Bunch Of Idiots Quotes

I laughed. “You’re too young to be so … pessimistic,” I said, using the English word. “Pessi-what?” “Pessimistic. It means looking only at the dark side of things.” “Pessimistic … pessimistic …” She repeated the English to herself over and over, and then she looked up at me with a fierce glare. “I’m only sixteen,” she said, “and I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.

My lesson from Soros is to start every meeting at my boutique by convincing everyone that we are a bunch of idiots who know nothing and are mistake-prone, but happen to be endowed with the rare privilege of knowing it.

Well, it's like I have a GPS inside me," I told them. "One of the talking ones. I tell it where I want to go, and it tells me, Go twenty miles, turn left, take Exit Ninety-fourm and so one. It can be pretty bossy, frankly. Their eyes widened. "Really?" said one. No you idiot," I said in disgust. "I don't know how it works. I just know it has an unfailing ability to point me in the opposite direction of a bunch of boneheads.

I don't know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I'm pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.

I don't care what is written," Meyer Landsman says. "I don't care what supposedly got promised to some sandal-wearing idiot whose claim to fame is that he was ready to cut his own son's throat for the sake of a hare-brained idea. I don't care about red heifers and patriarchs and locusts. A bunch of old bones in the sand. My homeland is in my hat. It's in my ex-wife's tote bag.

The kind of people that say “political correctness gone mad” are usually using that phrase as a kind of cover action to attack minorities or people that they disagree with. [...] And I’m sick, I’m really sick– 84% of you in this room that have agreed with this phrase, you’re like those people who turn around and go, “you know who the most oppressed minorities in Britain are? White, middle-class men.” You’re a bunch of idiots.

The more I got to know people, the more I realized we were all just a bunch of frightened idiots walking around in the dark, bumping into each other and panicking for no reason at all. So I started turning on a light. I stopped thinking of people as mobs. Hordes. Faceless masses. I tried, really hard, to stop assuming I had people figured out, especially before I’d ever even spoken to them. I wasn’t great at this—and I’d probably have to work at it for the rest of my life—but I tried. I really did. It scared me to realize that I’d done to others exactly what I hadn’t wanted them to do to me: I made sweeping statements about who I thought they were and how they lived their lives; and I made broad generalizations about what I thought they were thinking, all the time.

I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.

Sway’s an idiot who didn’t order them when we used up the last bunch. (Vik) Isn’t that your job? (Devyn) No. I’m the sub-idiot. Sway’s head idiot because the company refuses to deal with mechas. Since I’m not organic, they think I can’t pay. (Vik) Thanks, Vik. (Devyn) Ever my pleasure to irritate you, sir. (Vik)

Surround yourself with a bunch of ,outstanding, idiots and you will have a lot of fun.

more I got to know people, the more I realized we were all just a bunch of frightened idiots walking around in the dark, bumping into each other and panicking for no reason at all.

Fuck what is written," Landsman says. “You know what?" All at once he feels weary of ganefs and prophets, guns and sacrifices and the infinite gangster weight of God. He's tired of hearing about the promised land and the inevitable bloodshed required for its redemption. “I don't care what is written. I don't care what supposedly got promised to some sandal-wearing idiot whose claim to fame is that he was ready to cut his own son's throat for the sake of a hare-brained idea. I don't care about red heifers and patriarchs and locusts. A bunch of old bones in the sand. My homeland is in my hat. It's in my ex-wife's tote bag.

People are idiots in real life, and don’t see what’s sitting in front of them until they lose it. Life really isn’t a bunch of sunshine and rainbows. Nope, people make mistakes, they can’t see past their noses to find that the one man that has been a constant in their life was actually made for them.

I don’t think of it that way. Besides, it’s only temporary. Once Dad sees that— That what? That the idiot who kidnapped you, stole you again, and made you an accomplice to a bunch of criminals, still calls you his? Something tells me that you being on the honor roll ain’t gonna change him wanting to string me up.

I’m only sixteen,” she said, “and I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.

When I was a kid I read these books, the Redwall books, fantasy books about a bunch of warrior mice, and the mice had this war cry that I always thought was coo: 'Eulalia.' And like an idiot that's what I yelled off the Brooklyn Bridge: 'Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!' And I could have died right then. And considering how things went, I really should have.

The more I got to know people, the more I realized we were all just a bunch of frightened idiots walking around in the dark, bumping into each other and panicking for no reason at all. So I started turning on a light.

When you’re young, you think you have all the answers. You’re right wing or you’re left wing and the other side is a bunch of idiots. You know. When you get a little older, though, you start to more and more see the grays. Now I understand that true idiots are the ones who are certain they have the answers. It is never that simple. Do you know what I mean?

But the frat boys were all frivolous and idiotic in our minds now, a bunch of conformist fools going through the motions of hip.

As a race, we’re an enormous bunch of idiots. We’re more than capable of ignoring facts if the conclusions they lead to make us too uncomfortable. Or afraid.

Look at the sky. What do you see? If you see a bunch of clouds, or rain, you're an idiot. If you see worlds beyond where you stand, and all the places you could be and the things you could do, congratulations. You are going to survive.

I'd been expecting to get back home from the library in time to eat a good lunch. Instead we'd gotten arrested like a bunch of idiots, because I couldn't convince my men not to mess with some of the most dangerous people on the planet: librarians trying to protect their books. Now

Listen to me, you little idiot," Sin hissed, leaning forward until his nose nearly touched hers. "You and your friends nearly got me killed, and someone else is in danger because of you oblivious, drug addicted morons bringing us to the attention of a bunch of fanatic psychopaths. So tell me what you know or I will rip your fucking jugular open with my teeth." "There's my boy," Emilio said proudly, grinning. "Shut the fuck up," Sin didn't even look at the other man.

New Rule: For at least the next generation, the Crocodile Hunter clan has to leave nature alone. This week, the late Steve Irwin’s youngest son was bitten by a boa constrictor. Authorities don’t know exactly what went wrong, but they think the accident might have happened when a bunch of idiots let a four-year-old fuck around with a giant snake.

