Comeback Funny Quotes

I’m no cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one.

Are you a female dog?" "What?" Massie asked. "Why?" "Because you are acting like a real bitch!

Oh yes? Can you identify yourself? -Certainly. I'd know me anywhere.

You know, you're rather amusingly wrong.

-"He loved her...It was noble of him. It was beautiful." -"It was stupid.

Laurence the last time I saw something like you I flushed it away.

I felt my cheeks turn red, and she laughed out loud. But I didn't mind too much, because the last thing she saw was my middle finger aimed in her direction as I stepped outside

How dare you. Do you have any idea who I am?” Laurence whined. “I’m no cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one.

Forgive me....I called you an idiot. I spoke too hastily. You are not. Had I given it more thought, I would have called you a scoundrel.

And it's really very difficult to kill someone when all your inner instincts would oblige you to take off your hat first!

This is an Aston Martin, Gin.You don't run over dead bodies in an Aston Matin." "Tell that to James Bond

Finnik?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”
He looks down at his legs as if noticing them for the first time. Then he whips of his hospital gown, leaving him in just is underwear. “Why? Do you find this”-he strikes a ridiculously proactive pose-“distracting?”
I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because Boggs looks so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnik actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.
“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close. “Sorry,” I say to Boggs.
“Don’t be. I thought you… handled that well,” He says. “Better than my having to arrest him, anyway.”
 
Fulvia Cardew hustles over an makes a sound of frustration when she sees my clean face. “All that hard work, down the drain. I’m not blaming you, Katniss. It’s just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him.” She snags Gale, who’s in a conversation with Plutarch, and spins him towards us. “Isn’t he handsome?”
Gale does look stricking in the uniform, I guess. But the question just embarrasses us both Given our history. I’m trying to think of a witty comeback when Boggs says brusquely, “Well don’t expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.

you're so full of shit, you ought to be a cow manure

Lepida, has anyone ever told you that you're a cruel spiteful selfish slut?...You're vicious. You're unprincipled. You mistreat your slaves and abuse your daughter. And furthermore you're the worst, most neglectful, most criminal wife in Rome. I think we can go now.

(About a cookbook...) - What about this one? Maids of Honor? - Weeelll, they starts OUT as Maids of Honor...but they ends up Tarts.

always schedule your comeback.

What are you assholes looking at?" "Nothing," said Radar. "We're certainly not looking at your eyebrows.

Get the point?" I asked, offering the boys a triumphant smile. Gabriel, Zeb, and Dick stared at me, aghast. "What? Sarcastic postkill comeback. Isn't that what you're supposed to do in situations like this? Too harsh?

Are you kidding me? The last time I saw a face like yours, I fed it a banana.

I glared at him. “You came all the way to Essex just to spy on us?” “Yeah.” He smirked. “I crossed the street. It was really rough.

Most sane human beings who have managed to attain and retain fame each uses it to dramatically increase their name’s chances of being remembered until Jesus comes back, since their heart cannot do what they consciously or unconsciously lust for, that is to say, for it to beat until Jesus returns.

What do you mean by that?” Her frustration got the best of her. “You’re so used to feeling superior that you’ve forgotten there are people who might know something you don’t.” One of his big, competent hands landed on the blade of his hip. “What’s your deal anyway? Do you feel like such a failure that you need to attack anybody who’s successful?” “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Fuck you.

Oooh, hard to say," Angela sneered behind Kami. "Other than live without magic like everybody els, you loser.

And the challenge in the next round would be determined by the winner of this test. "Like, what, the DOM-matrix?" ~Tara Reese

A scarlet flame suffused her face. 'You are very insolent,’ she said, lamely. ‘I’ve often been told so. But I don’t believe it.

This world has three kinds of people. The ones who can count, and the ones who can’t.

Fuck that, go lay an egg, I’m next.

You know I never really understood that expression. Seriously. If someone says they're going to open up a can of whup ass on you, it means someone out there is canning whup ass. Truth be told, that's the guy I'd be most afraid of." Medea

I didn’t get far when he was suddenly behind me. He looped his finger through my belt and practically dragged me to the corner he’d been standing in. “What the fu….” “Stay still,” he ordered. “I need you to block the wind.” I didn’t have any snappy comebacks, so I simply stood there, amazed by his gruffness. Hadn’t anyone ever taught him simple manners? When I looked at him, I thought that maybe they hadn’t. I could easily imagine him as a little Mowgli type, being raised by animals in the jungle.

