Challenge Accepted Funny Quotes

Consumers are fickle—they crave something new, but not that kind of new. They want to be challenged but comforted at the same time. They desire fresh takes, but only in a form that's familiar to them. That's to say, audiences will accept something different as long as it feels the same.

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

Open your eyes, Eva. I want you to see who’s inside you. She did as he asked and opened her eyes. And stiffened in surprise. He was red. And his eyes were black. And, as she watched, he grew to his seven-foot-tall size. He grew everywhere, in fact, and she gasped at the sudden stretch inside her, the tightness almost unbearable. Those freaky, all-black eyes narrowed in challenge. He was daring her to accept him, she realized. Accept all of him. Even his hands had turned to claws, though he was careful where he held her not to scratch her. “Your eyes are glowing again,” he growled. “You’re so beautiful.” He did a slow slide out of her and then pushed back in, finishing with a roll of his hips that made her see stars. She moaned at the exquisite fullness, bordering on the edge of pain. “Who’s fucking you right now, Eva?” “You are.” His hips rolled again. “Who am I?” “Asmodeus.” And again. “Who am I.” “My demon. My big, red demon with his big, red co— Oh, fuck, Ash.” His next thrust sent her core clenching up, and it was his turn to moan. “You feel so good. So damned tight, you’re squeezing me like a fist.” “More, baby. I want more.

Open your eyes, Eva. I want you to see who’s inside you. She did as he asked and opened her eyes. And stiffened in surprise. He was red. And his eyes were black. And, as she watched, he grew to his seven-foot-tall size. He grew everywhere, in fact, and she gasped at the sudden stretch inside her, the tightness almost unbearable. Those freaky, all-black eyes narrowed in challenge. He was daring her to accept him, she realized. Accept all of him. Even his hands had turned to claws, though he was careful where he held her not to scratch her. “Your eyes are glowing again,” he growled. “You’re so beautiful.” He did a slow slide out of her and then pushed back in, finishing with a roll of his hips that made her see stars. She moaned at the exquisite fullness, bordering on the edge of pain. “Who’s fucking you right now, Eva?” “You are.” His hips rolled again. “Who am I?” “Asmodeus.” And again. “Who am I.” “My demon. My big, red demon with his big, red co— Oh, fuck, Ash.” His next thrust sent her core clenching up, and it was his turn to moan. “You feel so good. So damned tight, you’re squeezing me like a fist.” “More, baby. I want more.

The Daring Bicyclist Jim was always trying different things.  On this particular day he decided he wanted to see how fast a person could ride a bicycle before it became too hard to ride. So he asked a friend if he could tie his bike to the bumper of his car as he drove faster and faster.  His friend agreed. Before they got going they agreed on a way to communicate.  Jim would ring the bell on his bicycle once if he wanted to go faster, twice if the speed was good and repeatedly if he wanted to go slower. So the two adventurers took off and things were going pretty well.  The driver got up to over 50 miles per hour and Jim was able to handle that speed, following along on his bike. All of a sudden a shiny red sports car came up from behind.  The driver pulled alongside and revved up his engine as if he wanted to race.  Jim’s friend accepted the challenge and started to speed up.  He went faster and faster and soon forgot all about poor Jim tied to his bumper. A little way down the road, as the cars raced side by side, a policeman with a radar gun sat and watched as they sped past.  The policeman clocked them at 99 miles per hour. Before the policeman started to pursue the speeding cars, he reported in to headquarters on his radio.  “You are not going to believe this,” the policeman said.  “I am about to go after two cars racing down the road doing almost 100 miles per hour and there is this guy on a bicycle riding behind them waving his arms and ringing a bell trying to pass them!

I think I'll accept the challenge to battle. I can choose the terms, right? And I don't have the faintest idea how to 'prevent' a revolution. Besides, as far as I know, revolutions can get out of hand. Remember the German revolution, with the guillotine?" Derna smirked. "German revolution? Guillotine? The guillotine was used in the French revolution. Nice try, little brother." "I'm actually impressed he knew what a guillotine was," commented Armen, deadpan. I glared at the two of them. Typical big sisters. They'd just ruined my chance to show off my knowledge.

Never mind. Sorry. Everything can wait. Let’s stay on topic. You feel I’ve neglected you. Physically in general. Kissing specifically. Fair enough. Challenge accepted.” “Challenge? I didn’t issue any challenge.” Did I? “Let’s do this.” “Do what?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Whoa!” My hands flew into the air and I moved to escape. “This is stupid.” He blocked my path. “Hold on. Not stupid at all. You have a valid point, just give me a minute.” He rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, rocked on the balls of his feet a few times, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Okay. I’m ready.” I frowned. “You have to gear-up to kiss me?