Cookies Funny Quotes

Self-knowledge is better than self-control any day," Raquel said firmly. "And I know myself well enough to know how I act around cookies.

Well, someone slap my butt and give me a hero cookie. (Nick)

Do you want a cookie? - What? - A cookie. Like an Oreo. Do you want one? - No. - How can you not want a cookie? - I just don't. - Okay, fine,let's say you did want a cookie. Let's say you were dying for a cookie, and there were cookies in the cupboard. What would you do? - I'd eat a cookie? - Exactly. That's all I'm saying. - What are you saying? - That if people want cookies, they should get a cookie. It's what people do. - Let me guess. Dad won't let you have a cookie? - No. Even though I'm practically starving to death, he won't even consider it. He says I have to have a sandwich first. - And you don't think that's fair. - You just said you'd get a cookie if you wanted one. So why can't I? I'm not a little kid. I can make my own decisions. - Hmm. I can see why this bothers you so much. - It's not fair. If he wants a cookie, he can have one. If you want a cookie, you can have one. But if I want a cookie, the rules don't count. Like you said, it's not fair. - So what are you going to do? - I'm going to eat a sandwich. Because I have to. Because the world isn't fair to ten-year-olds.

Apparently the complete works of Shakespeare packed quite a wallop. To think, my mother said I'd never find use for an English degree. Ha! I'd like to see her knock someone silly with an apron and a cookie press.

The common man prays, 'I want a cookie right now!' And God responds, 'If you'd listen to what I say, tomorrow it will bring you 100 cookies.

Eve: "Was that like a cookie?" Roarke: "Hmmm?" Eve: "You know, have a cookie. You'll feel better. Were you making me feel better?" Roarke: "I certainly hope so, it worked for me. I wanted you. I always do." Eve: "It's funny how men can wake up with their brains in their cocks." Roarke: "It makes us what we are. Let's take a shower. I'll give you another cookie.

It is easier to tell a person what life is not, rather than to tell them what it is. A child understands weeds that grow from lack of attention, in a garden. However, it is hard to explain the wild flowers that one gardener calls weeds, and another considers beautiful ground cover.

Don't you want to know what cookies is a code word for?" "No! Good God, no!

Funny, how one good cookie could calm the mind and even elevate a troubled soul.

Reckoner Super Plan for Killing Regalia... Step One: find Regalia, then totally explode her. Lots and Lots. Step Two: put Val on decaf. Step Three: Mizzy gets a cookie.

That's your solution? Have a cookie?

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.

If I had 10 cookies and you took one. What would you have? -A black eye and a broken hand!

So you have your price. Your soul for a cookie.

Boomer took bites of all six varieties, contemplating each one and "guring out the order in which he would then eat them. “I like the brown one and the lighter brown one and the almost-brown one. I’m not so sure about the minty one. But really, I think the lebkuchen spice one is the best.” “The what?” “The lebkuchen spice one.” He held it up for me. “This one.” “You’re making that up. What’s a lebkuchen spice? It sounds like a cross between a Keebler elf and a stripper. Hello, my name ees Lebkuchen Spice, and I vant to show you my cooooookies...” “Don’t be rude!” Boomer protested. As if the cookie might be offended.

Chomsky is a pencil-and-paper theoretician who wouldn't know Jabba the Hutt from the Cookie Monster,

According to the fortune-cookie logic most people live by, the best things in life are free. That's crap. I have a gold-plated robot that scratches the exact part of my back where my hands can't reach, and it certainly wasn't free.

I pat her on the head. "Oh, naive little Kitten. Dear, foolish girl. This cookie is worth all this and more. Sit or you will not partake.

The fact that they're shaped like tiny elves!" Keefe said, clapping his hands before he pointed to the label. "Hang on-THEY CALL THEM 'ELF WITCHES'?" "They do, Keefe. They do. And that's not even the best part." "AHHHHHH LOOK AT THEIR LITTLE FACES!" Keefe shouted as he peeled back the plastic cover. "THIS IS THE GREATEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN---EVER!" "Greater than when you discovered Fitz slept with Mr. Snuggles?" Sophie had to ask. "Um. YEAH. They have names, Foster. NAMES!" He held up one of the cookies and pointed to the name tag the little elf was holding. "This one's Ernie! AHHHH AND THIS ONE IS FAST EDDIE!" he said, snatching a different cookie. "And this one is Bickets! And Elwood! I don't know who named these guys, but whoever they are, they're a genius, I tell you--a GENIUS. - Legacy, chapter 37, page 596-97 hardcover.