How idiotic for a person to want to show off to a bunch of poor and helpless humans by wearing those ridiculous clothes.

The more I got to know people, the more I realized we were all just a bunch of frightened idiots walking around in the dark, bumping into each other and panicking for no reason at all.

He looked up at the sky, which was sullen, streaked and livid, and reflected that it was the sort of sky that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse wouldn’t feel like a bunch of complete idiots riding out of.

When I was a kid I read these books, the Redwall books, fantasy books about a bunch of warrior mice, and the mice had this war cry that I always thought was cool: “Eulalia.” And like an idiot, that’s what I yelled off the Brooklyn Bridge: Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

When I read things like, “The foundations of capitalism are shattering,” I’m like, maybe we need some time where we’re walking around with a donkey with pots clanging on the sides. . . . ’Cause now we live in an amazing world, and it’s wasted on the crappiest generation of spoiled idiots. . . . Flying is the worst one, because people come back from flights, and they tell you their story. . . . They’re like, “It was the worst day of my life. . . . We get on the plane and they made us sit there on the runway for forty minutes.” . . . Oh really, then what happened next? Did you fly through the air, incredibly, like a bird? Did you soar into the clouds, impossibly? Did you partake in the miracle of human flight, and then land softly on giant tires that you couldn’t even conceive how they fuckin’ put air in them? . . . You’re sitting in a chair in the sky. You’re like a Greek myth right now! . . . People say there’s delays? . . . Air travel’s too slow? New York to California in five hours. That used to take thirty years! And a bunch of you would die on the way there, and you’d get shot in the neck with an arrow, and the other passengers would just bury you and put a stick there with your hat on it and keep walking. . . . The Wright Brothers would kick us all in the [crotch] if they knew.1

The disciples finally begin to get a grasp that maybe God can become flesh and dwell among us, maybe God can be a man, and then they come back and not only is God a man, but He's acting like an idiot! He's hanging out with a bunch of kids. He's blessing them, you know. And you think, How do you bless children? Well, the best way I know is that you pick them up and you just throw them as high as you can, and you catch them right before they splatter. You get down on all fours and you run around the room and you let them ride you and you buck them off. … You put your mouth against their bellies and you make funny noises. Here's Jesus probably doing all this business. His disciples were humiliated! And they said, “You should not be making such a fool of Yourself!” And Jesus says, “Here, look, look, fellas. I'll call the shots here. I may be dumb, but I am God. And I'll tell you what else, if you wanna come into My kingdom, you'll come in like one of these or you won't come in at all.

Zoe returned her attention to the map of southern Argentina on the computer. “What on earth could possibly be worth using that much nuclear power on? There’s nothing around there but mountains and sea.” “There’s guanacos,” Murray said helpfully. “What the heck’s a guanaco?” Zoe asked. “It’s a relative of the camel,” Murray explained. “It kind of looks like an anorexic llama. From what I understand, the pampas down there are full of them.” “And you think SPYDER wants to nuke them all?” Zoe said. “What good is a whole bunch of vaporized guanacos?” “Suppose they only nuked one,” Murray said ominously. “What if they focused all that nuclear energy on it? If a single irradiated iguana could turn into Godzilla, just imagine what a giant guanaco would look like. It’d be terrifying!” Zoe gave him a withering look. “The only terrifying thing about this plan is that you actually think it’s possible. Godzilla never existed!” “But maybe he could,” Murray countered. “Or worse . . . Guanacazilla!” He gave a roar that was probably supposed to be half llama, half monster, but it sounded more like an angry hamster. We all considered him for a moment. “Moving on,” Erica said. “Does anyone have a suggestion that isn’t completely idiotic?” “Ha ha,” Murray said petulantly. “You mock me now, but we’ll see who’s laughing when there’s a thirty-story guanaco running rampant through Buenos Aires.

Besides, I wouldn’t be doing it for the money. I’d be doing it to screw the literary world. Those bastards all huddle together in their gloomy cave and kiss each other’s asses, and lick each other’s wounds, and trip each other up, all the while spewing this pompous crap about the mission of literature. I want to have a good laugh at their expense. I want to outwit the system and make idiots out of the whole bunch of them. Doesn’t that sound like fun to you?

You bloody fool, if you’d been wrong it would have killed you!” “But I wasn’t wrong.” “Obtuse and illogical!” I shrugged. Apparently I’d been a lot worse than that. “You will never do such an idiotic thing again,” he said, muscles bunching in his jaw. Given my track record, I was pretty sure I would. I mean, really, if I was the Unseelie King—the most powerful Fae ever—I’d somehow ended up human and clueless. That meant I was not only evil, obsessed, and destructive, I was inexcusably stupid.

I would respect feminist who said "Single moms, are you kidding me? Stop taking government benefits because, the government is the patriarchy. So, you are taking things from the patriarchy so you dont have to be responsible. Any woman who takes money from the government using cops who usually extract it from men by force is not a feminist. Is a exceedingly bad bride of the state." I would admire that but, of course feminism doesn't have anything to do with any of that stuff. Look, it's fine. Have your fun. Make fun of men. Go for it. Yea, we're all idiots, we're all selfish, greedy bastards. Ok, it's fine because the government is going to run out of money soon and then all these woman are going to try to find some guy to latch onto when the benefits stop flowing and I mean, you saw this happening with the soviet union. "Now we need you! You guys are great! We missed you so much! Give me some money!" It's just a bunch of noise from a bunch of people who are stealing from the productive.

