Chucky Quotes

I can’t believe this. I’m marrying a child. And not a normal child—a demon hellspawn, like Chucky, or the Children of the Corn . . .

Our president looks like a Christmas ham and talks like Chucky. We're America, bitch.

She’s a doll, really.” “Mm. Bride of Chucky.

I can’t believe this. I’m marrying a child. And not a normal child—a demon hellspawn, like Chucky, or the Children of the Corn . .

When I was younger, my brother told me that he had the power to shrink me to the size of an ant. In fact, he said, he used to have another sister, but he shrank her down and stepped on her. He also told me that when you became a grown-up, you were admitted into a private party that was full of monsters and horror movie characters. There was Chucky, drinking a cup of coffee. And the mummy on the cover of the Hardy Boys book that used to freak me out, except he was doing the twist while Jason from 'Friday the 13th' played the alto sax. He told me you stayed at the party as long as you had to, making conversation with these creatures, and that was why adults were never afraid of anything. I used to believe everything my brother told me, because he was older and I figured he knew more about the world. But as it turns out, being a grown-up doesn't mean you're fearless. It just means you fear different things.

Will: What do I wanna way outta here for? I'm gonna live here the rest of my fuckin' life. We'll be neighbors, have little kids, take 'em to Little League up at Foley Field. Chuckie: Look, you're my best friend, so don't take this the wrong way but, in 20 years if you're still livin' here, comin' over to my house, watchin' the Patriots games, workin' construction, I'll fuckin' kill ya. That's not a threat, that's a fact, I'll fuckin' kill ya. Will: What the fuck you talkin' about? Chuckie: You got somethin' none of us have... Will: Oh, come on! What? Why is it always this? I mean, I fuckin' owe it to myself to do this or that. What if I don't want to? Chuckie: No. No, no no no. Fuck you, you don't owe it to yourself man, you owe it to me. Cuz tomorrow I'm gonna wake up and I'll be 50, and I'll still be doin' this shit. And that's all right. That's fine. I mean, you're sittin' on a winnin' lottery ticket. And you're too much of a pussy to cash it in, and that's bullshit. 'Cause I'd do fuckin' anything to have what you got. So would any of these fuckin' guys. It'd be an insult to us if you're still here in 20 years. Hangin' around here is a fuckin' waste of your time.

To my astonishment, within minutes, the dogs dragged Chucky’s bed and toys from the porch to the grave site and started to play on the mound of freshly dug earth. Chucky was gone, but they still included him in their game. At that, the floodgates opened. Dennie’s face crumpled. He turned and strode quickly away. In my mind, I heard Mom’s voice: “Have a good cry, Laurie. The more you cry, the less you pee.

Yes,” she said. “Everything you see. Everything you know. The world, Chucky. Planes in the sky, manhole covers in the street. Every year you live, that world inside your head will get bigger and brighter, more detailed and complex. Do you understand?

I want to go in tomorrow, totally normal day, and when I draw the short straw and have to get in the Chuckie costume, I just walk off with it. Walk right through the doors, into my brand-new car, take Chuckie home, get him taxidermied, and mount him on the wall like a hunting trophy.

Morgan: How fuckin' retarded do you have to be to get shit-canned from that job? How hard is it to push a fuckin' broom? Chuckie: You got fired from pushing a broom, you little bitch. Morgan: Yah, that was different. Management was restructurin'. Billy: Yah, restructurin' the amount of retards they had workin' for them.

Would've been useful when I was about eight," I said. "I used to have wicked nightmares." I did, too: stupid dreams about being chased by Elmo. A psycho Elmo with eyes like that Chucky doll. I'd wake up screaming and Vicky would come running in and ask what the nightmare was about. I never told her. I was too embarrassed.