Abel was brushing the snow off his parka while Micha was dancing around him, still balancing the plate of cookies, singing, 'We're staying, we're staying, we're staying overnight! We're drying! We're drying! We're drying on the line!

If my hair was on fire and llamas came to put it out, he'd tell me the shot was great.

I was just thinking if the moon was a giant cookie, it’d be so filling.

Vlad stared at Simon. "Meg told the Elders they were..." "Bad puppies," Simon finished. "Yeah." A minute passed before Vlad said, "Why?" "They didn't say 'please' when they asked for cookies." "I don't know what to say." Simon scratched behind an ear that was now Wolf-shaped and furry. "That's okay. Meg said plenty for all of us.

It’s not complicated and it doesn’t compare to my problem, now give me a damn cookie I think I earned it,” Jill snapped. Chris grinned like it was Christmas morning. “Yes, you did.” He brought her a cookie. “Very good, my young one. You’ve made Chris very happy with this little tidbit of information.

Thought for the day: Twitter...140 character limit...must be a great tool for fortune cookie writers...

In my mind, she was Lebkuchen Spice—ironic, Germanic, sexy, and off beat. And, mein Gott, the girl could bake a damn fine cookie … to the point that I wanted to answer her What do you want for Christmas? with a simple More cookies, please! But no. She warned me not to be a smart-ass, and while that answer was totally sincere, I was afraid she would think I was joking or, worse, kissing up. It was a hard question, especially if I had to batten down the sarcasm. I mean, there was the beauty pageant answer of world peace, although I’d probably have to render it in the beauty pageant spelling of world peas. I could play the boo-hoo orphan card and wish for my whole family to be together, but that was the last thing I wanted, especially at this late date.

What exactly do you think is going to happen to me in Redwood Ridge? A Halloween display falling on me? Blown over by the force of someone waving hello? No, no, I got it. I’ll get diabetes after I’m forced to eat a cookie from the free sample display by the bakery. I hear sugar calling to me now. Dangerous stuff.

Eric: But you already know... Greta: Well, yeah, but I still want us to have The Talk. All daughters get to have The Talk. Eric: Fine. You remember the book "If you give a Mouse a Cookie"? Greta: Ye-es. Eric: It's like that. Greta: No it isn't. Eric: No. It absolutely is... Eric: If you give a boy a kiss, he'll want to touch your cookies. If you let him touch your cookies, he'll want to unwrap them. If you let him unwrap them, he'll want to put them in his mouth. And THEN, if you let him put them in his mouth, the boy will want to pet your kitty. But if you let him pet your kitty, he'll want to see your kitty. And of course, if you let him see your kitty, then he'll want to feed it. And if you let him kiss you, touch your cookies, unwrap your cookies, put them in his mouth, pet your kitty, see your kitty, and feed your kitty, you'll get pregnant unless you make him wear a raincoat on his banana. So it's better if you just kick the boy in the nuts and run over him with the car. Greta: I don't think that's how The Talk usually goes. Eric: No? Greta: No, but it's okay, Dad. I like your version, too.

Other times I fixate on how endearing people are. We sleep on soft surfaces; we like to be cozy. When I see cats cuddled up on pillows, I find it sweet; we are like that too. We like to eat cookies and smell flowers. We wear mittens and hats. We visit our families even when we’re old. We like to pet dogs. We laugh; we make involuntary sounds when we find things funny. Laughing is adorable, if you really think about it :')

You're still like a chocolate cupcake while I'm that weird lemon-white chocolate cookie people always pick last because it's weird.

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

... Scotty was sad, so I baked him cookies and we smoked a joint and then I gave him head. Best girlfriend ever.

Ten short years ago, nobody had ever heard of a selfie. But today every decent cell phone has not one but two cameras, so you can take idiotic duck face pictures. And don't forget the billion dollar selfie-stick industry. Capitalism has found a whole new way to turn our vanity into profit.

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.

