Chips Funny Quotes

I think that's Justin Bieber. Standing in front of a line up of Lay's potato chips, Qhuinn looked overhead to the speaker inset into the ceiling tiles. Yup, I'm right, and I hate that I know that. Next to him John Matthew signed, How do you know? The little shit is everywhere. I swear, that kid is proof the Antichrist is coming. Maybe it's already here. Would explain Miley Cyrus.

Sometimes, when I find it hard to sleep, I’ll think of when we first met, of the newness of each other’s body, and my impatience to know everything about this person. Looking back, I should have taken it more slowly, measured him out over the course of fifty years rather than cramming him in so quickly. By the end of our first month together, he’d been so thoroughly interrogated that all I had left was breaking news—what little had happened in the few hours since I’d last seen him. Were he a cop or an emergency-room doctor, there might have been a lot to catch up on, but, like me, Hugh works alone, so there was never much to report. “I ate some potato chips,” he might say, to which I’d reply, “What kind?” or “That’s funny, so did I!” More often than not we’d just breathe into our separate receivers. Are you still there?” I’m here.” Good. Don’t hang up.” I won’t.

You’re not the only one in this relationship who loves a challenge,” he says. “And just so you know for the future, I like my double-chocolate chip cookies warm and soft in the middle . . . and without magnets glued to them.

What a host of little incidents, all deep-buried in the past -- problems that had once been urgent, arguments that had once been keen, anecdotes that were funny only because one remembered the fun. Did any emotion really matter when the last trace of it had vanished from human memory; and if that were so, what a crowd of emotions clung to him as to their last home before annihilation? He must be kind to them, must treasure them in his mind before their long sleep.

Jose: Do not drop me senor Jeff:i wont drop you,jose Jose:then i be jose jalapeno on the floor Peanut:do a little tap dance and we got salsa! Jeff:Thats terrible! Peanut:not with the right chips its not Jeff:stop it! im sorry jose jose:its okay jeff: okay Jose:ill kick his ass later peanut:i'll turn ur ass into guacamole jeff: stop it! peanut: i will stir u with ur own stick! jeff:stop it! peanut: this is the way we stir the guac stir the guac stir the guac. OLE!!

Well," Mr. Cheeseman interjected. "Perhaps there's an easy solution to this. Maybe Captain Fabulous has an alter ego." "What's an alter ego?" asked Gerard. "It's a superhero's true but secret identity," said Chip. "You know, the way that Superman is really Clark Kent." "Superman is really Clark Kent?" "It's pretty obvious," said Penny. "To everyone but you and Lois Lane." "Okay," Gerard conceded. "Captain Fabulous's alter ego will be...Teddy Roosevelt.

Nicole’s door opened, and she stomped down the hall. “I have something to say,” she said, giving him the Slitty Eyes of Death. “You’re totally unfair, and if I run away, you shouldn’t be surprised.” “Don’t make me put a computer chip in your ear,” Liam answered. “It’s not funny! I hate you.” “Well, I love you, even if you did ruin my life by turning into a teenager,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Did you study for your test?” “Yes.” “Good.” He looked at his daughter—so much like Emma, way too pretty. Why weren’t there convent schools anymore? Or chastity belts? “Want some supper? I saved your plate.” She rolled her eyes with all the melodrama a teenager could muster. “Fine. I may as well become a fat pig since I can’t ever go on a date.” “That’s my girl,” he said and, grinning, got up to heat up her dinner.

What are we watching?" [...] [...] He hugged her closer. "The sacrifices I make for you -just watch." She was intrigued enough to pay attention to the screen. "Pride and Prejudice," she read out. "It's a book written by a human. Nineteenth century?" "Uh-huh." "The hero is... Mr. Darcy?" "Yes. According to Ti, he's the embodiment of male perfection." Dev ripped open a bag of chips he'd grabbed and put it in Katya's hands. "I don't know -the guy wears tights.

God, all those months of seeing Kelsey’s pictures and hearing about her travels, and I had been raging with jealousy. And now it was my turn. I wanted to mind the gap at the tube station and eat fish and chips and try to make the Queen’s guards laugh. I wanted to see Big Ben and the Globe and the London Bridge and Dame Judi Dench. Or Maggie Smith. Or Alan Rickman. Or Sir Ian McKellen. Or anybody famous and British, really. Holy crap. This was really happening. And I wasn’t just a tourist. I was visiting with someone who’d grown up in the city. With my fiancé. Take that, world.

Well I'm not going to hope that you get hurt, but if you do, remember that you're my damsel in distress, and no one is allowed to carry you." "I don't remember signing a contract." "All the more reason to promise me now." "What if you're not around when I get hurt?" "Send word, I`ll come running." "How big an injury does it have to be? Because sometimes I do this thing when I stand up too quickly and my ankle kind of twists a little---" "Sounds serious. You don't want to put any weight on that. I`d better carry you the next time that happens." "What if I skin my knee?" "I`ll carry you." "Charley horse?" "I`ll carry you." "Chipped toenail?" "Not worth taking a risk. I`ll carry you.” I grin at him [...] I have to admit -- he's funnier and smarter than I've given him credit for.

Dessert was an over baked chocolate chip cookies the size of a hockey puck and just about as tasty.