This is Glesca.... Any time you're confused, take a wee minute to remind yourself of that inescapable fact: this is Glesca. We don't do subtle, we don't do nuanced, we don't do conspiracy. We do pish-heid bampot bludgeoning his girlfriend to death in a fit of paranoid rage induced by forty-eight hours straight on the batter. We do coked-up neds jumping on a guy's heid outside a nightclub because he looked at them funny. We do drug-dealing gangster rockets shooting other drug-dealing gangster rockets as comeback for something almost identical a fortnight ago. We do bam-on-bam. We do tit-for-tat, score-settling, feuds, jealousy, petty revenge. We do straightforward. We do obvious. We do cannaemisswhodunit. When you hear hoofbeats on Sauchiehall Street, it's gaunny be a horse, no' a zebra...'.

Would you like to hold my sword?" He asked the question with a gleam in his eyes. Lucy burst out laughing. At least she didn't giggle again. "You did not just say that. But, um, yeah, I'd like to hold your sword, Agent Riley." Hunter grinned and unzipped his backpack, pulling out something surprisingly small. He held it out to her, and noticed the disappointed look on her face. "Expecting something bigger?" She smirked at his continued play on words. She had a lifetime of training in verbal and physical sparring; he was no match for her. "They say size doesn't matter, but I disagree." Hunter, who apparently hadn't expected her response, choked on his own comeback and unsheathed the sword, then placed it in her hand. "You have to stroke it a certain way to make it bigger.

But what we did do is get interstitials with different colors and movement that reflected the scene that just happened or previewed the one to come. I started to match what my comedic take on the end of a scene was with what the interstitial was doing. I gave them names. One was called “Up Yours,” so if somebody slams somebody [or has a comeback to what they say], the atom would swoop up like an arm coming up at you. If it was a goofy ending, I had one that would swirl through called “Oogle Google.” If the scene was a hard-hitting, funny moment, it would come straight at the camera, which I called “Coming at Ya.” And then if the scene was with Penny, Amy, and Bernadette, I had one with three atoms called “Triple Threat.” If the four guys were in the scene, it would be atoms from the four corners that would come straight at you. I also started to match the colors to the scene. I would use the aquamarine color if we were coming out of or going to Penny’s apartment because it matched her couch or what they were wearing. My assistant and I knew, and that was it. I never told anybody.

For the past three months I've been lodged in the staring-out-the-window-and burning-toast stage of grief. According to Dr. Rupert, I had a depressive breakdown brought on by grief...as though showing up at the office in your bathrobe is perfectly understandable. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of everyone else dying and leaving me behind. You don't feel as though you're having a conversation, ore as though you're listening to a book on tape, the title "Steve the Sales Guy Goes on a Dinner Date". Isn't there some way around having to start this new life without my husband? I can't return Crystal as though she's an appliance that broke before the warranty expired. I'm significant otherless. By the time he calls, maybe I'll be a ndw person with self-confidence and cute comebacks. Straight hair, a better job, a smaller waistline. How could I have managed to lose my husband, my job, my house, and my ass all in one year? I'm so eager for intimacy, I would date a tree. It's a myth that people experience grief for a certain amount of time and then they're over it. Nine of the fifteen pounds I want to lose cling to me like an overprotective mother who doesn't want me to take my pants off until I'm married again. Good-riddance list. It's a list of all the stuff you don't like about a guy. You're supposed to make it when you break up with someone. It's funny how you don't have to be related to someone to love them like family. Dangerous rebound guy. My grief is diminished, but it feels permanent, like a scar. Another grief gold star. Marion & Crystal moved in with me. How can I live happily ever after without loving someone again?

This drive contains footage of you at a three-day orgy?' Hunt demanded. 'Let me know if it gets you hot and bothered, Athalar.' The Viper Queen took another hit of the cigarette. Her green eyes drifted toward his lap. 'I hear you're one Hel of a ride when you pause the brooding long enough.

It’s funny how easy it is to become a creature of habit, even when those habits are not your own.

You smell like trash.' 'Thanks. It's a new cologne I'm trying out.

You are so poor… you can’t even pay attention!

You are so hairy… you shave with a weedeater!

You've delivered your message. I have no big of doggerel to send back- my own fault for having a seneschal who cannot double as my Court Poet- but I will be sure to crumple up some paper and drop it into the water when I do.

You look like a little thundercloud hovering in the middle of a field of sunshine." I bit back a sigh and faced Kalen. "Im flattered you made all this effort to keep the thundercloud company.

Bryce wiggled her nails at the rebel. 'If I'm going to associate with losers like you, I might as well look good doing it.