Your site isn't static. It's dynamically generated. Do you know what that means ?" "No." "It means the site looks different to different people. Let's say you chose the poll option that said you're in favor of tax cuts. Well there's a cookie on your machine now, and when you look at the site again, the articles are about how the government is wasting your money. The site is dynamically selecting content based on what you want. I mean, not what you want. What will piss you off. What will engage your attention and reinforce your beliefs, make you trust the site. And if you said you were against tax cuts, we'll show you stories of Republicans blocking social programs or whatever. It works every which way. Your site is made of mirrors, reflecting everyone's thoughts back at them..." "And we haven't even started talking about keywords. This is just the beginning. Third major advantage: People who use a site like this tend to ramp up their dependence on it. Suddenly all those other news sources, the ones that aren't framing every story in terms of the user's core beliefs, they start to seem confusing and strange. They start to seem biased, actually, which is kind of funny. So now you've got a user who not only trusts you, you're his major source of information on what's happening in the world. Boom, you own that guy. You can tell him whatever you like and no one's contradicting you.

Do you need help with anything?" he asked with a wicked arched brow. "Maybe with cookies for Santa." Scowling because no one was here but us, I said, "You're a bit late for that. Santa already came." He hadn't moved, but I knew better than to think he would. Flynn was a pro at filling the bubble air space that was meant to be private and personal. "And were you a good girl?" he asked. Awkwardly folding my arms over my chest, I said, "Not sure, I haven't checked. But you needn't look. We all know you are all bad." Laughing, he said, "Yeah, well, there are other things worth unwrapping." Grinding my teeth, I asked, "What, you didn't get your Ho, Ho, Ho, last night?" Tossing back another full belly laugh, he said, "You know you're kind of funny when you want to be.

People have always been vain. Can you imagine what it was like when some guy invented the first mirror? Maidens probably spent all day and night just staring at their own reflection in the dim candle light of their drafty castle tower, back when the first mirrors were cutting edge technology.

The only nightmare I could remember was from when I was a very small child, maybe three or four years old. Cookie Monster from Sesame Street had been babysitting me and kept chasing me around the house calling me 'Cookie'. I was trying to focus on it, but at sixteen years old, it was funny to me now.

There comes a time in every woman's life where she will decide to eat cookie dough. It is when and how that truly defines her.

Can I do anything for you? Bake you cookies? Walk your dogs? Throw snowballs? Just generally be a distraction?

You're not the butcher, selling sausages. You're the cow, pre-sausage.

Everyone thinks they're entitled to their 15 minutes of fame. And it's that narcissism that makes people, who have no business writing a book, think they can write a book.

Holy batch of cookies, my shoulder hurts!

U bent toch niet op zoek naar een volkorenbiscuitje, wel? Die heb ik namelijk allemaal ingepikt,' zei hij. Hij hield een pak koekjes omhoog. 'Ik heb veel sterker spul,' zei ze. Ze hield de zak met drugs omhoog.

Other times I fixate on how endearing people are. We sleep on soft surfaces; we like to be cozy. When I see cats cuddled up on pillows, I find it sweet; we are like that too. We like to eat cookies and smell flowers. We wear mittens and hats. We visit our families even when we’re old. We like to pet dogs. We laugh; we make involuntary sounds when we find things funny. Laughing is adorable, if you really think about it

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.

Sometimes I fixate on how disgusting humans are. I think about how we do things like litter and invent nuclear bombs. I think about racism, war, rape, child abuse, and climate change. I think about how gross people are. I think about public bathrooms, armpits, and about all of our dirty hands. I think about how infection and diseases are spread. I think about how every human has a butt, and about how disgusting that is. Other times I fixate on how endearing people are. We sleep on soft surfaces; we like to be cozy. When I see cats cuddled up on pillows, I find it sweet; we are like that too. We like to eat cookies and smell flowers. We wear mittens and hats. We visit our families even when we’re old. We like to pet dogs. We laugh; we make involuntary sounds when we find things funny. Laughing is adorable, if you really think about it. We have hospitals. We invented buildings meant to help repair people. Doctors and nurses study for years to work here. They come here every day just to patch other people up. If we discovered some other animal who created infrastructure in the anticipation that their little animal peers might get hurt, we would all be absolutely moved and amazed.

What?" "Nothing." He laughed."You were really hungry." "I don't need to defend my eating to anyone.And just so you know,when I'm done with this,I plan to eat three whole cookies." "Whoa." He held up his hands."Now you're pulling out the big guns." "I don't mess around.

Scroll through a list of books online, and you will find page after page after page of book covers with shirtless guys and titles that scream BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE! or ALPHA-MALE PARANORMAL WEREWOLF ROMANCE! or something equally ridiculous. All these shitty books look like clones of each other. There's not an original thought in sight.