She never wanted an extravagant life-- only one filled with simple joys like children, family, friendship, good books, funny jokes, and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Little Red, Little Red, what's in the chip bag, Little Red?" And in the same singsong voice I answered, "Nothing at all, Nothing at all, Nothing at all but your grandpa's head.

I am so dying to know what cookies are slang for.” “Probably his cock,” Jacob plopped down on the arm of the couch. “Oh my God,” I said, taking a handful of chips. I needed the calorie fortitude for where this conversation was heading. Brittany nodded. “Makes sense then. I mean, with the whole not sharing cookies with ugly girls.” “I don’t think he really meant that,” I said, popping a chip in my mouth. “So, back to our history notes…” “Fuck history. Back to Cam’s cock.” Jacob said. “Do you know, if cookies is a code word for cock, then that means his cock was in your mouth.

‘And what about a [band] name?’ said Tony [Iommi]. The three of us looked at each other. ‘We should all take a couple of days to think about it,’ I said. ‘I dunno about you two, but I’ve got a special place where I go to get ideas for important stuff like this. It’s never failed me yet.’ Forty-eight hours later I blurted out: ‘I’ve got it!’ ‘Must have been that dodgy bird you poked the other night,’ said Geezer. ‘Has your whelk turned green yet?’ Tony and Bill snickered into their plates of egg and chips. We were sitting in a greasy spoon caff in Aston. So far, everyone was getting along famously. ‘Very funny, Geezer,’ I said, waving an eggy fork at him. ‘I mean the name for our band.’ The snickering died down. ‘Go on then,’ said Tony [Iommi]. ‘Well, I was on the shitter last night, and...' ‘That’s your special place?’ spluttered Bill, blobs of mushed-up egg and HP sauce flying out of his mouth. ‘Where the f**k did you think it was, Bill?’ I said. ‘The hanging gardens of f**king Babylon?

It seems like I've only shut my eyes for a few minutes, but when I open them, I flinch at the sight of Haymitch sitting a couple of feet from my bed. Waiting. Possibly for several hours if the clck is right. I think about hollering for a witness, but I'm going to have to face him sooner or later. Haymitch leans forward and dangles something on a thin white wire in front of my nose. It's hard to focus on, but I'm pretty sur what it is. He drops it in to the sheets. "That is your earpiece. I will give you exactly one more chance to wear it. If you remove it from your ear again, I'll have you fitted with this." He holds up some sort of metal headgear that I instantly name the head shackle. "It's alternative audio unit that locks around your skull and under your chin until it's opened with a key. And I'll have the only key. If for some reason you're clever enough to disable it" ---- Haymitch dumps the head shackle on the bed and whips out a tiny silver chip--- "I'll authorize them to surgically implant this transmitter into your ear so that I may speak to you twenty-four hours a day." Haymitch in my head full-time. Horrifying. "I'll keep the earpiece in," I mutter "Excuse me?" He says "I'll keep the earpiece in!" I say loud enough to wake half the hospital. "You sure? Because I'm equally happy with any of the three options," he tells me "I'm sure," I say. I scrunch up the earpiece protectivley in my fist and fling the head shakle back in his face with my free hand, but he catches it easily. Probably was expecting me to throw it. "Anything else?" Haymitch rises to go. "While I was waiting. . . I ate your lunch." My eyes take in the empty stew bowl and tray on my bed table. "I'm going to report you," I mumble into my pillow. "You do that sweetheart." He goes out, safe in the knowledge that I'm not the reporting kind.

Is it not late? A late time to be living? Are not our generations the crucial ones? For we have changed the world. Are not our heightened times the important ones? For we have nuclear bombs. Are we not especially significant because our century is? - our century and its unique Holocaust, its refugee populations, its serial totalitarian exterminations; our century and its antibiotics, silicon chips, men on the moon, and spliced genes? No, we are not and it is not. These times of ours are ordinary times, a slice of life like any other. Who can bear to hear this, or who will consider it?... Take away the bomb threat and what are we? Ordinary beads on a never-ending string. Our time is a routine twist of an improbable yarn...There must be something heroic about our time, something that lifts it above all those other times. Plague? Funny weather? Dire things are happening... Why are we watching the news, reading the news, keeping up with the news? Only to enforce our fancy - probably a necessary lie - that these are crucial times, and we are in on them. Newly revealed, and we are in the know: crazy people, bunches of them. New diseases, shifts in power, floods! Can the news from dynastic Egypt have been any different?

Usually when I have a bad day like this, I put on my jams, get in bed with some mint chocolate chip ice cream, and watch funny movies until I feel better.

Cats are like potato chips. You can't have just one.

Whether we are trying to buy a packet of chips or getting to know a person for a potentially important relationship, its nice to have an overview of what it/he/she contains. - Of A Sense of Self

perhaps there had been something a little obsessive about it, the way she’d consumed the shelves of the local library, Blyton to Jansson, C. S. Lewis to P. G. Wodehouse, Christie then du Maurier then the Brontës, reading indiscriminately but always passionately, so that even her dislikes were passionate. Dickens, she thought, was preachy and silly, like a teacher putting on funny voices, but never mind, here were Jane Austen and Sue Townsend, Ursula K. Le Guin and Jean M. Auel, and each Saturday morning she’d return her stack of library books, the maximum permitted, placing them on the counter, like a gambler cashing in chips.