You're so fat you can’t even do the ABC’s, just the KFC’s.

Money talks. For instance, mine keeps saying “good bye.

I couldn’t hold it in on the elevator and pooped myself. Taking this shit to a whole new level.

I’m really glad you helped me figure out the definition for the word “many.” It meant a lot.

The phrases “I’m sorry” and “I apologize” are exactly the same. Unless you’re saying it at a funeral.

You're single. I'm single. Coincidence? I think not.

You're the only girl I love right now, but in ten years, I'll love another girl. She'll call you 'Mommy.

What does it feel like to be the most beautiful girl in this room?

Please tell your breasts to stop staring at my eyes.

That’s a nice dress. But it would look better in an evidence bag at my trial.

Thank you so much,” the incubus purred, then let out a tiny chuckle as he fanned his face and looked around. “Wow, is it suddenly way hotter in here? Phew.” “Maybe it’s all the polyester,” Seb commented flatly. “Oh my gosh, you’re so funny,” Klaus told Brian with another little laugh, reaching out to gently nudge his shoulder. Brian’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “Um, I didn’t say that—

What does a sub have to do with cancer? This book—Prayers and Po-Boys: A Cancer Survivor's Journey through Chemotherapy and Beyond by Larry Singleton—【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】was yet another that my instinct “told” me to choose from a “lineup.” I went a step further and decided to include it in my Goodreads blog. This time, it wasn’t the cover that piqued my curiosity, even though I found myself trying to make out what looked like a photo of… was that a sandwich or a submarine? Whichever it was, I wondered: what did a sub have to do with cancer? The format I chose was an ebook, so with the cover on a thumbnail, I couldn’t know for sure【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. It was the visual disconnect, or rather, the inappropriateness of the image vis-a-vis the topic of the book that prompted my selection. It didn’t help that the cover looked like a movie poster for a comedy. Ah, maybe it’s a satire【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. As I perused the pages, it became apparent that the cover visual was apropos after all. My earlier misgivings about the image was influenced by what I assumed the term “po-boy” was. I thought it was a diminutive for “poor boys.” In a different context, I was correct. However, the po-boy Larry Singleton, the author, referred to was a specialty sandwich that originated from Louisiana during the Great Depression—1929, to be exact. The filling of the traditional kind was roast beef, but could also be ham or fried seafood. This was encased in French bread with its fluffy interior and crispy crust—a byproduct of New Orleans’ low humidity level. Apparently, there was a union strike that year and ex-streetcar conductors, who owned a local sandwich store, served the striking union workers subs. Those were the original po-boys【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. A slice of history. Wow! Although that came from my own research and not from the book. So that’s one observation I had initially. It would have been better if the author defined the po-boy somewhere: possibly in the intro, chapter one, or a glossary. Not everyone is from New Orleans and would instantly know what it is, regardless of the screaming visual in front of the book. Either that, or it was a tactic by the author to reel in unsuspecting readers. Hook them until the reveal. The latter may well be the truth—a testament to the charming personality of the author, who came across as a Miss Marple/Angela Lansbury-type. (Minus the sleuth background【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.) A delightful aspect of this book is the author’s propensity for funny quips and comebacks. I think his sense of humor was the main reason 【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】(apart from faith and gastronomy he was able to survive his ordeal so well. For instance, when the chaplain remarked that he didn’t see many people eat during a chemo session after seeing the author munch on a sandwich, Larry explained, “I’m trying to be the exception to that rule【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.” And when the same guy asked one day why Larry wasn’t clutching a po-boy while receiving a chemo infusion, the author replied, “I go off the reservation sometimes, but I always come back.” The author spoke of dark clouds too. I expected those. One harked back to Room 5, the venue of the dreaded chemotherapy session. It was the equivalent of my Room 101, a metaphor for my psychological torment, which I discussed in my techno-thriller, The Invisible Cyber Bully: What it's like to be watched 24/7. It was a reference to the torture chamber in George Orwell’s dystopian novel, 1984. Orwell’s version was a red zone where the antagonists subjected dissidents to their worst phobias and nightmares to break their resolve until they could no longer think for themselves, paving the way for the government to control their minds【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.).

