Cookies Monster Quotes

A pixie's true skin color is blue. Cookie Monster, Grover, and other lovable Muppets are also blue. Do not confuse the two. Muppets don't kill you. Usually.

this blue shirt i have is practically the same color as my jeans, and looking all-blue is something only cookie monster can pull off.

I opened my eyes to stare at a bright blue tulle monstrosity with a skirt that would hit me at mid thigh. I'd look like the really slutty bride of Cookie Monster.

I'm going to let that slide because you seemed to have been in the middle of being eaten by a monster.” He was clutching his midsection as if from pain, the squashed remnants of a soft brown cookie squeezing between his fingers as though dough from a pasta machine.

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

Sometimes me think what is love, and then me think love is what last cookie is for. Me give up the last cookie for you.

I love you more than the cookie monster loves cookies.

I love choclate chip cookies!

Early bird gets the worm. But cookie taste better than worm. So me sleep in.

Count your cookies, not your problems.

I had always been proud of my mom. So she’d never back cookies, or sew a Halloween costume, but she could fight monsters. She was tough and smart, and maybe she didn’t read bedtime stories, but she had taught me to defend myself against the things that lurked under beds.

Sometimes I think, what is friend? And me think, friend someone you give up last cookie for.

No cry because cookie is finished. Smile because cookie happened.

Home is where heart is. Heart where cookie is. Math clear: Home is cookie.

Gert: What... what just happened? Chase: I don't know, but guess who totally stole Cookie Monster's glasses! Gert: Whew, for a second there, I was worried we almost learned something. Chase: Ooo, look at me! I'm a big fluffy nerd!

The point is it’s such a great feeling to scarf cookies with abandon like Cookie Monster. Truly, he is the role model for us all. AWESOME!

I don’t know the derivation of this comfort craving, but there’s a quote from Cookie Monster that’s always inhabited my head: 'Today me will live in the moment, unless it’s unpleasant, in which case me will eat a cookie.' While I don’t take all of my mantras from goggle-eyed blue monsters with questionable grammar, this one has taken root. Lately I’ve been craving cookies a lot.

I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to visit right now. Maybe you can come back later? I’ll bake you some cookies . . .” Okay, that was it. I hadn’t had a chance to use the kitchen for anything more elaborate than coffee and fried eggs, and I’d be damned if some invading monster was going to beat me to it. I stepped into the living room, bat still held in front of me like a poor man’s broadsword. “You are not using my kitchen.

If sad, eat cookie. If still sad, talk to doctor. Sounds serious.

Today we will live in the moment unless it's unpleasant in which case me will eat cookie

Death growls mostly bore me. Who wants to hear the Cookie Monster? Sing your fucking lyrics. Put some emotion behind it.” And Ghost’s usual retaliation. “Aw, I’m sorry. Do you need a hug, emo boy? You know, you might want to cross your legs. Your vagina is showing.” “Suck my dick.” “I know you’d like that, but Candace would have to return it first.” “Burn!

Keep calm and eat cookies.

Prior to then it was believed that black holes were just cosmic cookie monsters, swallowing everything that came within their gravitational clutches.

I can’t get those orange cookies out of my head. I want to go beg her for more, but I’m terrified of what’s going to come out of my mouth while I’m putting those in it,

Cookie monster speaks better English than you.

Speak softly and carry big cookie. Big enough to share with a good friend.

A chaser-away of monsters under the bed, a sneaker of cookies before dinner, an encourager, a protector, a teacher of what a real man is supposed to be.

They’re just treats. Like Cookie Monster says, ‘Cookies are a sometimes food.’ Sometimes doesn’t mean never.” “You’re quoting Cookie Monster?” Bev stared at him. “Somebody has to.

If you can fix my website by midnight, I will bake you more cookies than even Cookie Monster can imagine, and read you a bedtime story that is guaranteed to bring you sweet dreams." *some exclusions apply

It was a sunrise, a kid’s sight of snowfall on a school morning. Hope. That all this can turn out okay, that somehow a tide this big and black can be turned back. Hope like a wildfire, thoughts of presents under a Christmas tree and a smell of cookies coming from a kitchen and a certain look in a girl’s eyes that lights you up inside. That beautiful border between nightmare and morning when you realize that all of the monsters menacing you have evaporated like smoke, leaving behind only the warm blanket and the pale sunlight of a Saturday dawn.

The Cookie Monster is anarchic, dynamic and madly driven by a very specific, but also totally random, aim: he wants cookies. He wants to charge around crazily smashing cookies into his mouth. He will never get enough cookies. It’s unclear whether he understands this. Maybe he imagines some future stage of sated calm which he might achieve if, miraculously, he were to obtain all the cookies he desires. Or maybe he is wiser than that and knows it’s all about the journey, his endless quest for biscuits.