I landed on my side, my hip taking the brunt of the fall. It burned and stung from the hit, but I ignored it and struggled to sit up quickly. There really was no point in hurrying so no one would see. Everyone already saw A pair of jean-clad legs appeared before me, and my suitcase and all my other stuff was dropped nearby. "Whatcha doing down there?" Romeo drawled, his hands on his hips as he stared down at me with dancing blue eyes. "Making a snow angel," I quipped. I glanced down at my hands, which were covered with wet snow and bits of salt (to keep the pavement from getting icy). Clearly, ice wasn't required for me to fall. A small group of girls just "happened by", and by that I mean they'd been staring at Romeo with puppy dog eyes and giving me the stink eye. When I fell, they took it as an opportunity to descend like buzzards stalking the dead. Their leader was the girl who approached me the very first day I'd worn Romeo's hoodie around campus and told me he'd get bored. As they stalked closer, looking like clones from the movie Mean Girls, I caught the calculating look in her eyes. This wasn't going to be good. I pushed up off the ground so I wouldn't feel so vulnerable, but the new snow was slick and my hand slid right out from under me and I fell back again. Romeo was there immediately, the teasing light in his eyes gone as he slid his hand around my back and started to pull me up. "Careful, babe." he said gently. The girls were behind him so I knew he hadn't seen them approach. They stopped as one unit, and I braced myself for whatever their leader was about to say. She was wearing painted-on skinny jeans (I mean, really, how did she sit down and still breathe?) and some designer coat with a monogrammed scarf draped fashionably around her neck. Her boots were high-heeled, made of suede and laced up the back with contrasting ribbon. "Wow," she said, opening her perfectly painted pink lips. "I saw that from way over there. That sure looked like it hurt." She said it fairly amicably, but anyone who could see the twist to her mouth as she said it would know better. Romeo paused in lifting me to my feet. I felt his eyes on me. Then his lips thinned as he turned and looked over his shoulder. "Ladies," he said like he was greeting a group of welcomed friends. Annoyance prickled my stomach like tiny needles stabbing me. It's not that I wanted him to be rude, but did he have to sound so welcoming? "Romeo," Cruella DeBarbie (I don't know her real name, but this one fit) purred. "Haven't you grown bored of this clumsy mule yet?" Unable to stop myself, I gasped and jumped up to my feet. If she wanted to call me a mule, I'd show her just how much of an ass I could be. Romeo brought his arm out and stopped me from marching past. I collided into him, and if his fingers hadn't knowingly grabbed hold to steady me, I'd have fallen again. "Actually," Romeo said, his voice calm, "I am pretty bored." Three smirks were sent my way. What a bunch of idiots. "The view from where I'm standing sure leaves a lot to be desired." One by one, their eyes rounded when they realized the view he referenced was them. Without another word, he pivoted around and looked down at me, his gaze going soft. "No need to make snow angels, baby," he said loud enough for the slack-jawed buzzards to hear. "You already look like one standing here with all that snow in your hair." Before I could say a word, he picked me up and fastened his mouth to mine. My legs wound around his waist without thought, and I kissed him back as gentle snow fell against our faces.

creator for abandoning me with such idiotic company. Right Head: The forest is so cool! =D There’s so many different kinds of flowers here than there in the flat grassy area. I want to name all of them, but Left says I can’t just keep calling them all “Right flower” and “Right flower two.” =/ So, this red one can be “Right flower A,” and the white can be “Right flower B!” =)  I like to pick them. I have a whole bunch of them now! Left doesn’t like it though. He says that flowers will attract bugs. Why would bugs want flowers? They aren’t even big enough to pick them up! Left can be so stupid sometimes. =P

Gaia isn't some mystical mumbo-jumbo conjured up by a bunch of superstitious idiots. Nor is Gaia simply a name for a power beyond our understanding, one we follow blindly like primitive nature lovers or stoned hippies. Simply put, Gaia is life — all life, from the single-celled organism up to the blue whale. But it's even more. It's also the world that life inhabits, the complex, evolving, self-regulating system that makes existence possible. It is through Gaia the atmosphere and the seas and the forests combine to maintain the ecosystem sustaining life. Everything in this world has a beginning, an end, and a purpose in maintaining the balance in which we exist.

In fact, every American that Dickens shows in the book is a homicidal idiot, except one--and he wanted to live abroad! Well! You can't tell me that a degenerate bunch like that could have taken the very river- bottom swamps that Dickens describes, and in three generations have turned 'em into the prosperous cement-paved powerful country that they are today! Yet Europe goes on reading hack authors who still steal their ideas from 'Martin Chuzzlewit' and saying, 'There, I told you so!' Say, do you realize that at the time Dickens described the Middlewest--my own part of the country--as entirely composed of human wet rags, a fellow named Abe Lincoln and another named Grant were living there; and not more than maybe ten years later, a boy called William Dean Howells (I heard him lecture once at Yale, and I notice that they still read his book about Venice IN Venice) had been born? Dickens couldn't find or see people like that. Perhaps some European observers today are missing a few Lincolns and Howellses!

I was thinking about changing into a different sort of person than the one I am. I do think about that. I read a book called The Art of Loving. A lot of things seemed clear while I was reading it but afterwards I went back to being more or less the same. What has Cam ever done that actually hurt me, anyway, as Haro once said. And how am I better than he is after the way i felt the night Mother lived instead of died? I made a promise to myself i would try.I went over there one day taking them a bakery cake - which Cam eats now as happily as anyone else - and I heard their voices out in the yard - now it’s summer, they love to sit in the sun - Mother saying to some visitor, “Oh, yes I was, I was all set to take off into the wild blue yonder, and Cam here, this idiot, came and danced outside my door with a bunch of his hippie friends - ‘ ‘My God, woman,’ roared Cam, but you could tell he didn’t care now, ‘members of an ancient holy discipline.” I had a strange feeling, like I was walking n coals and trying a spell so I wouldn’t get burnt. Forgiveness in families is a mystery to me, how it comes or how it lasts