Sip tea and coffee with those who say you can, politely stuff with cookies any who say you cannot. Because the stuff they are feeding you, be it the latter, looks strangely a bit like the little chocolate chips.

Wait!" she cried, and she yanked away from him and gathered her heels and her ruined purse. She slid the shoes on and straightened her shoulders. "I will go as a lady should," she claimed bravely. "In patent leather heels.

Nothing. That's why it's funny. It's so bad I just think it's funny,' Renee says, tilting her head back so the chips don't fall out of her mouth. ‘Do you really?’ ‘If I don’t laugh about it what else will I do?’ She doesn’t actually laugh though. She falls back, throws chips into the air and tries to catch them in her mouth

Could he be my Bertie, the cheeky butcher’s boy? I had walked out with him when I was a reluctant servant in Mr Buchanan’s household. Dear funny Bertie, who had been so self-conscious about reeking of meat. Bertie, the boy who had taken me to the fair and won me the little black-and-white china dog that was in my suitcase now, carefully wrapped in my nightgown to prevent any chips.

My parents always insulted each other. Mom was a good student and thought school was important. Dad agreed even though he had a chip on his shoulder because he never got good grades. He learned most things from running around on the street, but in a funny way, my dad was smarter. My mom never remembered what she learned in school because she just memorized stuff for tests; it was my dad, who had bad grades, that actually remembered everything he learned.

The fish is that perfect, amazing guy it can never work out with—you know, a bird and a fish may fall in love—but where would they live? . . . So the fish is your total dream guy, he’s smart, he’s handsome, he gets all your jokes, he loves to talk, he gives you a nine-hour orgasm and then makes you homemade chocolate chip pancakes and serves you breakfast in bed—but he lives all the way across the country and neither of you can move, or he’s married, or next in line for the throne, or he has a terminal disease or something . . . the fish.

The English went out and conquered a quarter of the Earth just to escape the rain. They always went for the hot places – Australia, Africa, India. But here’s the funny thing about the English … many of them like to take a bit of their Englishness with them wherever they go. All around the world these sad people build English pubs and serve ‘Full English Breakfasts’ in the morning and ‘Fish and Chips’ for lunch or dinner (or both). Some of them don’t seem to trust ‘foreign’ people, which is a bit odd. ALL the people in England were ‘foreign’ at one time.

Just as Drake turned six weeks old, I decided I wanted to lose some baby weight. Chip and I were both still getting used to the idea that we had a baby of our own now, but I felt it was okay to leave him with Chip for a half hour or so in the mornings so I could take a short run up and down Third Street. I left Drake in the little swing he loved, kissed Chip good-bye, and off I went. Chip was so sweet and supportive. When I got back he was standing in the doorway saying, “Way to go, baby!” He handed me a banana and asked if I’d had any cramps or anything. I hadn’t. I actually felt great. I walked in and discovered Chip had prepared an elaborate breakfast for me, as if I’d run a marathon or something. I hadn’t done more than a half-mile walk-run, but he wanted to celebrate the idea that I was trying to get myself back together physically. He’d actually driven to the store and back and bought fresh fruit and real maple syrup and orange juice for me. I sat down to eat, and I looked over at Drake. He was sound asleep in his swing, still wearing nothing but his diaper. “Chip, did you take Drake to the grocery store without any clothes on?” Chip gave me a real funny look. He said, “What?” I gave him a funny look back. “Oh my gosh,” he said. “I totally forgot Drake was here. He was so quiet.” “Chip!” I yelled, totally freaked out. I was a first-time mom. Can you imagine? Anyone who’s met Chip knows he can get a little sidetracked, but this was our child! He was in that dang swing that just made him perfectly silent. I felt terrible. It had only been for a few minutes. The store was just down the street. But I literally got on my knees to beg for Jo’s forgiveness.

A – Appy Chappy Noodle B – Booboo Belly Bubbles C – Captain Cheeky Chips D – Dizzy Doopsy Doodle E – Etsy Petsy Tootsie F – Furry Tickle Tilly G – Gummy Bunny Buttercup H – Hippy Wibbly Wobbly I – Iggy Biggy Baloo J – Jelly Jolly Jumbo K – Kissy Missy Munchkin L – Lazy Pippin Pupcake M – Moody Minty Monster N – Nutty Noodle Ninja O – Otty Chotty Chip P – Pickled Pepper Pin Q – Quinkle Choco Chap R – Rosy Nosy Muffin S – Silly Sugar Snaps T – Twinkle Tummy Tickle U – Upsy Nupsy Pumpkin V – Vanilla Clumsy Cookie W – Wiggly Wobbly Jelly X – Xippy Chip Cherry Y – Yummy Pummy Peach Z – Zinky Pinky Plum

Zane knew that he and Phoebe were no longer talking about the same thing. At least not when it came to hunger. She would be thinking fish and chips, and he was thinking more along the lines of naked. He wanted to tell himself it was simply because he was a man and she was a woman, but he knew it was more than that. As he’d admitted, he liked her. She was cute and funny. When she looked at him with her big brown eyes, he wanted to grab Tango and ride his horse into the sunset to save something for her. Talk about idiotic. He barely knew her. Yet there was something about Phoebe Kitzke. An innocence, maybe. No, that wasn’t right. It was how she seemed trusting. More fool her. Or maybe him.