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.

Why are you here, bastard blue child of Cookie Monster?

Cookie is like high five for stomach.

looking all-blue is something only cookie monster can pull off.

Bernie Jackson found his daughter wrapped up in her sheets, whimpering mutedly as her pillow was shoved into her mouth. He shook her awake, and she lashed out, kicking him in the rib cage with her one free foot. Melody opened her eyes wide, and stared at him as though in terror. A moment later the girl relaxed her expression as the image of her father, and not a saliva-producing Wolf, was standing over her. “I'm going to let that slide because you seemed to have been in the middle of being eaten by a monster.” He was clutching his midsection as if from pain, the squashed remnants of a soft brown cookie squeezing between his fingers as though dough from a pasta machine.

Bluebird Even though you have not made a cupcake locating app yet, which to me is a clear sign of disrespect for the institution of dessert Wolf Shit. Am I gonna wake up tonight with Cookie Monster two inches from my face holding a knife? Bluebird Sleep with one eye open

Cheese and rice on garlic toast,” Violet says while palming her face, though I have no idea why she’s randomly discussing an odd food combination. “Mac and cheese on mayo and bread,” Anna jumps back in. “Nope. That tactic doesn’t work. Now I think it was the Cookie Monster in the library with the candlestick who done it,” she adds.

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

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.

I started to sing. Yes, sing. "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy. Yankee Doodle Do or die." I let go of Henry and Caroline and started marching, like I was the leader of a parade. "An old old something something la la la, born on the Fourth of July." So maybe I didn't know the words, exactly. Alex joined in. Astrid, too. All three of us marching like idiots. "You're my Yankee Doodle sweetheart, Yankee Doodle do or die." I led the three of us, making up the words somewhat and we walked in front of the gate, getting between the eyes of the little kids and the plywood, just trying to break the terror spell of the monster outside. Who now stared to yell, "YOU SINKING 'YANKEE DOODLE'? 'YANKEE DOODLE DANDY'? I'LL F--- KILL YOU!" Niko joined in and that guy, I am here to tell you, is entirely tone deaf. But the little kids kind of snapped to. We caught their attention. "Yankee Doodle went to town a riding on a pony. I am a Yankee Doodle guy." And the kids started marching and I led the parade, the saddest parade in the history of the world, away from the front of the store, away from the monster outside, and right to the stupid cookie and cracker aisle. We ate fudge-covered graham crackers for a good long while.

I'm sorry. It feels like the moment calls for some humor. You're ranting and dressed like Elmo. The Cookie Monster. Whatever, Rashid

Walter noticed the blue Cookie Monster head resting on the floor, From some angles, the smiling open mouth looked like an expression of abashed joy, from others it resembled horror.

You know before you have kids, people would tell you—they change everything. That life is so much better with them. That it’s impossible to explain the way being a parent can effect you?” Henna nodded, eyes fixed on Scarlett’s face. “It’s like that. Before you’re a parent, you’re like the Grinch. Your heart is sizes smaller than it could be, and you never know that your heart is too small because that’s all you’ve ever felt.” To keep busy, Scarlett started making her girls favorite cookies. Monster cookies, all sweets—no nuts. “And then this little person enters your life and they’re helpless and squalling and so much work. But somehow, caring for that little person—your heart grows and grows and grows and the way you view everything changes. And suddenly—you’re a different person.

was time to think. I made some pancakes. I gave Sludge a bone. We ate and thought. I knew that my mother had not made Monster Cookies for a week. Today she’d discovered that the recipe was gone. So the recipe might have been missing for a week or less than a week.

Sometimes me think, what is love?  And then me think love is what the last chocolate chip cookie is for.  Me give up the last cookie for you.”  Cookie Monster

I tap the link, and it opens up a bright, cheery, robin's-egg blue web page. P&P Bake, it's called. It's clearly one of those WordPress blogs converted into a website, but that doesn't make it any less captivating--- the pictures on the posts are so vivid, I can practically taste them through the screen. I scroll down, glancing at the dessert names, lingering on the pictures. The most recent is Tailgate Trash Twinkies, which are apparently a homemade cake roll infused with PBR; I scroll down and see A-Plus Angel Cake, and Butter Luck Next Time Butter Cookies, and then--- And then, on Halloween, there's an entry for Monster Cake. My breath stops before it can leave my chest, my entire body stiffening on the couch like a corpse. There's no mistaking it. I may have a bad habit of eating Pepper's baked goods so fast, it threatens the time-space continuum, but the bright colors and gooey mess of that cake are so distinct in my mind and in my taste buds, I could see it in another life and immediately identify it. Yet my brain still refuses to process it, and I'm still scrolling as if I'll blink and it will disappear, a vivid, sleep-deprived teenage hallucination. But the further I scroll the worse it gets. The So Sorry Blondies. The Pop Quiz Cake Pops she and Pooja were eating the other day. A few things I've never heard of before, with irreverent, silly names, some of which must be Paige's, but others that are so distinctly Pepper it stings to read.

the lead singer sounded like the Cookie Monster, here to eat cookies and kick ass. (And he was all outta cookies.)