No dragon was safe in the Sky Palace, but the ones in the most danger by far were the daughters of Queen Scarlet. Or was it now daughter, singular? Ruby hadn’t seen her sister, Tourmaline, in three days. Not since the night they went flying together and, high in the starlit sky, glowing in the light of two of the moons, Tourmaline had whispered that she was almost ready. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re only ten, and furthermore, you’ll never be ready,” Ruby had whispered back. “She killed her mother plus all three of her sisters and eleven of ours. There’s no way to defeat her.” “She can’t be queen forever,” Tourmaline said. “She has been queen forever,” Ruby argued. “Twenty-four years is a long time but not that long,” said Tourmaline. “Queen Oasis was queen longer than that, and look what happened to her.” “Are you planning to throw a scavenger at Mother?” Ruby asked. “Because I’m sure she’d appreciate a snack before she kills you.” “It’s always going to be like this,” Tourmaline hissed. She flicked clouds away with her dark orange wings. “Until one of us challenges her and wins. You and I are the only ones left now — the only hope the SkyWings have of a decent queen. Ruby, if I defeat her and become queen, we can get out of this war.” Ruby wasn’t so sure about that. She’d met Burn, and she suspected the SandWing wouldn’t let her allies go that easily. But it didn’t matter — there was no way Tourmaline could win a battle with their mother. “The prophecy will take care of the war,” she argued. “The brightest night is in four days … ” “Right.” Tourmaline rolled her eyes. “I’ll just wait for a bunch of eggs that haven’t even hatched yet to save us. Ruby, I don’t want to wait for things to happen to me. I want to make them happen.” “I don’t want to watch you die,” Ruby growled. Her sister hovered in front of her for a moment. Stars glittered in her eyes, searching Ruby’s. She’s wondering if I want the throne for myself, Ruby thought. She thinks I’m trying to talk her out of it because I’m planning something. Like I’m that stupid. “Well, don’t worry, I won’t do it yet,” Tourmaline promised. “Another few months of training, maybe. I’m feeling really strong, though. I beat Vermilion in a fight the other day. Want to hear about it?” Ruby

It is a well known fact that warriors and wizards do not get along, because one side considers the other side to be a collection of bloodthirsty idiots who can't walk and think at the same time, while the other side is naturally suspicious of a body of men who mumble a lot and wear long dresses. Oh, say the wizards, if we're going to be like that, then, what about all those studded collars and oiled muscles down at the Young Men's Pagan Association? To which the heroes reply, that's a pretty good allegation coming from a bunch of wimpsoes who won't go near a woman on account, can you believe it, of their mystical power being sort of drained out. Right, say the wizards, that just about does it, you and your leather posing pouches. Oh yeah, say the heroes, why don't you... And so on. This sort of thing has been going on for centuries, and caused a number of major battles which have left large tracts of land uninhabitable because of magical harmonics. In fact, the hero even at this moment galloping towards the Vortex Plains didn't get involved in this kind of argument, because they didn't take it seriously, mainly because this particular hero was a heroine. A redheaded one. Now, there is a tendency at a point like this to look over one's shoulder at the cover artist and start going on at length about leather, thigh-boots and naked blades. Words like "full", "round" and even "pert" creep into the narrative, until the writer has to go and have a cold shower and lie down. Which is all rather silly, because any woman setting out to make a living by the sword isn't about to go around looking like something off the cover of the more advanced kind of lingerie catalogue for the specialised buyer. Oh well, all right. The point that must be made is that although Herrena the Henna-Haired Harridan would look quite stunning after a good bath, a heavy-duty manicure, and the pick of the leather racks in Woo Hun Ling's Oriental Exotica and Martial Aids on Heroes Street, she was currently quite sensibly dressed in light chain mail, soft boots, and a short sword.

I'm only 16," she said, "and I don't know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I'm pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.

I'm only sixteen and I don't know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I'm pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.

Liberals always have had a love-hate relationship with the Constitution—they love it when they can use it to abort babies or let gay people get married. They hate it when its language gets in the way of their big-government schemes, like censoring conservative media outlets or investigating troublesome, truth-telling journalists. They especially hate the fact that the Constitution explicitly—yes, explicitly—protects gun owners. To get around that inconvenient truth, the left does what it does best: It denies that things say what they actually say, or mean what they actually mean. Or as everyone’s favorite sexual harasser once famously put it, “It depends on what the meaning of is is.” The gun grabbers’ useful idiot, Sen. Chuck Schumer, once claimed that his fellow Democrats needed to admit that there was such as thing as a Second Amendment that gave people “a constitutional right to bear arms.” But before we think Senator Schumer was actually on our side, he went on in the same breath to call for a “compromise” that allowed the left to ban a whole bunch of different guns and thus infringe on that aforementioned constitutional right to bear arms.

my arms, around my legs, and suddenly the force field disappeared. I could move again! The only problem was, the instant I did, my clothes all fell off. The laser had sliced my shirt, my pants, my shoes and socks, even my underwear, into pieces—and had done it all without touching my skin. “Get me out of here!” I yelled. “Get me some clothes!” No answer. Did that mean there wasn’t anyone there? Just as well, I decided, since I didn’t have any clothes on. But how long were the aliens going to leave me here? Or was someone watching me even now—watching, but not speaking? That made sense, in a way. If the alien mission was to study earthlings, then probably they were doing that right now—especially since I was the only one they had. I decided if I was going to be the sample earthling, I was going to do my best not to act like an idiot. So I began to take deep breaths. I felt myself getting a little calmer. I mean, it wasn’t like no one had ever seen me naked before. I’ve been to the doctor. And next year I would be taking showers in gym class. Come to think of it, given my choice of getting stuck naked in front of a bunch of aliens, or in a seventh-grade gym class, I’d choose the aliens any day. At least they won’t flick your butt with a wet towel! Unfortunately, just as I was getting calm, my little chamber started to fill with gas. Was this a test, to see if I would panic? Were they going to knock me out and do some medical exams? Or were they going to kill me and dissect me? I held my breath until my lungs were

Are you well, Holiness?” he asked. The Chalaine went to the wall opposite from where he stood and sat slumped against it, hugging her legs and putting her chin on her knees. “Would you quit using the ‘Holiness’ honorific? It makes me feel like we never met.” “Of course, Chalaine. I apologize.” “And quit being sorry, too. People are always telling me how sorry they are for the stupidest things.” “Yes, Chalaine.” “And don’t answer me like I’m Captain Tolbrook barking orders to a bunch of idiot apprentices.” “I see. I will limit my responses to hand gestures and grunts from this point forward.” The Chalaine tried to decipher his face. Irritatingly as ever, she couldn’t make sense of it.