Dan was the first to speak, his words blurred by the roar of the cascading water. “Pools,” he said. “What about the pools?” “Poos?” Amy said. “What poos?” Atticus asked. “Bird poos? It’s called guano. Actually, it’s pretty interesting how many different words there are for animal poos. Guano, dung, droppings, spoors, cow pies, buffalo chips . . . One of my favorites is fewmets.” Dan said, “But I didn’t —” “Fewmets — that’s from medieval times, the poo you find when an animal is being hunted on a quest.” Atticus was on a roll again. “And did you know that otter poo is called spraints?” “Why do otters get their own word for poo?” Jake wondered. “I love otters, they’re so playful,” Amy said. “Spraints — what a funny word.” “Enough with the poos!” Dan yelled. Then he looked at Atticus. “I mean, it’s cool — especially about the spraints, I didn’t know that before — but I didn’t say poos.

We wanted Penny to work somewhere that was pedestrian and wonderfully quotidian. Here are these guys who are trying to unravel the secrets of the universe, and Penny introduces herself by saying, “I work at The Cheesecake Factory.” The juxtaposition of scientists working in the quantum field, perhaps changing the world with their work, and “I work at The Cheesecake Factory” seemed to be a funny dichotomy. And the cheesecake is great! I personally really love their chocolate chip cheesecake. And the menu went on for days—it was like a book! There was a lot going for it, and the company was very gracious about letting us use their name. Surprisingly, the California Institute of Technology (abbreviated as Caltech) wasn’t as enthusiastic when it came to establishing Sheldon and Leonard’s workplace. Chuck Lorre: Caltech wasn’t keen on us using their name or likeness early on, so we obliged for a while, and then when the show took off, they communicated with us again and said something along the lines of, “Please feel free to use the word Caltech in your show,” because it was a good promotion for Caltech! [Laughs] Someone over there recognized that being associated with this burgeoning hit show was not going to damage their reputation.

Is Joanna Gaines here? We have a warrant here for her arrest,” the officer said. It was the tickets. I knew it. And I panicked. I picked up my son and I hid in the closet. I literally didn’t know what to do. I’d never even had a speeding ticket, and all of a sudden I’m thinking, I’m about to go to prison, and my child won’t be able to eat. What is this kid gonna do? I heard Chip say, “She’s not here.” Thankfully, Drake didn’t make a peep, and the officer believed him. He said, “Well, just let her know we’re looking for her,” and they left. Jo’s the most conservative girl in the world. She had never even been late for school. I mean, this girl was straitlaced. So now we realize there’s a citywide warrant out for her arrest, and we’re like, “Oh, crap.” In her defense, Jo had wanted to pay those tickets off all along, and I was the one saying, “No way. I’m not paying these tickets.” So we decided to try to make it right. We called the judge, and the court clerk told us, “Okay, you have an appointment at three in the afternoon to discuss the tickets. See you then.” We wanted to ask the judge if he could remove a few of them for us. “The fines for our dogs “running at large” on our front porch just seemed a bit excessive. We arrived at the courthouse, and Chip was carrying Drake in his car seat. I couldn’t carry it because I was still recovering from Drake’s delivery. We got inside and spoke to a clerk. They looked at the circumstances and decided to switch all the tickets into Chip’s name. Those dogs were basically mine, and it didn’t make sense to have the tickets in her name. But as soon as they did that, this police officer walked over and said, “Hey, do you mind emptying out all of your pockets?” I got up and cooperated. “Absolutely. Yep,” I said. I figured it was just procedure before we went in to see the judge. Then he said, “Yeah, you mind taking off your belt?” I thought, That’s a little weird. Then he said, “Do you mind turning around and putting your hands behind your back?” They weren’t going to let us talk to the judge at all. The whole thing was just a sting to get us to come down there and be arrested. They arrested Chip on the spot. And I’m sitting there saying, “I can’t carry this baby in his car seat. What am I supposed to do?” I started bawling. “You can’t take him!” I cried. But they did. They took him right outside and put him in the back of a police car. Now I feel like the biggest loser in the world. I’m in the back of a police car as my crying wife comes out holding our week-old baby. I’m walking out, limping, and waving to him as they drive away. And I can’t even wave because my hands are cuffed behind my back. So here I am awkwardly trying to make a waving motion with my shoulder and squinching my face just to try to make Jo feel better. It was just the most comical thing, honestly. A total joke. To take a man to jail because his dogs liked to walk around a neighborhood, half of which he owns? But it sure wasn’t funny at the time. I was flooded with hormones and just could not stop crying. They told me they were taking my husband to the county jail. Luckily we had a buddy who was an attorney, so I called him. I was clueless. “I’ve never dated a guy that’s been in trouble, and now I’ve got a husband that’s in jail.