လူတွေဟာ ဘယ်လောက်ပဲ သူများနဲ့ ကွဲပြားနေပါတယ်ပြောပြော သူတို့ပတ်ဝန်းကျင်ကလူတွေ သူတို့ကို ဂရုမစိုက်တော့မှာကို အနည်းနဲ့အများဆိုသလို ကြောက်တတ်ကြပါတယ်။ အဲဒီလိူအကြောက်တရားမျိုး ပျောက်ပျက်သွားဖို့ကကျ ကိုယ့်မှာအထီးကျန်ခဲ့ရတဲ့အဖြစ်တွေ နင့်နင့်သီးသီး ရှိနေခဲ့ဖူးမှ ဖြစ်မှာ။ နာကျင်မှုကို အတတ်နိုင်ဆုံးလုံခြုံနေအောင် သိမ်းဆည်းထုပ်ပိုးထားပြီး ပျော်ရွှင်တဲ့ အစိတ်အပိုင်းတွေကိုပဲ အားလုံးမြင်အောင် ခင်းကျင်းပြသနိုင်မှဖြစ်မှာ။

ကိုယ့်အတ္တနဲ့ကိုယ် တစ်ကိုယ်ကောင်းဆန်ပစ်လိုက်ရတဲ့ သူစိမ်းတစ်ယောက်ရဲ့ နေထိုင်မှုပုံဆံလိုမျိုးပေါ့။ အဝေးဆုံးကို ထွက်သွားခွင့်မရှိတဲ့ သူတစ်ယောက်မို့ အားလုံးရဲ့ အနီးနားမှာပဲ ကိုယ်ဟာ ပျောက်ကွယ်သွားအောင် တိတ်ဆိတ်နေခဲ့လိုက်တာ။

Chuckie Engstrom liked to hide behind the tree in his front yard with a long tree-branch which he called his Peekie Wand. When a woman in a full skirt passed, Chuckie would tiptoe after her, extending the Peekie Wand under the hem and then lifting. Quite often he got to check out the color of the woman’s underwear (the color of ladies’ underwear held great fascination for Chuckie) before she realized what was going on and chased the wildly cackling lad back to his house, threatening to tell his mother.

ကိုယ့်မှာ ရွေးချယ်စရာ နှစ်ခုပဲရှိတော့တယ်။ ကိုယ်ဟာအရှုံးတွေထဲမှာပဲ ရပ်နေမလား၊ ဒါမှမဟုတ် ဘာမှမရှိတဲ့နေရာကနေ ကိုယ်ပြန်စရမလား ဆိုတာပေါ့။ ကိုယ်ဟာ ပြန်စဖို့ကို ရွေးချယ်လိုက်ပါတယ်။ ဒါပေမယ့် ကိုယ့်အတွက် လုပ်နိုင်မယ့်အရာတွေတော့ များများစားစား မရှိတော့ဘူး။ ကိုယ့်အမှားတွေထဲကနေ ကိုယ်ပြန်ပြီးအမြတ်ထုတ်ဖို့ သင်ယူဖို့အတွက်ပေါ့။

I open the back door of my car for Ginger to buckle the baby in. She smiles and goes to it. I spin around and I'm face-to-face with Logan Kilgore. “Hey, good lookin',” he says, leaning against my door to block my path. “What do you want?” I ask, cracking a slight smile as I wait. He's wearing a dirty, Auburn Football t-shirt, worn out jeans and the same bedraggled baseball cap he always wears. His hair is sticking out just around the edges of the cap in messy twigs and the occasional curl. His curious eyes are dancing around like maybe he's in a very good mood. Despite the obvious, he's kind of beautiful, a little. “Not a thing,” he tells me before turning to walk away. “...was just passing through, wanted to say hello. See you.” I watch him amble away. Ginger shuts Chucky in and opens the door across from mine. She stops before getting in to look up at Logan too. “He's kind of charming,” she tells me, giggling a little. “No offense, but you thought Doug was charming,” I tell her, skeptically. “Good point,” she agrees, before getting into the car.