I don't think it will do any harm if he is made aware that we are not a bunch of idiots.

What are you doing?” I demanded. “Why did you go running off like that? Are you an idiot?”   “Let go!” She struggled, apparently not worried about the curious looks we were getting. “Leave me alone!”   “What do you mean leave you alone?” I hissed, hanging onto her arm doggedly. “What if another Foul Woman turns up, like the one that got Jack?”   She winced. Before I could apologize for my trademark sensitivity, she recovered and poked her finger at my face. “It’s none of your business what I do! I don’t answer to you, Mio Yamato. I’m an adult, for God’s sake! I’m nearly twenty-one years old.”   “Then start acting like it! We’re on the same side here. We are trying to help you.”   “How?” Her voice hit a pitch so shrill that it echoed even in the middle of all the deadening sounds of the city. We got a slew of horrified stares. Rachel didn’t seem to notice. “How? You have no idea what happened to me! You have no idea what’s still happening to me…”   All the fight seemed to drain right out of her. Her tense shoulders sagged and, to my horror, big, fat tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.   Well, crap.   Jack and me … we didn’t do this. We didn’t cry in front of each other. We didn’t do that Reality TV Big Emotional Moment stuff. It wasn’t us. If this ha d been Rachel’s sister in front of me, I’d have known just how to handle it – let her turn away, let her get herself back together without trying to help. Jack would already have been sucking it up.   But this wasn’t Jack. And Rachel wasn’t sucking it up. She was just standing in front of me in the middle of a crowded London train station courtyard, with one arm wrapped around her middle like she was about to fall apart, crying silent, pathetic tears.   Shinobu’s face filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He made an abortive move to touch Rachel, then stopped and stepped back, as if realizing contact from him probably wouldn’t be welcome. “Then you must tell us, Rachel-san,” he said gently. “Trust us with your fears. Trust that we will listen and understand.”   He gave me an urgent look and mimed a hugging movement.   Thanks. Thanks a bunch.   Feeling stiff and uncomfortable, I put my arms around Rachel and patted her on the back. “Shush. It’s all right now. It’s all right.”   To my surprise she flopped against me, burying her head in my shoulder as she cried. It was like … like she’d just been waiting for someone to lean on all along. For the first time it really dawned on me that Rachel and Jack were different. Yeah, they had something of the same attitude, a lot of the same mannerisms, even looked alike if you ignored Jack’s goth thing – but they weren’t the same person. I needed to start seeing Rachel for who she was, not just Jack’s Big Sister.   I hugged her a bit tighter, and patted her back with a bit more enthusiasm. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand exactly how you’re feeling, because … you’re you, and only you can know that. But I can sympathize. Maybe I can even help. Please tell me what’s going on.

The world is full of iotas, iguanas, indents, ignoramuses, indoctrinators, imposers, ifs and illusions. If you ask me, we’re nothing but a bunch of idiots.

The dominance of football in Texas high schools had become the focus of raging debate all over the state in 1983. The governor of Texas, Mark White, appointed Perot to head a committee on educational reform. In pointing to school systems he thought were skewed in favor of extracurricular activities, Perot took particular aim at Odessa. On ABC’s Nightline, he called Permian fans “football crazy,” and during the show it was pointed out that a $5.6 million high school football stadium had been built in Odessa in 1982. The stadium included a sunken artificial-surface field eighteen feet below ground level, a two-story press box with VIP seating for school board members and other dignitaries, poured concrete seating for 19,032, and a full-time caretaker who lived in a house on the premises. “He made it look like we were a bunch of West Texas hicks, fanatics,” said Allen of Perot. The stadium “was something the community took a lot of pride in and he went on television and said you’re a bunch of idiots for building it.” Most of the money for the stadium had come from a voter-approved bond issue.

My only other church experience had happened at age six. My parents had never spoken about religion before, but strangely and out of the blue I was forced to attend Sunday school. We sat in a circle for story time, the stern teacher lady brandishing an ominous-looking black book, telling us, “This is the best book ever written!” I was wide open to all manner of story and myth, and ready to rock the best one ever. The stories were interesting, but every time she got rolling, she stopped to explain everything like we were a bunch of idiots, sucking the magic out by trying to prove that it was all so real and important. Boring.

There you are, Amelia,” his lordship drawled in a bored voice. “Thank God you’ve finally come in. You’re the only bright note in this otherwise dreary affair. Can’t imagine what Lady Winterson was thinking this year. No dancing and a bunch of ill-mannered, grubby children kicking up a fuss. It’s beastly, if you want to know. I don’t know how you can bear it.” Nigel felt Amelia’s slender body go rigid, understandably, since two of the grubby children were her siblings. He could also tell that while a retort hovered on the tip of her tongue, her sense of courtesy prevented her from voicing it. But Nigel was done with niceties when it came to idiots like Broadmore. “Really, Broadmore?” he said. “Don’t mean to insult you, but the children aren’t the ones kicking up the fuss.” He inspected one young lad, dressed neat as a pin and sitting quietly with Lady Peterson, then shifted his gaze onto Broadmore’s garish purple and yellow striped waistcoat that made Nigel’s color choice look positively subdued. “In fact, I’m forced to remark that the children seem both better behaved and better dressed than you. Can’t imagine why you thought that particular color combination in a waistcoat was a good idea. Makes you look rather like a large insect.” Broadmore gaped at him momentarily, but then his dark eyebrows snapped together in a thunderous scowl. Amelia made a choking sound before clutching Nigel’s sleeve and pulling him away. “Excuse us, Lord Broadmore,” she said in a bright voice over her shoulder, “but I’ve been meaning to introduce Mr. Dash to my sister Penelope. You know this is her first ton party, and she’s feeling a little shy.” Broadmore’s scowl was replaced by a smirk. “Oh, of course. Dash is the perfect fellow to sit with the children while we enjoy ourselves. I’ll come rescue you in a few minutes, my dear. You needn’t worry that I’ll abandon you this evening.” Before Nigel could make a suitable riposte, Amelia dragged him off to the other end of the cavernous drawing room.