Chip asked me about New York and what I wanted to do, and how long my dad had owned the shop, and what it was I loved about Waco. He asked about my sisters and my family in general, and what I’d done at Baylor, and if I’d known a few communications majors he’d run around with at school. (I told y’all he was chatty!) Somehow none of these questions seemed intrusive or strange to me at the time, which is funny, because thinking back I find them particularly telling. At the time, it was just like talking with an old friend. John finally stood up, and this baseball-cap-wearing customer that John had introduced as Chip followed. “Well, nice talking to you,” he said. “Nice talking to you too,” I replied, and that was it. I went back inside. The guys in the shop wanted to know what I thought about Hot John, and I just laughed. “Sorry, guys, I don’t think it’s gonna work out.” The next day I came back from my lunch break to find a note on my desk: “Chip Gaines called. Call him back.” I thought, Oh, that must be the guy I met yesterday. So I called him. I honestly thought he was going to ask me about getting a better price on his brakes or something, but instead he said, “Hey, I really enjoyed our conversation yesterday. I was wondering…you want to go out sometime?” And for some reason I said okay--just like that, without any hesitation. It wasn’t like me at all. When I hung up the phone, I went, “What in the world just happened!” So you said okay immediately? I don’t even remember that. That’s fun! No reservations? Man, I must’ve been good-lookin’. What Chip didn’t know was I didn’t even give myself time to have reservations. Something told me to just go for it. Cute, Joey. This story makes me love you all over again.

In chem, Peter sits a row in front of me. I write him a note. Why would you tell Josh that we’re-- I hesitate and then finish with a thing? I kick the back of his chair, and he turns around and I hand him the note. He slouches in his seat to read it; then I watch as he scribbles something. He tips back in his chair and drops the note on my desk without looking at me. A thing? Haha. I press down so hard my pencil tip chips off. Please answer the question. We’ll talk later. I let out a frustrated sigh and Matt, my lab partner, gives me a funny look. After class Peter is swept away with all his friends; they leave in a big group. I’m packing up my backpack when he returns, alone. He hops up on the table. “So let’s talk,” he says, super casual. I clear my throat and try to gather my bearings. “Why did you tell Josh we were--” I almost say “a thing” again, but then change it to “together?” “I don’t get what you’re so upset about. I did you a favor. I could have just as easily blown up your spot.” I pause. He’s right. He could have. “So why didn’t you?” “You’ve sure got a funny way of saying thank you. You’re welcome, by the way.” Automatically I say, “Thank you.” Wait. Why am I thanking him? “I appreciate you letting me kiss you, but--” “You’re welcome,” he says again. Ugh! He’s so insufferable. Just for that I’m going to toss a little dig his way. “That was…really generous of you. To let me do that. But I’ve already explained to Josh that it’s not going to work out with us because Genevieve has you whipped, so it’s all good. You can stop pretending now.” Peter glares at me. “I’m not whipped.” “But aren’t you, though? I mean, you guys have been together since the seventh grade. You’re basically her property.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter scoffs. “There was a rumor last year that she made you get a tattoo of her initials on your butt for her birthday.” I pause. “So did you?” I reach around him and fake try to lift up the back of his shirt. He yelps and jumps away from me, and I collapse in a fit of giggles. “So you do have a tattoo!” “I don’t have a tattoo!” he yells. “And we’re not even together anymore, so can you stop with this shit? We broke up. We’re over. I’m done with her.” “Wait, didn’t she break up with you?” I ask. Peter shoots me a dirty look. “It was mutual.

Chewy Chocolate Chip M&M Cookies.39 2 and 1/4 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 and 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch 3/4 teaspoon salt 3/4 cup (1.5 sticks) unsalted butter, melted 3/4 cup light brown sugar, loosely packed 1/2 cup granulated sugar40 1 large egg + 1 egg yolk (preferably at room temperature) 1 tablespoon vanilla extract 1 cup chocolate chips 1/2 cup M&Ms for tops of cookies Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone baking mats. Set aside. Toss together flour, baking soda, cornstarch and salt in a large bowl. Set aside. In a medium size bowl, whisk the melted butter, brown sugar, and white sugar together until no brown sugar lumps remain. Whisk in the egg, then the egg yolk. Finally, whisk in the vanilla. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix together with a large spoon or rubber spatula. The dough will be very soft, yet thick. Fold41 in the chocolate chips. They may not stick to the dough because of the melted butter, but do your best to have them evenly dispersed among the dough. Cover the dough and chill for 2 hours, or up to 3 days. Chilling is mandatory.42 Take the dough out of the refrigerator and allow to slightly soften at room temperature for 10 minutes. Roll the dough into balls, about 3 tablespoons of dough each and place 2 inches apart on cookie sheets, or use a cookie scooper. Bake the cookies for 11-14 minutes. They will look very soft and underbaked. They will continue to bake on the cookie sheet. Allow cooling on the cookie sheet for 10 minutes before moving to a wire rack43 to cool completely.

Matthias swept his arms forward expecting to launch every shadow in the room into an attack that would demolish the statue. Blake slammed the ground with his palms and twisted like he could blast the table sky-high and shatter it into mere wood chips. Logan swirled his arms as if mixing a volatile vortex to tornado the threat into oblivion. Tristan squashed his head in hands, eyes hard in concentration trying to will Ayden into moving. Jayden snapped empty hands out to create a tidal wave that would annihilate all in its path to save his brother. But it was all wishful thinking because nothing happened.

news,

She was called a cook, but there was no real evidence she had even a small amount of ability to do this. Every meal, no matter how much you thought you liked it before, would be ruined forever after having one of Margery’s slop versions of it. Burger and Chips or Lasagne, as Mike liked, were gruesomely murdered by the time Margery had used the ingredients (and added some special ones of her own!) to deliver a pile of gruel. It did not matter what the menu said; when served, it was always green, even if none of the ingredients were actually green! “Nexxxttt! Hey, you, I said NEXXTT!!!” she shouted at the violet boy who had hesitated to wonder if life was really worth this. “What’s your name, boy? Speak up now and tell me which class you are in?” This was a usual evil method Margery used so children had to give up holding their breath and smell the putrid stench of her sweaty BO mixed with the green muck she scooped from a giant vat beside her. The poor boy nearly passed out when it hit him, but, fortunately, his friend helped him stay up. He quickly grabbed his tray and sloshed his green slush all over as he ran for freedom. NNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXXXXXXXXXXXTTTTTTT!!!