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What does a sub have to do with cancer? This book—Prayers and Po-Boys: A Cancer Survivor's Journey through Chemotherapy and Beyond by Larry Singleton—【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】was yet another that my instinct “told” me to choose from a “lineup.” I went a step further and decided to include it in my Goodreads blog. This time, it wasn’t the cover that piqued my curiosity, even though I found myself trying to make out what looked like a photo of… was that a sandwich or a submarine? Whichever it was, I wondered: what did a sub have to do with cancer? The format I chose was an ebook, so with the cover on a thumbnail, I couldn’t know for sure【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. It was the visual disconnect, or rather, the inappropriateness of the image vis-a-vis the topic of the book that prompted my selection. It didn’t help that the cover looked like a movie poster for a comedy. Ah, maybe it’s a satire【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. As I perused the pages, it became apparent that the cover visual was apropos after all. My earlier misgivings about the image was influenced by what I assumed the term “po-boy” was. I thought it was a diminutive for “poor boys.” In a different context, I was correct. However, the po-boy Larry Singleton, the author, referred to was a specialty sandwich that originated from Louisiana during the Great Depression—1929, to be exact. The filling of the traditional kind was roast beef, but could also be ham or fried seafood. This was encased in French bread with its fluffy interior and crispy crust—a byproduct of New Orleans’ low humidity level. Apparently, there was a union strike that year and ex-streetcar conductors, who owned a local sandwich store, served the striking union workers subs. Those were the original po-boys【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. A slice of history. Wow! Although that came from my own research and not from the book. So that’s one observation I had initially. It would have been better if the author defined the po-boy somewhere: possibly in the intro, chapter one, or a glossary. Not everyone is from New Orleans and would instantly know what it is, regardless of the screaming visual in front of the book. Either that, or it was a tactic by the author to reel in unsuspecting readers. Hook them until the reveal. The latter may well be the truth—a testament to the charming personality of the author, who came across as a Miss Marple/Angela Lansbury-type. (Minus the sleuth background【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.) A delightful aspect of this book is the author’s propensity for funny quips and comebacks. I think his sense of humor was the main reason 【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】(apart from faith and gastronomy he was able to survive his ordeal so well. For instance, when the chaplain remarked that he didn’t see many people eat during a chemo session after seeing the author munch on a sandwich, Larry explained, “I’m trying to be the exception to that rule【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.

FLY ~AIR ! Bill Hearn's Blog: Knight of the Flip-Phone - A Ukraine Carol This book—Prayers and Po-Boys: A Cancer Survivor's Journey through Chemotherapy and Beyond by Larry Singleton—【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】was yet another that my instinct “told” me to choose from a “lineup.” I went a step further and decided to include it in my Goodreads blog. This time, it wasn’t the cover that piqued my curiosity, even though I found myself trying to make out what looked like a photo of… was that a sandwich or a submarine? Whichever it was, I wondered: what did a sub have to do with cancer? The format I chose was an ebook, so with the cover on a thumbnail, I couldn’t know for sure【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. It was the visual disconnect, or rather, the inappropriateness of the image vis-a-vis the topic of the book that prompted my selection. It didn’t help that the cover looked like a movie poster for a comedy. Ah, maybe it’s a satire【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. As I perused the pages, it became apparent that the cover visual was apropos after all. My earlier misgivings about the image was influenced by what I assumed the term “po-boy” was. I thought it was a diminutive for “poor boys.” In a different context, I was correct. However, the po-boy Larry Singleton, the author, referred to was a specialty sandwich that originated from Louisiana during the Great Depression—1929, to be exact. The filling of the traditional kind was roast beef, but could also be ham or fried seafood. This was encased in French bread with its fluffy interior and crispy crust—a byproduct of New Orleans’ low humidity level. Apparently, there was a union strike that year and ex-streetcar conductors, who owned a local sandwich store, served the striking union workers subs. Those were the original po-boys【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】. A slice of history. Wow! Although that came from my own research and not from the book. So that’s one observation I had initially. It would have been better if the author defined the po-boy somewhere: possibly in the intro, chapter one, or a glossary. Not everyone is from New Orleans and would instantly know what it is, regardless of the screaming visual in front of the book. Either that, or it was a tactic by the author to reel in unsuspecting readers. Hook them until the reveal. The latter may well be the truth—a testament to the charming personality of the author, who came across as a Miss Marple/Angela Lansbury-type. (Minus the sleuth background【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.) A delightful aspect of this book is the author’s propensity for funny quips and comebacks. I think his sense of humor was the main reason 【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】(apart from faith and gastronomy he was able to survive his ordeal so well. For instance, when the chaplain remarked that he didn’t see many people eat during a chemo session after seeing the author munch on a sandwich, Larry explained, “I’m trying to be the exception to that rule【+１||８ 00|| 211|| 5032 ]】.