Do you smell smoke?” asked Baltsaros quietly, tying the sash around his waist. Tom frowned, nodding his head as he kept his eyes on the corridor. A moment later, the big man let out a startled grunt and pulled away from the door as a figure burst in. In seconds, Tom had the intruder down on the floor, one hand wrapped in the man’s cloak, the other balled in a fist above his head. “Tom! It’s me, you idiot.” “Jon?” Tom dropped his hand and blinked in surprise. Jon pulled the bunched fabric out from Tom’s fist and tried to sit up, pushing back on the stunned man’s chest. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here,” said Jon, brushing himself off as he stood assisted by a grinning Tom. “We’ve only got about ten minutes before the guard at the side gate changes, and the next one’s not amenable to bribes.

And we’re going to stop acting like a bunch of fucking idiots and talk things through. No lies, no withholding information, no nonsense. Communication.” Dex arched an eyebrow. “Yes, that goes for me too, wise guy.” “Okay.” Dex’s smile grew wide before he planted a kiss on Sloane’s lips. “Have I told you I love you?” “I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” Sloane teased, releasing Dex’s arm and returning the kiss. “I love you.” Sloane

Opera? Dear God why?’ That was the last thing I needed. A bunch of fat and painted idiots wailing at me from a stage for several hours. ‘Just

Viktor, I’m not a freaking idiot. I’m a doctor. I didn’t save your daughter’s life just to hand her over to a bunch of damned Russian mobsters.

Define Irony... bunch of idiots dancing on a plane to a song made famous by a band who died in a plane crash".

We fight for mass especially with a reusable upper stage, which nobody has ever succeeded in,” he said. “Just FYI. It’s not like other rocket scientists were huge idiots who wanted to throw their rockets away all the time. It’s fucking hard to make something like this. One of the hardest engineering problems known to man is making a reusable orbital rocket. Nobody has succeeded. For a good reason. Our gravity is a bit heavy. On Mars this would be no problem. Moon, piece of cake. On Earth, fucking hard. Just barely possible. It’s stupidly difficult to have a fully reusable orbital system. It would be one of the biggest breakthroughs in the history of humanity. That’s why it’s hard. Why does this hurt my brain? It’s because of that. Really, we’re just a bunch of monkeys. How did we even get this far? It beats me. We were swinging through the trees, eating bananas not long ago.

Where the members of Green Day were, in their own self-effacing ways, serious and ambitious musicians, the members of blink-182 cultivated the impression that they were a bunch of idiots.

If he'd spent his time preparing for anything since the end of the world, shooting a bunch of screaming cis idiots was it.

Your potential to create wealth is found between your education on how to make money, and your willingness to live in poverty. By education on how to make money, I am referring here to the many skills you need to acquire for a job, in communication, but also organizational and ethical skills. By willingness to live in poverty, I am referring here to the sacrifices you are willing to make. You see, people fear poverty as if they could avoid it, but the one who escapes it faster, is the one who embraces it better. This means spending as less as possible in your habits, not worrying about what others think of you, and committing yourself to become a servant, even a slave, to your higher self. The reason why so many people struggle to accumulate wealth, is because they are avoiding both of these things just mentioned. They don't want to work, for themselves or others, they aren't willing to make sacrifices, they care a lot about what others think of them, they don't want to save any money, they spend without any sense of responsibility, and they also have no interest in investing on their education, either through formal means or by reading books. Most people don't read, they are waiting for the world to offer them the solutions they want, and the trust luck and shortcuts more than they trust their own capacity to achieve things with their own efforts. That's why they can't get to where they want in life. What I just said, can be applied to any other area of life. Even a good marriage requires education on how to make it work and sacrifices to make it work, and just as much as a dog will require you to sacrifice your time and learn better ways of communicating with him. Your own existence depends on a balance of an education on opportunities and a commitment to find them. So what is the most imbecile thing anyone can tell you? The most dumb persons you will ever find, are those who tell you the exact opposite of what I just said, and in doing so, separate everything in different categories. They will say that happiness doesn't require wealth, or that wealthy individuals are miserable. They will say that love requires luck, or that education isn't necessary to become successful. And you have quite a bunch of idiots in this world, marketing their foolish views on others, as if they were absolute truth. You tend to buy into such views with the love and attachment you feel for them. Thus, be wary of the merchants of incompetence. They will try to sell you the most stupid ideas about life. And if you trust them, you will fail, and keep on failing, until you realize you trusted the wrong people. If you think education is expensive, know that stupidity is a lot more. It can cost you an entire existence in the dark. The path to enlightenment is a path of integration, while the distance is measured in segregations. Stupidity is found in the relativity of everything. The dumber one is, the more he or she will think in terms of differentiations. The wiser one is, the more he or she will focus on the similarities and correlations, because enlightenment is found in an upward route towards oneness.

This whole "good guy with a gun stopping a bad guy with a gun" fantasy is pure, steamin' bullshit served up for a bunch of gun-humpin' imbeciles. As we ALL should've learned by now, before that bad guy gets snuffed, a whole lot of innocents are gonna die. What other life-threatening situation would we approach in such an ass-backwards mannner? Why this idiotic notion that it's somehow easier to stop a shooter in mid-rampage than using every available precaution to ensure that gun never finds its way into their hands in the first place?

