. Com comes with multiple advantages that can enhance your online presence. First and foremost, these accounts are authentic and reliable, ensuring you won’t face issues like account suspension or bans. Pvatopservice. Com offers competitive pricing without compromising quality. You get the assurance of a fully verified account at a budget-friendly rate. This means you can invest in your digital growth without breaking the bank. Additionally, their customer support is top-notch. If you have any questions or need assistance during the buying process, help is just a message away. You also benefit from quick delivery times; once purchased, your account will be ready for use almost immediately. This allows for seamless integration into your existing marketing strategies and workflows without delays. What are the benefits of Buying Bitmark Verified Accounts? Buying Bitmark Verified Accounts offers a range of advantages for both individuals and businesses. First, these accounts come with enhanced credibility. A verified account signals trustworthiness to potential customers and partners.

Dubai is a city full of life, colors, and creativity. People here love to wear stylish clothes that make them look unique. One of the best ways to show your personality is by wearing a T-shirt. Custom t-shirt supplier in Dubai is becoming more popular because it allows people to design their own shirts. Whether you want to print your company logo, a funny quote, or a cool design, T-shirt printing is a great way to stand out. In this blog, we will talk about different types of T-shirt printing, why people love custom T-shirts, and where you can get the best T-shirt printing in Dubai. Why Choose Custom T-Shirt Printing? People love custom T-shirts for many reasons. Some use them for business, while others wear them to express their style. Here are some of the top reasons why T-shirt printing in Dubai is so popular: Unique Style – You can create a T-shirt that no one else has. It is a great way to show your personality. Business Branding – Many companies print their logos on T-shirts for marketing. It helps promote their brand. Events and Celebrations – Custom T-shirts are great for birthdays, weddings, and family gatherings. Sports Teams – Teams print their names and numbers on jerseys to feel united and motivated. Gifts – A custom T-shirt is a fun and thoughtful gift for friends and family. Types of T-Shirt Printing in Dubai There are many ways to print designs on T-shirts. Let’s look at some of the most popular T-shirt printing methods in Dubai. Screen Printing This method is used for bulk orders. It is best for simple designs with one or two colors. It gives a smooth and long-lasting print. Heat Transfer Printing This is done using heat and special paper to transfer a design onto the T-shirt. It works well for colorful designs and photos. Sublimation Printing This method is used for polyester T-shirts. The ink gets absorbed into the fabric, making the print last longer. It is best for sports jerseys and bright designs. Embroidery Printing Instead of ink, the design is stitched onto the T-shirt. It looks premium and is great for company logos and uniforms. DTG (Direct to Garment) Printing This method is like using a printer to print directly onto the fabric. It allows for detailed designs with many colors. Where to Get the Best T-Shirt Printing in Dubai? If you are looking for high-quality T-shirt printing in Dubai, you should choose a company that offers: Good Quality Fabric – A soft and comfortable T-shirt will make your design look even better. Affordable Prices – You should find a service that gives good value for money. Quick Delivery – Some companies offer same-day or next-day printing services. Custom Design Options – A company should allow you to create your own design. One of the best places for custom T-shirt printing in Dubai is THE RPS LLC. They provide high-quality printing for businesses, events, sports teams, and personal use. Whether you need a single T-shirt or a bulk order, they offer excellent service and fast delivery. How to Order Custom T-Shirts? Ordering a custom T-shirt is easy. Just follow these steps: Choose Your T-Shirt – Pick a style, size, and color. Upload Your Design – Send your logo, text, or image to the printing company. Select the Printing Method – Decide which printing type suits your design best. Confirm and Pay – Check the preview, make payment, and wait for your delivery. Conclusion Custom T-shirt supplier in Dubai is a fun and creative way to express yourself, promote your business, or make special events memorable. With many printing options available, you can create the perfect T-shirt for any occasion. If you want high-quality, affordable, and stylish custom T-shirts, check out THE RPS LLC for the best printing services in Dubai.