Best processor chip invented by human brain is the one that always keep on receiving Feedback, analysing it and then improve itself accordingly. Funny thing, lots of people using their brain they don't accept feedback, take it as criticism and in most cases do the opposite. Does that mean that our inventions are better than ourselves(in a sense that it correct our mistakes)!!!?

That evening I was the sole guest in the huge dining room, and it was the same startled person who took my order and shortly afterwards brought me a fish that had doubtless lain entombed in the deep-freeze for years. The breadcrumb armour-plating of the fish had been partly singed by the grill, and the prongs of my fork bent on it. Indeed it was so difficult to penetrate what eventually proved to be nothing but an empty shell that my plate was a hideous mess once the operation was over. The tartare sauce that I had had to squeeze out of a plastic sachet was turned grey by the sooty breadcrumbs, and the fish itself, or what feigned to be fish, lay a sorry wreck among the grass-green peas and the remains of soggy chips that gleamed with fat.

Jazz was the opposite of everything Harry Anslinger believed in. It is improvised, and relaxed, and free-form. It follows its own rhythm. Worst of all, it is a mongrel music made up of European, Caribbean, and African echoes, all mating on American shores. To Anslinger, this was musical anarchy, and evidence of a recurrence of the primitive impulses that lurk in black people, waiting to emerge. “It sounded,” his internal memos said, “like the jungles in the dead of night.”94 Another memo warned that “unbelievably ancient indecent rites of the East Indies are resurrected”95 in this black man’s music. The lives of the jazzmen, he said, “reek of filth.”96 His agents reported back to him97 that “many among the jazzmen think they are playing magnificently when under the influence of marihuana but they are actually becoming hopelessly confused and playing horribly.” The Bureau believed that marijuana slowed down your perception of time98 dramatically, and this was why jazz music sounded so freakish—the musicians were literally living at a different, inhuman rhythm. “Music hath charms,”99 their memos say, “but not this music.” Indeed, Harry took jazz as yet more proof that marijuana drives people insane. For example, the song “That Funny Reefer Man”100 contains the line “Any time he gets a notion, he can walk across the ocean.” Harry’s agents warned: “He does think that.” Anslinger looked out over a scene filled with men like Charlie Parker,101 Louis Armstrong,102 and Thelonious Monk,103 and—as the journalist Larry Sloman recorded—he longed to see them all behind bars.104 He wrote to all the agents he had sent to follow them, and instructed: “Please prepare all cases in your jurisdiction105 involving musicians in violation of the marijuana laws. We will have a great national round-up arrest of all such persons on a single day. I will let you know what day.” His advice on drug raids to his men was always “Shoot first.”106 He reassured congressmen that his crackdown would affect not “the good musicians, but the jazz type.”107 But when Harry came for them, the jazz world would have one weapon that saved them: its absolute solidarity. Anslinger’s men could find almost no one among them who was willing to snitch,108 and whenever one of them was busted,109 they all chipped in to bail him out.

By the time Chip and I met, he’d managed to combine these two conflicting sides of himself: the kid who steered clear of trouble and did the right thing, and the kid who rode his Big Wheel full speed into the street without looking both ways. I had never met anyone like him. It’s funny to me to think that the whole opposites-attract thing might have been programmed into my DNA. Just as my outgoing mother was drawn to my quiet dad, I was this shy girl drawn to the super-outgoing Chip Gaines. And the fact that he owned a successful lawn and irrigation business and had made up his mind that he loved Waco and wanted to stay put was somehow a perfect fit with everything I knew I wanted myself.

Chip asked me about New York and what I wanted to do, and how long my dad had owned the shop, and what it was I loved about Waco. He asked about my sisters and my family in general, and what I’d done at Baylor, and if I’d known a few communications majors he’d run around with at school. (I told y’all he was chatty!) Somehow none of these questions seemed intrusive or strange to me at the time, which is funny, because thinking back I find them particularly telling. At the time, it was just like talking with an old friend. John finally stood up, and this baseball-cap-wearing customer that John had introduced as Chip followed. “Well, nice talking to you,” he said. “Nice talking to you too,” I replied, and that was it. I went back inside. The guys in the shop wanted to know what I thought about Hot John, and I just laughed. “Sorry, guys, I don’t think it’s gonna work out.

In 2011, a man in Cincinnati broke into a potato chip plant, and stole a computer desk, a book of payroll checks, other business documents, and vehicle titles. The man then left a note for the company president, demanding that he leave exactly $22,000 in a bucket for him.   The man mentioned in the note that he would expose personal matters of the employees, and burn everything he had stolen, if his demand was not met. The company president called the police, who then proceeded to fill a bucket with realistic fake money, and surveillance materials.   The police soon watched as the crook began to drag the bucket away, with the use of a fishing pole. The police followed the fishing line, out into the forest, until they spotted the man. The man did not even get the chance to attempt to run, because by the time the police caught up with him, the man was all tangled up in his fishing line.