You know I like you just the way you are, right?" I swallowed hard. "You haven't seen all of me yet." "You're amazing," Jay said, kissing me softly. "And smart." Kiss. "And kind." Another kiss. "And funny." He kissed me longer this time, as if making a point. "And you have scars. It all makes you who you are, and I really like who you are, Amir.

Actually, judging by Pinterest alone, I’m pretty sure a lot of people would look forward to hanging out in such a beautiful library. Just not people Peter knows. He thinks I’m so quirky. I’m not planning on being the one to break the news to him that I’m actually not that quirky, that in fact lots of people like to stay home and bake cookies and scrapbook and hang out in libraries. Most of them are probably in their fifties, but still. I like the way he looks a me, like I am a wood nymph that he happened upon one day and just had to take home to keep.

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

Like what? What else have you found in a book?" "Well..." he looked around, like the walls might have ears and reopened the cigar box, faced it towards him so I couldn't see the contents. "Things like this." He showed me a pressed blue flower as big as my fist, it's stamens flattened in all directions like a firework display. A cookie fortune that read simply 'woe betide you'. A neatly clipped page of personal ads dated September 1, 1970 from a paper called the East Village Chronicler. "Funny stuff right?" It was. I liked it. The thought that you could find harmless, interesting things tucked inside books. A reminder that the world contained mysteries.

At any rate,’ he continued, ‘we hoped that once the war was over the Oracle might start working again. When it did not … Rachel became concerned.’ ‘Who’s Rachel?’ Meg asked. ‘Rachel Dare,’ I said. ‘The Oracle.’ ‘Thought the Oracle was a place.’ ‘It is.’ ‘Then Rachel is a place, and she stopped working?’ Had I still been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me. ‘The original Delphi was a place in Greece,’ I told her. ‘A cavern filled with volcanic fumes, where people would come to receive guidance from my priestess, the Pythia.’ ‘Pythia.’ Meg giggled. ‘That’s a funny word.’ ‘Yes. Ha-ha. So the Oracle is both a place and a person. When the Greek gods relocated to America back in … what was it, Chiron, 1860?’ Chiron see-sawed his hand. ‘More or less.’ ‘I brought the Oracle here to continue speaking prophecies on my behalf. The power has passed down from priestess to priestess over the years. Rachel Dare is the present Oracle.’ From the cookie platter, Meg plucked the only Oreo, which I had been hoping to have myself. ‘Mm-kay. Is it too late to watch that movie?’ ‘Yes,’ I snapped. ‘Now, the way I gained possession of the Oracle of Delphi in the first place was by killing this monster called Python who lived in the depths of the cavern.’ ‘A python like the snake,’ Meg said. ‘Yes and no. The snake species is named after Python the monster, who is also rather snaky, but who is much bigger and scarier and devours small girls who talk too much. At any rate, last August, while I was … indisposed, my ancient foe Python was released from Tartarus. He reclaimed the cave of Delphi. That’s why the Oracle stopped working.’ ‘But, if the Oracle is in America now, why does it matter if some snake monster takes over its old cave?’ That was about the longest sentence I had yet heard her speak. She’d probably done it just to spite me. ‘It’s too much to explain,’ I said. ‘You’ll just have to –’ ‘Meg.’ Chiron gave her one of his heroically tolerant smiles. ‘The original site of the Oracle is like the deepest taproot of a tree. The branches and leaves of prophecy may extend across the world, and Rachel Dare may be our loftiest branch, but if the taproot is strangled the whole tree is endangered. With Python back in residence at his old lair, the spirit of the Oracle has been completely blocked.

You have heard about the reindeer that pull old Santa's sled. But mostly I hate Rudolph and wish that he were dead. With his nose of red which we all know just can't be true. I wish someone would just kill him, that someone could be you. He is Santa's favorite and to the front he can be found. Instead of his red nose, "I" think it should be brown. He believes that Santa likes him and thinks that he's a winner. But Santa Claus has other plans he wants Rudolph for his dinner. Old Saint Nick is greedy this I know without a doubt. What else do you think happens to all the great toys we go without? He takes them and he breaks them be cause he doesn't care a bit. To me it doesn't matter, Why, he can keep his "Schict". Yes' it's true that I hate Santa too, dressed in his suit of silk. That's why this year with the homemade cookies, I'm going to leave some poison milk.