He nearly scored the equaliser and he set you up too! “Shame you couldn’t score when we needed you to.” Surprised by Joe’s tone, Adam instinctively took a step back. Joe, by now, had become red-faced with anger and the thug was very wary of the big burly goalkeeper. Lee, a small lad with brown spiky hair and a missing front tooth, sneakily moved around Joe and began poking fun at Charlie’s filthy strip. “Ha. “Old Charles has pooed his pants after missing that sitter! “Look at the state of his kit!” Several of the team sniggered at Lee’s childish taunt. Charlie blushed at the pathetic insult but still remained silent. He had spent years being taunted by Adam and the pack of schoolyard bullies. He had always preferred to keep quiet rather than risk making them angry – and face further public humiliation. He couldn’t wait to start senior school in the autumn and get away from this bunch of idiots for good. Joe, though, wouldn’t let it drop. He grabbed Lee’s shirt and pushed him roughly away.

You were utterly perfect,” he said, forcing me from my thoughts. “I’ve never hated myself more than I did that night because you were the girl I should’ve been with. You were the one I wanted to be with.” And yet, I wasn’t the one he’d chosen to go with. Even now, all of these years later, it still hurt to recall the pain I’d felt after he bailed on me. And hearing him say those words? Well, they kind of pissed me off. “Then why didn’t you do something back then?” He pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. He dropped his right hand to my hip and tugged on the fabric of my pajama shorts, bunching the fabric in his fist. “Because I was a fucking idiot, Gemma.” “Besides, you wouldn’t have wanted me back then,” he continued. “Back then? I spent most of my time thinking with my dick, and you deserved a hell of a lot better than me. You, Gemma Michaels, deserve the world.” He ran his left hand up the side of my body, bringing his hand to rest at my waist, and I had to fight the urge to pull him closer to me. I wanted more, but I wanted to see how far he was willing to take things, first. “And I would like to be the one to show you that,” he said. “Show me what?” I asked. He grinned. “The world, sweetheart.

Harvath hated the internet. He hated the political media complex even more. A bunch of loud-mouthed jackasses on the left and the right were getting rich by fomenting strife and convincing good Americans that their way of life was being destroyed by the other side. The truth was that Americans had it better than any other people at any other time in history. The United States was at the peak of the mountain—lean too far left, too far right, forward or back, and we risked losing everything. Instead of letting idiots on TV, radio, and the internet convince us that our good lives were terrible, we needed to be practicing gratitude. Only by recognizing how good we had it and being grateful for it would we ever hope to preserve it for the next generation. Frankly, there were days that the rampant stupidity in the United States

Sometimes I think this whole movement is led by a bunch of idiots.

What are you doing here?” “Rescuing you, obviously.” “Seriously?” “You have to ask? You’re my prisoner. A bunch of jumped-up idiots just wander in and steal you? I’m not going to let them get away with that-“ “Oh…no, I suppose not.” “It makes both of us look bad. Besides, I still need you.

I'd been expecting to get back home from the library in time to eat a good lunch. Instead we'd gotten arrested like a bunch of idiots, because I couldn't convince my men not to mess with some of the most dangerous people on the planet: librarians trying to protect their books.

The Chinese for pay is pei, and the Farsi Iranian word for bad is bad. The Uzbek for chop is chop, and in the extinct Aboriginal language of Mbaram a dog was called a dog. The Mayan for hole is hole and the Korean for many is mani. When, in the mountains of the Hindu Kush, an Afghan wants to show you something, he will use the word show; and the ancient Aztecs used the Nahuatl word huel to mean well. Any idiot can deduce from this that all the languages of the world are related. However, anyone of reasonable intelligence will realize that they are just a bunch of coincidences. There are a lot of words and a lot of languages, but there are a limited number of sounds. We're bound to coincide sometimes.

How did we get here, where a bunch of idiotic amateur actors are putting on a pathetically bad show that doesn’t even pretend to be a real presidency? No one in the administration, from Trump on down to his lowliest toady, knows anything about governing.

Sam Figgis had hung holly about the walls and dangled a huge bunch of mistletoe from the middle beam and poor Jane Clewer was always walking under it accidentally and waiting a little, but nobody kissed her. These things Peter noticed; he also noticed that Dicky the Idiot was allowed to be present as a very great favour because it was Christmas Eve and snowing so hard, that the room was more crowded than he had ever seen it, and that Mother Figgis, with her round face and her gnarled and knotted hands, was at her very merriest and in the best of tempers.

The Idiot was obviously talking about you,” Zoe told me. “He sounded really upset. He wouldn’t be that peeved about activating most people. But he hates you with every last fiber of his being and will until the day he dies.” “Well, that’s reassuring,” I said. “You blew up his office,” Warren told me. “Because you put a live round in a mortar!” I reminded him. “If I hadn’t aimed it toward this building, a bunch of innocent people would have died!” Warren shrugged, as though this argument wasn’t convincing.

I’ve found that it’s useful to distinguish between pain and suffering, because pain and suffering are two different things. Pain is the inevitable and unavoidable part of being human and of being an estranged parent. Unfortunately, you have relatively little control over that. However, you can gain increasing control and awareness over how long you feel pain. You can reduce the meaning of it, the actions you take that increase it, and the distance the pain travels through other aspects of your life. That’s the suffering part. The difference between pain and suffering is an insight that found its way from Buddhist teachings into contemporary psychotherapy. Psychiatrist Mark Levine, who developed the Mind to Mindful program, gives this example: “Let’s say I stub my toe walking across the kitchen floor and it really hurts. That’s pain. But then I start telling myself a bunch of things about stubbing my toe such as ‘You idiot, why don’t you watch where you’re going?’ Or ‘Next time you’re going to fall flat on your face or break your hip!’ Or ‘This is so typical of you to be so clumsy. Just one more example of what a screw-up you are!’ ” That’s suffering. Suffering lengthens the experience of pain because it creates an endless cognitive feedback loop where pain is always its terminus. Where suffering begets suffering begets suffering.