Well I'm not going to hope that you get hurt, but if you do, remember that you're my damsel in distress, and no one is allowed to carry you." "I don't remember signing a contract." "All the more reason to promise me now." "What if you're not around when I get hurt?" "Send word, I`ll come running." "How big an injury does it have to be? Because sometimes I do this thing when I stand up too quickly and my ankle kind of twists a little---" "Sounds serious. You don't want to put any weight on that. I`d better carry you the next time that happens." "What if I skin my knee?" "I`ll carry you." "Charley horse?" "I`ll carry you." "Chipped toenail?" "Not worth taking a risk. I`ll carry you.

Palm sex. Rings a bell, I know, what with the joke about Mrs Palmer and her five lovely daughters. Wish I could find that funny, but like the act it’s too obvious and predictable. Fondle-rub-oooh-fondle-rub-rub-hah-hah-hah-hah-oooooooooh God! And you’re not even Catholic. But palm sex is something else. It’s the act of any stranger sucking the centre of your palm, where the lifeline and heartline intersect, to draw out the nasty ache hiding there. A thorn or sliver of glass or wood or the thinnest chip of china from the last decent plate in the house after one of its creatures had lost her temper. I

Okey." Charming leaned back and rocked the chair on two legs. "Let's asses the situation. We've got a fourteen-fot green-spiked dragon, male, possible in molt, chipped upper-left fang missing one claw on the right hind foot, three claws each on the other foots, chested head, dorsal ridge, apparently healthy, containintly vicios. Presently aspleep in a confined space." "um," said Ann, "That's about the way I see it too.

...he saw Quotinir floating in front of him. Deep in the darkest parts of the ocean, he was lit only by a single, yellow light that swung from a fin atop his head. His grey skin sickly under the swinging bulb, he looked as much like a man as he did a monster, scarred and chipped around the edges, with strands of white hair like seaweed flowing around his narrow face. His human waist merged with the rubbery flesh of a shark, the tail larger than any fish or man Elf had ever seen. Though, Quotinir himself was four times larger than any man - the last true giant - trapped under the pressure of the ocean with only his light for company. Slitted, white eyes locked onto Elf as they both floated, suspended in the darkness. ‘Hey, ugly,’ Elf said.

two or ALL the puppies if I could’ve. But whatever, it was just cool to have puppies in the mall. My sister’s gonna FREAK when I tell her about it. Anyways, Fergus and Annie returned to our tournament table with the biggest plate of nachos I’d ever seen in my whole entire life, so me and Emma went and joined them. The four of us dug into the towering mountain of chips and cheese and chicken and onions and queso and tomatoes and salsa and sour cream and guac and jalapenos and O.M.CHEESE, it was SO good! I filled my belly with warm food and then sat back, watching all the people around the tournament having fun. What a great start to a weekend full of friends, puppies, and video games. I mean, seriously, everything was PERFECT, and there wasn’t a single thing that could change that… And immediately, Annie goes, “It was stolen,” but she didn’t know that! Isn’t it funny how some people go to the worst-case scenario first? That’s called “catastrophic thinking” and helps ABSOLUTELY NOBODY in times of stress. So, until we had more details, I thought it best to simply call the camera “missing.” I ran up to Callie, HOPING that maybe she had taken the camera to a Lost & Found box somewhere inside Hacktronics, but nope. Apparently, they didn’t have one. Not good. That meant somebody MIGHT have stolen it. I went to the other players in the tournament and asked if THEY saw anything suspicious, but nobody did! I just couldn’t believe it! How was it possible that NOBODY saw some fool GANK an $800 camera?? That doesn’t even make any sense! Fergus had completely shut down. Annie was angry at me. And Emma was just caught in the middle of it, sitting there, like, “Awkwaaaaaard.” Then, outta nowhere, Annie let me have it. She shouted a bunch of stuff at me that weren’t the kindest things ever, but I fixed all that through the MAGIC of editing…

Funny how your attitude about spirituality could change when the chips were down.

The idea of putting raisins in cookies originated with my microscope. 'Chocolate chips? Nope! I'm using dehydrated grapes instead.

Seriously man, shut it.” “Alright, alright. You’re the driver,” He raised his chip bag in toast, “My life is in your hands.

I’m sorry, what?” I said, blinking through my fog. “I wasn’t listening.” “Obviously,” my friend said with a playfully scolding tone. “I asked you what Tiresias told Narcissus’ mom about him. What was the prophecy?” “Let me think,” I said as I carved through the stories mentally. “Well, we know it’s vague,” Daniella supplied unhelpfully. “Prophecies are notoriously vague,” Bethany said as she popped a potato chip in her mouth. The crunch resounded through the dorm room and interrupted our study session. “Yeah, like the Ultimate Weapon one,” I muttered. “Didn’t Sarah tell you to focus on studying for the final tomorrow?” Jade reminded me. “Yeah,” I grunted, regretting ever telling them why I showed up at the late-night study session sooner than I planned. “Alright, Tiresias said that Narcissus should…” I closed my eyes and searched for the correct words. “Never know himself!” I concluded triumphantly. Beth scribbled down the answer. Then she perked up unexpectedly with a weird expression on her face. “That makes it sound like he wasn’t allowed to masturbate. Like he couldn’t know himself.” Beth’s eyebrows jumped suggestively. I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what it means.” “I know, but it’s funny,” Daniella said through a snort. “Maybe your prophecy has to do with masturbation,” Jade joked as she bent over the bed to reach for Beth’s bag of potato chips. She lifted them up, kindly, so she could grab a handful. “And the Ultimate Weapon is a vibrator!