Christmas Cookie Bonanza?” “Christmas Cookie Bonanza,” I confirm. “You’re making my favorite, right?” Josh gives me puppy-dog eyes, which always makes me laugh, because it’s so un-Josh. “You’re such a dork,” I say, shaking my head. “What’s your favorite?” Peter asks him. “Because I think the list is pretty set.” “I’m pretty sure it’s already on the list,” Josh says. I look from Josh to Peter. I can’t tell if they’re kidding or not. Peter reaches out and tickles Kitty’s feet. “Read us the list, Katherine.” Kitty giggles and rolls over to her notepad. Then she stands up and grandly says, “M&M cookies are a yes, cappuccino cookies are a maybe, Creamsicle cookies are a maybe, fruitcake cookies are a no way--” “Wait a minute, I’m a part of this council too,” Peter objects, “and you guys just turned down my fruitcake cookies without a second thought.” “You said to forget the fruitcake cookies, like, five seconds ago!” I say. “Well, now I want them back under consideration,” he says. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have the votes,” I tell him. “Kitty and I both vote no, so that’s two against one.” My dad pops his head into the living room. “Put me down as a yes vote for the fruitcake cookies.” His head disappears back into the kitchen. “Thank you, Dr. Covey,” Peter crows. He drags me closer to him. “See, I knew your dad was on my side.” I laugh. “You’re such a suck-up!” And then I look over at Josh, and he is staring at us with a funny, left-out look on his face. It makes me feel bad, that look. I scoot away from Peter and start flipping through my books again. I tell him, “The list is still a work in progress. The cookie council will strongly consider your white-chocolate cranberry cookies.” “Greatly appreciated,” Josh says. “Christmas isn’t Christmas without your white-chocolate cranberry cookies.” Kitty pipes up, “Hey, Josh, you’re a suck-up too.” Josh grabs her and tickles her until she’s laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.

I cooked with so many of the greats: Tom Colicchio, Eric Ripert, Wylie Dufresne, Grant Achatz. Rick Bayless taught me not one but two amazing mole sauces, the whole time bemoaning that he never seemed to know what to cook for his teenage daughter. Jose Andres made me a classic Spanish tortilla, shocking me with the sheer volume of viridian olive oil he put into that simple dish of potatoes, onions, and eggs. Graham Elliot Bowles and I made gourmet Jell-O shots together, and ate leftover cheddar risotto with Cheez-Its crumbled on top right out of the pan. Lucky for me, Maria still includes me in special evenings like this, usually giving me the option of joining the guests at table, or helping in the kitchen. I always choose the kitchen, because passing up the opportunity to see these chefs in action is something only an idiot would do. Susan Spicer flew up from New Orleans shortly after the BP oil spill to do an extraordinary menu of all Gulf seafood for a ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate fund-raising dinner Maria hosted to help the families of Gulf fishermen. Local geniuses Gil Langlois and Top Chef winner Stephanie Izard joined forces with Gale Gand for a seven-course dinner none of us will ever forget, due in no small part to Gil's hoisin oxtail with smoked Gouda mac 'n' cheese, Stephanie's roasted cauliflower with pine nuts and light-as-air chickpea fritters, and Gale's honey panna cotta with rhubarb compote and insane little chocolate cookies. Stephanie and I bonded over hair products, since we have the same thick brown curls with a tendency to frizz, and the general dumbness of boys, and ended up giggling over glasses of bourbon till nearly two in the morning. She is even more awesome, funny, sweet, and genuine in person than she was on her rock-star winning season on Bravo. Plus, her food is spectacular all day. I sort of wish she would go into food television and steal me from Patrick. Allen Sternweiler did a game menu with all local proteins he had hunted himself, including a pheasant breast over caramelized brussels sprouts and mushrooms that melted in your mouth (despite the occasional bit of buckshot). Michelle Bernstein came up from Miami and taught me her white gazpacho, which I have since made a gajillion times, as it is probably one of the world's perfect foods.

Q: How can you get rich by eating? A: Eat lots of fortune cookies!