Chuckie: My Uncle Marty. Will knows him. That guy fuckin' drinks like you've never seen! One night he was drivin' back to his house on I-93. Statie pulls him over. All: Oh shit. Chuckie: Guy's tryin' to walk the line but he can't even fuckin' stand up, and so my uncle's gonna spend a night in jail. Just then there's this fuckin' BOOM like fifty yards down the road. Some guy's car hit a tree. Morgan: Some other guy? Chuckie: Yeah, he was probably drunker than my Uncle, who fuckin' knows? So the cop goes "Stay here" And he goes runnin' down the highway to deal with the other crash. So, my Uncle Marty's standin' on the side of the road for a little while, and he's so fuckin' lit, that he forgets what he's waitin' for. So he goes, "Fuck it." He gets in his car and drives home. Morgan: Holy shit. Chuckie: So in the morning, there's a knock on the door it's the Statie. So my Uncle's like, "Is there a problem?" And the Statie's like "I pulled you over and you took off." And my Uncle's like "I never seen you before in my life, I been home all night with my kids." And Statie's like "Let me get in your garage!" So he's like "All right, fine." He takes around the garage and opens the door and the Statie's cruiser is in my Uncle's garage. All: No way! You're kiddin'! Chuckie: No, he was so hammered that he drove the police cruiser home. Fuckin' lights and everything! Morgan: Did your Uncle get arrested? Chuckie: The fuckin' Trooper was so embarrassed he didn't do anything. The fuckin' guy had been drivin' around in my Uncle's car all night lookin' for the house.

Zap. Sports channel. Normal is nine innings, four balls, three strikes, somebody wins, somebody loses, there’s no such thing as a tie. Zap. Normal is unreal people, mostly rich unreal people, having sex with rappers and basketball players and thinking of their unreal family as a real-world brand, like Pepsi or Drano or Ford. Zap. News channels. Normal is guns and the normal America that really wants to be great again. Then there’s another normal if your skin color is the wrong color and another if you’re educated and another if you think education is brainwashing and there’s an America that believes in vaccines for kids and another that says that’s a con trick and everything one normal believes is a lie to another normal and they’re all on TV depending where you look, so, yeah, it’s confusing. I’m really trying to understand which this is America now. Zap zap zap. A man with his head in a bag being shot by a man without a shirt on. A fat man in a red hat screaming at men and women also fat also in red hats about victory, We’re undereducated and overfed. We’re full of pride over who the f*ck knows. We drive to the emergency room and send Granny to get our guns and cigarettes. We don’t need no stinkin’ allies cause we’re stupid and you can suck our dicks. We are Beavis and Butt-Head on ’roids. We drink Roundup from the can. Our president looks like a Christmas ham and talks like Chucky. We’re America, bitch. Zap. Immigrants raping our women every day. We need Space Force because Space ISIS. Zap. Normal is Upside-Down Land. Our old friends are our enemies now and our old enemy is our pal. Zap, zap. Men and men, women and women in love. The purple mountains’ majesty. A man with an oil painting of himself with Jesus hanging in his living room. Dead schoolkids. Hurricanes. Beauty. Lies. Zap, zap, zap. “Normal doesn’t feel so normal to me,” I tell him. “It’s normal to feel that way,” he replies.

My name is Charlie Chucky, I am in the sixth grade, I love playing Minecraft, and I am learning to become a Super Spy. My Dad is the world’s best Super Spy, and he is starting to teach me all his tricks. Lately, I’ve been battling invisible giants, crazy zombie teachers, and super ninjas! Life has been pretty crazy, and I’ve enjoyed every second of it. My best friend Harley is different to me. He doesn’t want to become a Super Spy. He doesn’t want to battle bad guys and save the world each week. Nope. He wants to sit indoors and stare at numbers all day. Harley’s dream is to become the world’s greatest math professor. He loves school, he loves studying, and he absolutely loves math tests.  He goes mad for them. It is the one thing he is really good at. He just loves numbers.  Numbers are like candy for him – he can’t get enough of it. He even asked Mrs. Jackson for extra math homework last night. Mrs. Jackson then decided to give the whole class extra math homework. Let’s just say Harley wasn’t that popular after school.  This is Harley. Mrs. Jackson always says that someday math will save our lives, but I can’t see how it will. Maybe one day, four giant numbers will attack our school, and I will defeat them using an algebra equation… or maybe the numbers in my textbook will go bad, and start attacking all the words on the pages, and I will stop them using a calculator!