I told her funny stories about our mother. How once she tried and tried to open a bag of Granny Goose potato chips, then gave up. "Life is just too damn hard," she said and tossed the bag over her shoulder.

We camped in an RV parked in the middle of an intersection on PCH and Mahar Avenue. We laughed, we drank, I told them stories, and even dipped their chips in dog food for them. If you’ve never seen a drunk crow, It’s hilarious.

Those who knew him will be sorry to hear that he was killed last week, on the Western Front." He was a little pale when he sat down afterward, aware that he had done something unusual. He had consulted nobody about it, anyhow; no one else could be blamed. Later, outside the Chapel, he heard an argument:— "On the Western Front, Chips said. Does that mean he was fighting for the Germans?" "I suppose it does." "Seems funny, then, to read his name out with all the others. After all, he was an ENEMY." "Oh, just one of Chips's ideas, I expect. The old boy still has 'em.

Chip butties just don't taste the same without a dash of sand.

I’m not being emotional,” I said. “This, coming from a guy who still sleeps with a teddy bear,” Chip said. He got up off my bed, holding the stuffed animal that had been hidden under my pillow. “I gotta go. I’m supposed to meet Hauser in the gym. See you guys later.” He turned to me. “Unless Erica takes care of you for good before then.” “That’s not funny,” Zoe said. “I’m just saying, if I were Ben, I’d sleep with both eyes open. Erica’s not going to miss a second time.” Chip tossed the bear to me, then headed out the door.

What do computers eat when they get hungry? A: Chips!

Jeese…is that really macaroni and cheese?” She says, raising her heavily eye-shadowed lids. “It looks like dog food.” Jason chuckles, throwing a lopsided grin. “You want to try it out on me?” he laughs. “I’ll roll over and be a good boy for you.” Jen punches him on the arm. Her reaction just makes him chortle harder. She’s barely made a mark. “Don’t push your luck Fido!” She snaps, before heading for the chips.

Adam on the other hand begins to choke on Jen’s stolen chip. It is Jason who saves him from further embarrassment by thumping him on the back...hard. The chip comes back up, only to fly out of Adam’s mouth and stick to the back of some poor girl’s greasy hair. I don’t know what is worse. Adam’s face when he realises that Grace is indeed standing next to him or Adam’s face when he realises that Grace is indeed standing next to him and is beyond revolted by the outcome of the entire situation. Jason and Jen are failing miserably at keeping a straight face in their amusement. The look they shoot Adam screams: “I’m sorry mate but you’re on your own.

The following morning, Wilhelmina awoke to a lone lily pad moaning after escaping from an exquisite Monet painting piece that was hosting some shades of watercolor chips that were a century and half-oldish that subbed as a dish for artsy gourmet-eating tadpoles that had both a yearning for the foggy past and longing for their froggy future.

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.

One of Betty’s friends turned and tossed a shot of cayenne and lemon juice in the face of a bookstore supporter, who cried, “My eyes,” and staggered backward. Another ball of ice cream arced overhead and nailed one of the cops, who didn’t take it very well. Nina turned to see who was throwing the frosty artillery just as another scoop glanced off her head and hit Betty, this time in the face. Betty stomped her foot. “I. Am. Lactose. Intolerant!” she cried. “No, you’re just completely intolerable,” replied the Reader, and pushed her. Nina reached up and felt her head, which was sticky. She heard giggling. Lydia was amused. “You’ve got a little . . . something something . . .” Lydia wiped a little drip from Nina’s forehead and tasted it. “Huh,” she said. “Mint chip. Surprising.” She opened her mouth to continue and took a gluten-free cupcake right in the cake hole, which was also surprising. She sputtered. Nina grinned. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Lydia.” A mini cupcake—or it might have been a brownie; it was moving too fast to tell—whizzed by and knocked off the Reader’s glasses. The cops, who had been well trained (though, admittedly, not for a food fight), started pushing through the crowd, looking for the troublemakers. This made the people on the outside of the crowd, who couldn’t see very well, assume something more serious was going on. They started to run or, at least, move swiftly away. This was Larchmont, after all; no need for unseemly panic. The ice cream bandit sent a last volley over the heads of the thinning crowd, and both Nina and Lydia were in the line of fire. Professional hit, double scoop. Lydia, who had decided to see the funny side of it, clutched her arm, which was covered in sprinkles. “I’m hit,” she cried, and staggered backward. “Cold . . . so cold . . .” said Nina, channeling the heroic death of so many matinee idols. She made it to the bookstore front door and did a creditable death slide down it. Then she remembered why she was there.

I would consider cowboy caviar one of our more balanced dinners, especially now that the kids are grown. Many's the night our dinner is a glass (or two) of white wine, a handful of cashews, and Anderson Cooper. Also, what is this "chips" business? I have, on more than one occasion, simply leaned over the sink and happily shoveled in the cowboy caviar with a spoon.