Well, class,” said Teacher Jane. “As I guess you all know, Valentine’s Day is coming. We’re going to have a valentine party with punch and cookies, and we’re all going to give valentines to each other.” “Yippee!” cried the class. “Oh, yeah?” said Sister under her breath. “If she thinks I’m going to send a valentine to that no-good, rotten Billy Grizzwold, she’s got another think coming.” But Sister had another think coming, too. She began to think about what kind of valentine Herbie Cubbison might send her. She was still thinking about it that night at dinner when the phone rang. “It’s probably for you, Brother,” said Papa. “So you might as well answer it.” “That’s right,” said Sister. “It’s probably one of your sweethearts.” “You cut that out!” said Brother as he went to answer the phone. “I wish you wouldn’t tease your brother like that,” said Mama. “Well,” said Sister when Brother returned, “which one of your sweethearts was it, Bonnie, Jill, or Alexis?” “It was Bonnie, if you must know,” said Brother, “and she was calling about math homework.” “Uh-huh,” said Sister. “But that’s not the real reason she was calling. The real reason is that Valentine’s Day is coming and she wants to make sure you send her an icky-sticky valentine with lots of kisses.” “You cut that out!” shouted Brother. “Mama, if she doesn’t cut that out, I’m gonna--” But the phone rang again. “It’s probably Jill this time,” said Sister as Brother went to the phone.

Well, class,” said Teacher Jane. “As I guess you all know, Valentine’s Day is coming. We’re going to have a valentine party with punch and cookies, and we’re all going to give valentines to each other.” “Yippee!” cried the class. “Oh, yeah?” said Sister under her breath. “If she thinks I’m going to send a valentine to that no-good, rotten Billy Grizzwold, she’s got another think coming.” But Sister had another think coming, too. She began to think about what kind of valentine Herbie Cubbison might send her.

Why did the cookie go to the doctor?

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.

Other times I fixate on how endearing people are. We sleep on soft surfaces; we like to be cozy. When I see cats cuddled up on pillows, I nd it sweet; we are like that too. We like to eat cookies and smell owers. We wear mittens and hats. We visit our families even when we’re old. We like to pet dogs. We laugh; we make involuntary sounds when we nd things funny. Laughing is adorable, if you really think about it" :')

The second advantage of being on antipsychotics is that they can actually help. In the time I’ve been on them I’ve hurt myself less. I feel more stable. The blue men who live in my closet try to sell me fewer cookies and most of those squirrels plotting against me have disappeared.

What did you have for lunch?” “Oatmeal and raisins?” he replied tentatively. I walked over and stood in front of Jordan, looking down at him. “You mean oatmeal and raisin cookies?” “Which is oatmeal and raisins, and those are super healthy.

Welcome to apartment life,” Cash breathed. “I sure know how to make a great first impression,” I muttered, following Cash as he laughed. I didn’t see what was so funny. I’d been yearning for that kiss for months. “No welcome cookies for you then.

I flew back to the States in December of 1992 with conflicting emotions. I was excited to see my family and friends. But I was sad to be away from Steve. Part of the problem was that the process didn’t seem to make any sense. First I had to show up in the States and prove I was actually present, or I would never be allowed to immigrate back to Australia. And, oh yeah, the person to whom I had to prove my presence was not, at the moment, present herself. Checks for processing fees went missing, as did passport photos, certain signed documents. I had to obtain another set of medical exams, blood work, tuberculosis tests, and police record checks--and in response, I got lots of “maybe’s” and “come back tomorrow’s.” It would have been funny, in a surreal sort of way, if I had not been missing Steve so much. This was when we should have still been in our honeymoon days, not torn apart. A month stretched into six weeks. Steve and I tried keeping our love alive through long-distance calls, but I realized that Steve informing me over the phone that “our largest reticulated python died” or “the lace monitors are laying eggs” was no substitute for being with him. It was frustrating. There was no point in sitting still and waiting, so I went back to work with the flagging business. When my visa finally came, it had been nearly two months, and it felt like Christmas morning. That night we had a good-bye party at the restaurant my sister owned, and my whole family came. Some brought homemade cookies, others brought presents, and we had a celebration. Although I knew I would miss everyone, I was ready to go home. Home didn’t mean Oregon to me anymore. It meant, simply, by Steve’s side. When I arrived back at the zoo, we fell in love all over again. Steve and I were inseparable. Our nights were filled with celebrating our reunion. The days were filled with running the zoo together, full speed ahead. Crowds were coming in bigger than ever before. We enjoyed yet another record-breaking day for attendance. Rehab animals poured in too: joey kangaroos, a lizard with two broken legs, an eagle knocked out by poison. My heart was full. It felt good to be back at work. I had missed my animal friends--the kangaroos, cassowaries, and crocodiles.