C is for cookie. That’s good enough for me. Cookie Monster

Like Cookie Monster says, ‘Cookies are a sometimes food.’ Sometimes doesn’t mean never.

UNDER THE MICROSCOPE: MEET YOUR TWO MINDS Every willpower challenge is a conflict between two parts of oneself. For your own willpower challenge, describe these competing minds. What does the impulsive version of you want? What does the wiser version of you want? Some people find it useful to give a name to the impulsive mind, like “the cookie monster” to the part of you that always wants instant gratification, “the critic” to the part of you that likes to complain about everyone and everything, or “the procrastinator” to the person who never wants to get started. Giving a name to this version of yourself can help you recognize when it is taking over, and also help you call in your wiser self for some willpower support. THE

playful digitized image of Cookie Monster launched the age of the personal computer.

You’re not the monster that you describe yourself to be.’ I couldn’t watch him suffer. ‘I didn’t say I am a monster. But a monster does lie inside me, and I’m not talking about the Cookie Monster this time. I can be both a glacier and an active volcano at the same time, Prince Charming and The Big Bad Wolf in a blink of an eye. I’m not like Brax, always determined to be made of stone, or Cole who needs obedience and adrenaline for his world to keep functioning. I can’t provide stability, except for the material one. Because, when it comes to my emotions, I don’t even know what’s going to happen next. I have no idea if I’ll wake up wanting to rule the world or burn it to the ground. But I do know one thing. I don’t want to lose you. I meant what I said. I want you here with me, in both my darkest and my brightest hours.’ He took a short pause, giving me a little space to hear the difficult part, ‘But I also know that I’ll only manage to hurt you along the way.’ ‘What if I consider it’s worth it?

Super Grover eats Cookie monster.

But no matter what else happens, this one thing my mom has always had a weakness for--- Monster Cake. A perilous invention from childhood, the day Paige and Mom and I decided to test the limits of our rinky-dink oven with a combination of Funfetti cake mixed with brownie batter, cookie dough, Oreos, Reese's Cups, and Rolos. The result was so simultaneously hideous and delicious that my mom fashioned googly eyes on it out of frosting, and thus, Monster Cake was born.

the weekend Ma took us to the beach. I thought it was going to be a fun day. It wasn’t. Here’s what went wrong: 1. I couldn’t find my new board-shorts so had to wear an old pair with Big Bird on the front and Cookie Monster on the back.

The chocolate chip cookies that Cookie Monster eats on Sesame Street are actually rice cakes with brown paint dots.

Next you’ll be telling us that Granny Mavis’s delicious cookies are made out of monster bones and rotten flesh!

Years later, she read that the media elites were threatening Cookie Monster with political crime. Cookie was crucified on the cross of obesity. The media wanted to replace him with Veggie Monster! How stupid was that. Real people make their own decisions. But by then she knew that television was worse than stupid. It existed to shape a mindless false reality that served its own purposes. Life has more tears than a sitcom has canned laughter. She knew that now. Jillian