Just FYI. It’s not like other rocket scientists were huge idiots who wanted to throw their rockets away all the time. It’s fucking hard to make something like this. One of the hardest engineering problems known to man is making a reusable orbital rocket. Nobody has succeeded. For a good reason. Our gravity is a bit heavy. On Mars this would be no problem. Moon, piece of cake. On Earth, fucking hard. Just barely possible. It’s stupidly difficult to have a fully reusable orbital system. It would be one of the biggest breakthroughs in the history of humanity. That’s why it’s hard. Why does this hurt my brain? It’s because of that. Really, we’re just a bunch of monkeys. How did we even get this far? It beats me. We were swinging through the trees, eating bananas not long ago.

Darwin's theory of evolution was simple, beautiful, majestic and awe-inspiring. But because it contradicts the allegorical babblings of a bunch of made-up old books, it's been under attack since day one. That's just tough luck for Darwin. If the Bible had contained a passage that claimed gravity is caused by God pulling objects toward the ground with magic invisible threads, we'd still be debating Newton with idiots too.

If it was just historians on their own, then I’d be considering that because everyone knows they’re a bunch of overeducated, intellectually stunted idiots with delusions of adequacy,

Tessie sat down next to her. “When you’re young, you think you have all the answers. You’re right wing or you’re left wing and the other side is a bunch of idiots. You know. When you get a little older, though, you start to more and more see the grays. Now I understand that true idiots are the ones who are certain they have the answers. It is never that simple. Do you know what I mean?” “I

Hank continued to look confused. “So, what’s she like otherwise? Is she a nice person?” Duane shrugged. “Not particularly. She’s businesslike, to the point. Cletus calls her efficient.” “Duane and Cletus would know.” I indicated to my brother with my chin. “She’ll talk to them, but she still doesn’t speak to me.” “So, Miss Too Pretty ignoring you has your boxers in a bunch?” Hank looked like he was stifling a laugh. “Like I said, it has nothing to do with her looks. And she can keep on ignoring me. I don’t care about that. But you’d be irritated too if someone you didn’t know told you your face was distorted.” “She didn’t say your face was distorted, dummy.” Duane rolled his eyes. I pointed at my brother. “She said yourface was perfectly symmetrical and myface was wonky. And that—plus I’m an idiot—is how she could tell us apart.” Hank barked a laugh. I glowered at my friend. “And I’m the one who needed to apologize?” “Now see, I don’t think you needed to apologize for mistaking her for a stripper. I think you needed to apologize for suggesting she take off her clothes. There’s the difference.” Duane nodded at his own words. “Technically, I didn’t suggest she take off her clothes. I suggested she keep them on.” Hank rubbed his chin. “You shouldn’t have made any reference to her clothes at all, especially since you’ll be working with her for the foreseeable future. That’s just unprofessional.” “Unprofessional?” I couldn’t believe the words out of my friend’s mouth, especially considering his practice of sending strippers to welcome me home was the cause of this mess in the first place. “Don’t look at me like that. I work in a strip club; you work in an auto shop. Of course I have to talk to my employees about their costumes and such.” Hank gave me a pointed look as he brought the beer bottle to his mouth and said before taking a sip, “The only stripping you should be discussing with this woman is salvaging for car parts.

I swear this place has a bunch of monkeys in the kitchen, throwing shit together and charging an arm and a leg for it. And idiots like Lauren eat it up because they’re certain eating something besides steak or a burger or a plain old chicken sandwich makes them special.

By all reports, it may as well be a labyrinth for as much sense as its layout makes. You’d be hard-pressed to find a map of it, either,” Akos said. “But if you and your fighting force want to run around like a bunch of idiots, giving the oblates plenty of time to summon the whole army of Hessa--the best army in all of Thuvhe, I should add--then go right ahead.” “So the layout is nonsensical, there are no maps, and you just happen to know how to navigate it,” Lazmet said with a sneer. “How convenient.” “None of this is convenient,” Akos said, scowling. “You brought me here because you thought I had something useful to tell you about Hessa, and now I tell you I know something useful and you refuse to believe it?” Akos let out a short laugh.

Pakistani media is the place of blackmailers that displays only the slush fund of internal and external forces by the bunch of idiot devils, unaware of the value and importance of the media.

the former NBA All-Star and current TV analyst Charles Barkley went off on a four-minute tirade about Morey during what was meant to be a halftime analysis of a game. “. . . I’m not worried about Daryl Morey. He’s one of those idiots who believe in analytics. . . . I’ve always believed analytics was crap. . . . Listen, I wouldn’t know Daryl Morey if he walked in this room right now. . . . The NBA is about talent. All these guys who run these organizations who talk about analytics, they have one thing in common: They’re a bunch of guys who ain’t never played the game, and they never got the girls in high school and they just want to get in the game.

Who do you say that I am?” “You are the Christ.” And we will confess. And we will do it joyously. And the world will snarl at us. And they will hate us the more. They will belittle us and say we are a bunch of kooks and idiots and antiquated fools. And we, like the apostles punished for speaking the name of Jesus in Jerusalem, will suffer with joy, and we will shout it all the louder. “There is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.

Nasruddin was once called up to visit the king. A neighbor saw him hurrying along the road carrying a bag of turnips. “What are those for?” he asked. “I’ve been called to see the king. I thought it would be best to bring some kind of present.” “You’re bringing him turnips? But turnips are peasant food! He’s a king! You should bring him something more appropriate, like grapes.” Nasruddin agreed, and came to the king carrying a bunch of grapes. The king was not amused. “You’re giving me grapes? But I’m a king! This is ridiculous. Take this idiot out and teach him some manners! Throw each and every one of the grapes at him and then kick him out of the palace.” The emperor’s guards dragged Nasruddin into a side room and began pelting him with grapes. As they did so, he fell on his knees and began crying, “Thank you, thank you God, for your infinite mercy!” “Why are you thanking God?” they asked. “You’re being totally humiliated!” Nasruddin replied, “Oh, I was just thinking, ‘Thank God I didn’t bring the turnips!’