You are no fun,” Dev said, passing Anna a cookie. “We couldn’t hear a thing, and we were sure you were going to tear a strip off the earl. Nobody tears a strip off Westhaven, not Her Grace, not His Grace, not even Pericles.” “Rose could,” Val speculated, handing his drink to Anna. “Come along.” He put an arm around Anna’s shoulders. “We’ll teach you how to cheat at cribbage, and you can tell us what we missed.” “I already know how to cheat at cribbage,” Anna said dumbly, staring at the drink and cookie in her hands. “Teach that in housekeeper school now, do they?” Dev closed the library door behind them. “Well, then we’ll teach you some naughty rugby songs instead. She’s going to cry, Val. Best get your hankie at the ready.” “I am not going to cry,” Anna said, shoulders stiff. But then she took a funny gulpy breath and two monogrammed handkerchiefs were thrust in her direction. She turned her face into Val’s muscular shoulder and bawled while Dev rescued the drink and cookies.

I'd grown impervious to all three of his facial expressions.

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

Baby, we need to have a talk with our daughter." My wife stopped dropping cookie dough onto a tray and turned to face me. "A talk?" I growled as I prowled over to my gorgeous mate, struck by the beauty she'd passed down to our five-year-old, Brea. "She's decided that she doesn't want to wait until she grows up to find her mate." Larissa snorted with laughter and buried her face in my chest, "This isn't funny, mate," I grumbled. "Zeke just called to tell me that Jake caught Kyla walking Brea and Alena all over the neighbourhood, knocking on everyone's door to see if their fated mate lives there.

My vampire store manager was surrounded by deadly Christian six-year-olds selling blessed cookies. Oh, boy. As funny as it was, it literally was a problem to him. It was like suddenly being surrounded by a swarm of fire ants after taking an orange juice bath.

Party time Part 1 After school, we go to Maddie’s. When we were little, like freshman year and even some of the sophomore year, we would sometimes stay in her room and put on x-out and pluck out eyebrows into that fine little line, and color our hair with highlights, and order pizza, cramming down as much as we could eat. Those days are going, we can’t get fat. Now Jenny hardly eats anything, and if she does, she can hardly keep it down. I think maybe that’s what I get so lightheaded, I only eat like once a day now. Jenny back then had a little extra around the middle, and now you can see her ribs, she even has that two-defined line on her tummy that goes into her underwear. I remember sneaking around late at night in her hose stealing a cookie from the jar on the top shelf in the old wood cabinet, that is also where her mom would hide her cigarettes that Jenny loved also, and the condoms were in a trinity box on top of the fridge, I sorry but I find that hilarious. At that time, we would stretch out on one of her, old enormous worn-out couches and watch, TV or movies until we fell asleep in our nightshirts’-the TV in Maddie’s living room is like 80 inches it’s like being in a movie theater our legs tangled together under an enormous fleece blanket. Maddie and liv are always entangled more passionately than Jenny and me on the loveseat! Maddie has an ancient TV in her room from the 1990s. It sucks and is small, it’s one of those with the big back on it, and the color is green, like looking into a fish tank. It’s funny her mom and dad don’t have money blinds on the windows, yet they have a big ass TV. You can sometimes see the people in the next condo overlooking us like we can see them get busy in their room! Yet nothing beats the hot guy taking a leak in room 302, he looks to be in his late twenties. He takes the boxes off at 10 pm and we get a free show. He knows we can see him because he makes it look inflexible and you are no more personable. Jenny and we girls love to press upon the glass, and just have fun and be a little crazy, like lifting our nighties and flashing the goods. Facebook stocking gets boring quickly anymore, so some nights the webcam comes out too. After her mom and dad are asleep… I like it’s more fun to be bad! Like we all have profiles and fake names because none of us are eighteen yet. Any- how’s mine is ‘Angel Pink Wings 01’ Maddie goes by: ‘Mad kitty 69’ Jenny goes by: ‘Ms. Little Lover 14’ Liv goes by: ‘Olivia O 123’ Yet everyone knows her by Liv so that name is okay- I guess. We make good money- ‘Double Clicking the Mouse.’ You would not believe all the pervs on this cam the site, just wanting to see us doing it. Like old guys like our PE teacher! Man- that I didn’t even think about how to turn on a computer. Just like him, I guess they need too to see more of us close up. We have our checks mailed to Jenny's college boyfriend’s PO Box. Me this is what I do and yes- I come for you all, I just put in fake blue hair dye in, and have fake long lashes, and put in my blue contacts, and you don’t even know me. And then pen in more eyebrows. Fake, fake, fake, fake FAKE! Boys don’t like it when you fake it or do, they look at me, that's why I am Bi.