As though on cue, his answering smile turned lascivious, and the once handsome face appeared both diabolical and childlike— like a life-sized Chucky doll. “Yeah

take your God back. though his songs are beautiful, his miracles are inconsistent. i want the fate of Lazarus for Renisha, want Chucky, Bo, Meech, Trayvon, Sean & Jonylah risen three days after their entombing, their ghost re-gifted flesh & blood, their flesh & blood re-gifted their children. ‘dear white america

I think you mean she terrifies you,” I corrected. “She’s a little old lady,” Brian scoffed. “She’s harmless.” I arched a challenging eyebrow. “This town is rich on rumors,” I supplied. “One woman – the one who owns that porcelain unicorn store – told me that Tillie Winchester sacrifices goats and can read minds. “One of those freaky red-haired twins – the ones who look like real-life Chucky dolls – told me that Aunt Tillie told him she would curse his tongue to fall out if he ever called her a witch again,” I continued. “And that woman who sells caramel apples at the fairs? Yeah, she told me that all the Winchesters dance naked under every full moon and cast spells to make sure the town stays prosperous.

May God have mercy on your soul! from Annabelle, as far as now the film reminds for Chucky.

Dolls of all sizes, in various states of decay, hung from trees like grisly Christmas ornaments. Most have lost limbs, eyes, or entire torsos to the passage of time. With their still-plump cherub cheeks, they would have been pretty once upon a time, looking at home in a little girl’s bedroom – a little girl like Taylor. Now, their grimy, cracked complexions and missing eyes made them look more like mutant Chucky dolls.

The next message was from my mom. “What in the hell do I have to do to get my children to call me?” She was missing Chucky. I yelled from my bedroom, “Chuck, did you call Mom back?” He came and stood in the doorway of my room. Through a yawn, he said, “Yeah, she’s having empty-nester pains.” “That’s pathetic. I figured it was more about you than me.” “Your boy had a shitty game.” “I heard,” I said. “Are you working tomorrow?” “No, I don’t work on Sundays. It’s a holy day.” Chucky choked on his Kombucha. “You are the poster child of goodness and virtue.” I was brushing out my hair and inspecting the balayage I had done on it the day before. “I thought you were gonna start being nicer to your landlord?” I said. “Your hair looks good, Charlotte. Seriously. You kind of look like Lily Aldridge now.” “Who’s that?” “Some famous chick.” When Chucky left the room, I immediately Googled Lily Aldridge. She was a model and married to a rock star. I walked over to Chucky’s room, where I found him dozing off in bed. I walked right up to him and smacked him in the head. “What are you doing?” he shouted. “You can’t call me Fatbutt and then say I look like freakin’ Lily Aldridge.” “Okay,” he whined. “I take it back. You look like you ate Lily Aldridge.” “Fuck you, Chucky.” As I walked back to my room he called out, “Love you, Fatbutt!

Chucky came home sometime around the fifth inning. “Yo,” he said as he walked by me toward his room. “Yo.” When he came back out, he was wearing a red polyester tracksuit and had a bag in his hand. “I got you a present,” he said. When I stood to take the bag from his hands I noticed that the name “Chuck” was embroidered on his jacket. I cautiously removed the contents of the bag to reveal an identical tracksuit to the one he was wearing, except it had “Charlie” embroidered on it. “Oh my god, Chucky.” I buckled over and started laughing. “Screw Helen,” he said. “We’re roomies now.” “We’re the Royal Tenenbaums!” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Thank you, Chuck. I totally thought you’d have Fatbutt embroidered on something the first chance you got.” “It crossed my mind.” Still laughing, I said, “We’re gonna be a spectacle.” “It’s fucking rad

A fat man in a red hat screaming at men and women also fat also in red hats about victory, We’re undereducated and overfed. We’re full of pride over who the f*ck knows. We drive to the emergency room and send Granny to get our guns and cigarettes. We don’t need no stinkin’ allies cause we’re stupid and you can suck our dicks. We are Beavis and Butt-Head on ’roids. We drink Roundup from the can. Our president looks like a Christmas ham and talks like Chucky. We’re America, bitch. Zap. Immigrants raping our women every day. We need Space Force because Space ISIS. Zap. Normal is Upside-Down Land. Our old friends are our enemies now and our old enemy is our pal. Zap, zap. Men and men, women and women in love. The purple mountains’ majesty. A man with an oil painting of himself with Jesus hanging in his living room. Dead schoolkids. Hurricanes. Beauty. Lies. Zap, zap, zap.