She sighed and sniffed the air. The smell of dirty water hung thickly in it. They were supposed to be running a clean-up initiative. Whether they had and failed, or they’d succeeded and it had grown filthy again she wasn’t sure. Either way, she wasn’t fancying a swim.  ‘Johansson,’ Roper called from the tent, beckoning her over, the report from the uniformed officer already in his hand. ‘Come on.’ She approached and he held the edge of the door-flap open for her so she could pass inside. It was eight feet by eight feet, and the translucent material made everything bright with daylight.  The kid in front of them could have been no more than eighteen or nineteen. He was skinny and had thick curly brown hair. His skin was blued from the cold and had the distinctly greyish look of someone who did more drugs than ate food. He was lying on his back on the bank, eyes closed, hands bound together on his stomach. His clothes were enough to tell them that he was homeless. It was charity shop mix and match. A pair of jeans that were two sizes too big, tied tight around pronounced hip bones with a shoelace. He was wearing a t-shirt with the cookie monster on it that looked as old as he was. But that was it. He had no jacket despite the time of year and no socks or shoes.  Jamie crouched down, pulling a pair of latex gloves from her jacket pocket. She had a box of them in the car. ‘We got an ID?’ she asked, not looking up. She knew Roper wouldn’t get down next to her. He didn’t have the stamina for it for one, and with his hangover the smell would make him puke.  He’d leave the close inspection to her.  ‘Uh, yeah. He matches the description of a missing person’s — Oliver Hammond. Eighteen years old. No positive ID yet though. No picture on file.’ ‘Eighteen,’ Jamie mumbled, looking over him more closely. ‘Jesus.’ ‘Yup.’ Roper sighed. ‘Probably scored, got high, took a little stroll, fell in the river… And here we are.’ ‘Did he zip-tie his hands together before or after shooting up?’ She side-eyed him as he scrolled through something on his phone. She hoped it was the missing person’s report, but thought it was more likely to be one of the daily news items his phone prepared for him. ‘I’m just testing you,’ he said absently. ‘What else d’you see?’ Jamie pursed her lips. No one seemed to care when homeless people turned up dead. There’d been eight this month alone in the city — two of which had been floaters like this. She’d checked it out waiting at some traffic lights. There were more than a hundred and forty homeless missing persons reported in the last six months in London. Most cases were never closed. She grimaced at the thought and went back to her inspection. Oliver’s wrists were rubbed raw from the zip-tie, but that looked self-inflicted. She craned her neck to see his arms. His elbows were grazed and rubbed raw, and the insides were tracked out, like Roper had said. He wasn’t new to the needle. She didn’t need to check his ankles and toes to know that they’d be the same.  She lingered on his fingers, honing in on the ones with missing nails.  ‘Ripped out,’ Roper said, watching as she lifted and straightened his fingers, careful not to disturb anything before the SOCOs showed up to take their photographs. In a perfect world the body would have stayed in situ in the water, but these things couldn’t be helped.  She inspected the middle and the index fingers on the right hand — the nails were completely gone. ‘Torture,’ Roper added to the silence. ‘Probably over the heroin. You know, where’s my money?

To the right the reptilian bodies flew up and aside, as if bulldozed. Someone strong and very motivate was tearing down the battlefield. "What the hell is that?" Alix said. "That's my honey-bunny." Curran burst into the open, a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall monster clothed in steel muscle and gray fur. Faint stripes crossed his limbs like dark whip marks. Blood dripped from his clawed hands. On the left side, a patch of his skin was missing, muscle exposed and raw. He grabbed the nearest lizard, twisted it with a loud snap, and tossed it aside. "Hey, baby." "Hi." I beheaded a lizard. "Where are the kids?" "With the MSDU." He disemboweled a beast with a quick swipe of his claws. "You're having all this fun without me." "I'm not doing much. Just having tea and cookies." I cut at another lizard. "Thinking deep thoughts." I love you. "Then I'll join you." He loved me, too.

The following week was great. School was good. We were learning how to subtract. It was harder than adding but I was starting to get it. Billy was being better at home. On Friday after school, Billy, Lenny and I were having some milk and cookies. “I’m really pleased with you two this week,” said Mom.  “Zach, you haven’t farted once. I’ve got a treat for you two.” “What is it?” Billy and I asked together. “I’m taking you out for ice cream!” she said.

Cookie?” I sound like fucking Cookie Monster, that’s who I sound like right now.

No matter what, that beautiful, crazy boy with that nutmeg-colored hair and those twinkling eyes that replicated the color of cookie monster never seemed to leave my mind.

During the bus ride, our only sustenance was stuff we’d scored from vending machines—a bag of chips, a sleeve of cookies, a bottle of soda. I ate the food. Sam wolfed down the wrappers and the plastic bottle. “Do you always eat trash?” I’d asked, more curious than disgusted. “You think what’s inside the packaging is any better?” He had a point. Some of those ingredients sounded as deadly as the monsters.

I want a dessert." She turns and starts wiping down the clean counters like it's her new mission in life. "I'll go to the farmers' market and get some ripe fruit." "Not. Fruit." Fact is, I can't eat a mango anymore without wanting to suck on Delilah's tongue. "Something rich and sweet and creamy." And now I'm thinking about sinking to my knees before her. Behind the kitchen island, I reach down and adjust myself. Having zero experience with flirting, I don't think I'm doing a proper job of it. I'm only getting myself riled up here. Especially since Delilah's expression remains deadpan. "I don't think any of that is on the approved list." "I think you bring up that damn list to annoy me, Tot." "This is true." She doesn't bother to hide her glee. Like a bee to nectar, I drift closer. "Come on, Delilah. Cheat with me. Just a little?" Shaking her head in clear exasperation, she tosses the cloth into the sink and faces me. "All right, just this once. Name your poison." She isn't in my arms. My mouth isn't on hers. But it's still a victory, and I rub my hands together in anticipation. "Let's see... oh, God, the choices. Your Totally Toffee-Chip Cookies? Your Mad Monster Chocolate Cake?" I stop to think of all the desserts Delilah has made over the years. "Ah. I know... Bountiful Banana Cream Pie.