Party time Part 1 After school, we go to Maddie’s. When we were little, like freshman year and even some of the sophomore year, we would sometimes stay in her room and put on x-out and pluck out eyebrows into that fine little line, and color our hair with highlights, and order pizza, cramming down as much as we could eat. Those days are going, we can’t get fat. Now Jenny hardly eats anything, and if she does, she can hardly keep it down. I think maybe that’s what I get so lightheaded, I only eat like once a day now. Jenny back then had a little extra around the middle, and now you can see her ribs, she even has that two-defined line on her tummy that goes into her underwear. I remember sneaking around late at night in her hose stealing a cookie from the jar on the top shelf in the old wood cabinet, that is also where her mom would hide her cigarettes that Jenny loved also, and the condoms were in a trinity box on top of the fridge, I sorry but I find that hilarious. At that time, we would stretch out on one of her, old enormous worn-out couches and watch, TV or movies until we fell asleep in our nightshirts’-the TV in Maddie’s living room is like 80 inches it’s like being in a movie theater our legs tangled together under an enormous fleece blanket. Maddie and liv are always entangled more passionately than Jenny and me on the loveseat! Maddie has an ancient TV in her room from the 1990s. It sucks and is small, it’s one of those with the big back on it, and the color is green, like looking into a fish tank. It’s funny her mom and dad don’t have money blinds on the windows, yet they have a big ass TV. You can sometimes see the people in the next condo overlooking us like we can see them get busy in their room! Yet nothing beats the hot guy taking a leak in room 302, he looks to be in his late twenties. He takes the boxes off at 10 pm and we get a free show. He knows we can see him because he makes it look inflexible and you are no more personable. Jenny and we girls love to press upon the glass, and just have fun and be a little crazy, like lifting our nighties and flashing the goods. Facebook stocking gets boring quickly anymore, so some nights the webcam comes out too. After her mom and dad are asleep… I like it’s more fun to be bad! Like we all have profiles and fake names because none of us are eighteen yet. Any- how’s mine is ‘Angel Pink Wings 01’ Maddie goes by: ‘Mad kitty 69’ Jenny goes by: ‘Ms. Little Lover 14’ Liv goes by: ‘Olivia O 123’ Yet everyone knows her by Liv so that name is okay- I guess. We make good money- ‘Double Clicking the Mouse.’ You would not believe all the pervs on this cam. the site, just wanting to see us doing it. Like old guys like our PE teacher! Man- that I didn’t even think about how to turn on a computer. Just like him, I guess they need too to see more of us close up. We have our checks mailed to Jenny's college boyfriend’s PO Box. Me this is what I do and yes- I come for you all, I just put in fake blue hair dye in, and have fake long lashes, and put in my blue contacts, and you don’t even know me. And then pen in more eyebrows. Fake, fake, fake, fake FAKE! Boys don’t like it when you fake it or do, they look at me, that's why I am Bi.

if you've ever been to an old-timey museum, you've seen those silly portrait paintings that vain noblemen of by-gone eras used to plaster all over the walls of their pompous mansions. Today, thanks to social media, people can take pointless pictures and pollute the world with their dumb shit faster than ever before. Progress!

People who have absolutely nothing interesting or unique to say think writing a book will make them interesting. They think when they tell people "I'm a writer" it sounds cooler than if they say "I clean houses for a living.

How can you get rich by eating? A: Eat lots of fortune cookies!

Well, Big Ma had gone down to Friendship Baptist Church to hear Senator Kennedy tell the black people they were American citizens who deserved decent homes, decent education for their children, safe neighborhoods, and opportunities. But Big Ma talked more about taking off her glove to shake a Kennedy’s hand than she talked about his speech. You’d have thought Big Ma would’ve been baking cookies for the “Vote for Bobby” office on Fulton Street, the way she talked and talked about Senator Kennedy. But she said she wouldn’t vote for him because his hair was too long and he let people call him Bobby and not Robert. He was too young, talking about changing things in Bedford-Stuyvesant and in every other ghetto. She said that while that sounded good, and the people hollered and clapped for him, he was still a rich, young Catholic boy whose daddy made millions selling liquor.