I can’t believe this. I’m marrying a child. And not a normal child—a demon hellspawn, like Chucky, or the Children of the Corn

Chucky knows who Bad Mommy iz. Chucky knows what Bad Mommy didz.

can’t believe you just said all that, Daisy,” Charley says quietly on the other end. “You just came out and straight out confessed what you did to me—with the Chucky. You admitted you were harassing and terrorizing me into having an abortion, and then you paid me to have one. How much was it again?

The royal borough of Chucky Stanes, like every other town of the kind, enjoys an undue proportion of ladies in a state of single blessedness. The house I rented there belonged to Miss Beenie Needles, a venerable damsel of that description. Her father, far back in the last century, had held the dignity of Provost. In the plenitude of his magisterial pomp, he erected the edifice,where Miss Beeny, with her niece, Mrs, Greenknowe, the widow of a much respected surgeon, held court, or, more properly, sat in expectation of being courted.

Chucky, the once ever-gracious gray Persian cat, had sinned. He had broken the commandment of the house. All who lived within it must abide it. There was only one commandment: the Declaration of Solidarity, and that was this, 'Thou shalt live as if every life is your own.

Morgan: How fuckin' retarded do you have to be to get shit-canned from that job? How hard is it to push a fuckin' broom? Chuckie: You got fired from pushing a broom, you little bitch. Morgan: Yah, that was different. Management was restructurin'. Billy: Yah, restructurin' the amount of retards they had workin' for them.

ကိုယ့်မှဦ ရွေးချယ်စရာ နှစ်ခုပဲရှိတော့တယ်။ ကိုယ်ဟာအရှုံးတွေထဲမှာပဲ ရပ်နေမလား၊ ဒါမှမဟုတ် ဘာမှမရှိတဲ့နေရာကနေ ကိုယ်ပြန်စရမလား ဆိုတာပေါ့။ ကိုယ်ဟာ ပြန်စဖို့ကို ရွေးချယ်လိုက်ပါတယ်။ ဒါပေမယ့် ကိုယ့်အတွက် လုပ်နိုင်မယ့်အရာတွေတော့ များများစားစား မရှိတော့ဘူး။ ကိုယ့်အမှားတွေထဲကနေ ကိုယ်ပြန်ပြီးအမြတ်ထုတ်ဖို့ သင်ယူဖို့အတွက်ပေါ့။

Something about a girl being strangled to death on her 13th birthday seems so on brand for Chucky.

Not so different from a Chucky doll, I had become both interesting AND frightening to people.

[Chucky] Ya peanut headed suckerfool! Take me on! Ya ugly knuckle butted dogface underpants! You think I'm playin'?

Some people say they can't remember their childhoods at all. That early morning when they waited for others, bouncing the ball and watching its shadow, is lost to them. The ant hills on the sidewalk cracks, the grasshopper that fell in the storm drain, the ball too deep in the stickerbushes to ever be recovered, a morning spent waiting. What reason would we have for remembering any of it? Yet when we do, there is always a feeling of surprise and amazement over this little bit of lost world. Who knows which moments make us who we are? Some of them? All of them? The ones we never really thought of as anything special? How many kickball games did I play? And what would I give to have just one more ups. What would I give to see them all again. Chuckie, roll the ball this way. Chuckie, roll me a good one.

Wee Wullie Waggletail, what is a' your stishie? Tak a doup o' water and courie on a stane: Ilka tree stands dozent, an' the wind without a hishie Fitters in atween the fleurs and shogs them, ane be ane. What whigmaleerie gars ye jow and jink amanf the duckies, Wi' a rowsan simmer sin beekin on your croun; Wheeple, wheeple, wheeplin like a wee burn owre the chuckies, An wagglin here, an wagglin there, an wagglin up an' doun.