Cooperation Funny Quotes

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

You spawny-eyed pig-faced wazzock

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

Jason smiled and took a sip of his coke before responding. “I’m not sure how to reply to that. I thought about just giving you a nasty look. But I see you already have one.

Ela did you just fart? Because you just blew me away.

Some of my cousins are so rich and stuck up. I fear they will one day have a heart attack when they realize that nasty smell was them as they farted.

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.

She’s like a cross between an onion and donkey,” Farah said. “Why?” Jason and Connor asked simultaneously. “Cause she’s a piece of ass that will bring a tear to your eye.” Farah laughed.

You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said 'Parking Fine.

Connor and Cameron look wide-eyed at the carnage. Cameron slowed the speedboat down to a crawl. She and Connor looked at Jason. “Oops,” Jason said meekly. Nothing else seemed appropriate. “Oops?” Connor shouted. “You blew up half the town.

War was funny like that: one minute you could try and block it and have the most wonderful thoughts, the next you were back in the nightmare.

I can see why they named that ballet the Nutcracker. It’s gotta hurt having ‘em crushed in something that tight.

Meet Tony. My first chest hair. I called him Tony as he’s Tony one I got,” Connor laughed. Jason laughed at his joke at first and then as fast as lightning grabbed Connor’s only chest hair and plucked it. “Tony one you had,” Jason corrected.

Luckily the smoke raised the alarm and everyone fled we don’t think any innocent people died. Although when the cavern collapsed two guards were crushed.” “Yeah I would have been disappointed too.” Jason grinned, his grin was soon wiped off his face when he noticed Dexter’s face change and disapproval of his joke.

It's strange, isn't it. You stand in the middle of a library and go 'aaaaagghhhh' and everyone just stares at you. But you do the same thing on an aeroplane, and everyone joins in.

It's funny how nothing really ever turns out the way we expect it to, no matter how certain the future seems. I guess we need to keep adjusting our dreams to fit reality, because life is not going to cooperate.

I wonder why Steven wasn’t at swimming club tonight?” Archie asked. “He’s caught bronchitis,” Mrs Akran said. Imran thought for a second before replying. “I would like to catch a dinosaur too. I wonder what he feeds it?” Archie looked at his friend his face looked as if he was in pain before he burst out laughing. “Imran you’re tragic. Bronchitis is like a bad cold it’s not a type of dinosaur.

So Jason, in England, do you eat these ‘Farmer burgers?’” Wong Tong asked. “Farmer burgers? I don’t know what they are?” “Maybe I have the name wrong. I remember the name from the song,” Wong Tong explained. “What song?” Jason asked. “You know the ‘E, I, E, I, O’ song.” ‘E, I, E, I, O’ song? Jason started to roar with laughter. He tried to speak but was laughing, much to the annoyance of Wong Tong. He held his chest, laughing still hurt his ribs. “You mean the ‘Old Macdonald had a farm’ song. You mean Macdonald’s burgers,” he said, laughing. “Yes, I have had them. They’re good.

Katie purred in pleasure as she licked the beating vein in Jared’s neck.

I’m waiting with baited breath to hear that silver tongue of yours.

Funny,’ Will said, as they picked their way through. ‘Things are absolutely awful and yet people look much happier than usual. Look at them all. Bubbling.’ ‘They are English,’ Merriman said. ‘Quite right,’ said Will’s father. ‘Splendid in adversity, tedious when safe. Never content, in fact. We’re an odd lot….

I drank his blood, piss, vomit. I shoved one hand down his throat, one hand up his ass and shook hands with myself in the middle of his body, which sounds funny, but it wasn’t.

Clubs rattled behind them. Skeet Cooper rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and rose from the bench. “Looks like Kenny’s caddy’s here.” Dallie lifted an eyebrow as his son stepped up on the tee carrying Kenny’s bag. Ted smiled. “Sorry I’m late. Mom made me eat breakfast. Then she started fussing with my hair, don’t ask me why.” Dallie took the driver Skeet handed him. “Funny you didn’t mention that you were going to caddy for Kenny today.” “Must have forgot.” Ted smiled and shifted the bag. “I told Skeet.” Dallie shot Skeet an annoyed look that didn’t bother Skeet one bit. Kenny gestured toward the tee. “Be my guest. I believe in showing respect for the elderly and the infirm.

The usual example given to illustrate an Outside Context Problem was imagining you were a tribe on a largish, fertile island; you'd tamed the land, invented the wheel or writing or whatever, the neighbours were cooperative or enslaved but at any rate peaceful and you were busy raising temples to yourself with all the excess productive capacity you had, you were in a position of near-absolute power and control which your hallowed ancestors could hardly have dreamed of and the whole situation was just running along nicely like a canoe on wet grass... when suddenly this bristling lump of iron appears sailless and trailing steam in the bay and these guys carrying long funny-looking sticks come ashore and announce you've just been discovered, you're all subjects of the Emperor now, he's keen on presents called tax and these bright-eyed holy men would like a word with your priests.

Sheldon: I wouldn't tell you the secret. Sssh! Leonard: What secret? Tell me the secret. Sheldon: Mom smokes in the car. Jesus is okay with it, but we can't tell dad. Leonard: Not that secret, the other secret. Sheldon: I'm Batman! Ssssh! #11

Since Sienna was in an unusually cooperative mood, the session went well. He was returning from it midmorning - after a short detour - when a small naked body barreled into him in one of the main corridors. Steadying the boy with Tk, he looked down. The child lifted a finger to his lips. "Shh. I'm hiding." With that, he went behind Judd and scrambled into a small alcove. "Quickly! Not sure why he obeyed the order, Judd backed up to stand in front of the alcove, arms crossed. A flustered Lara came running around the corner a few seconds later. "Have you seen Ben? Four-year-old. Naked as a jaybird?" "How tall is he?" Judd asked in his most overbearing Psy manner. Lara stared. "He's four. How tall do you think he is? Have you seen him or not?" "Let me think...did you say he was naked?" "He was about to be bathed. Slippery little monkey." A giggle from behind Judd. Lara's eyes widened and then her lips twitched. "So you haven't seen him?" "Without a proper description, I can't be sure." The healer was obviously trying not to laugh. "You shouldn't encourage him - he's incorrigible as it is." Judd felt childish hands on his left calf and then Ben poked his head out. "I'm incorwigeable, did ya hear?" Judd nodded. "I do believe you've been found. Why don't you go have your bath?" "Come on, munchkin." Lara held out a hand. Surprisingly strong baby arms and legs wrapped around Judd's leg. "No. I wanna stay with Uncle Judd." Lara anticipated his question. "Ben spends a lot of time with Marlee." "I spend a lot of time with Marlee," a small voice piped up.

Don’t forget to bring your funny bone along on your parenting journey. Humor is a universal language that topples walls, connects hearts, and opens the door to communication and cooperation.

She’s not ready and maybe she never will be, but I won’t stop trying. I’ll be patient if it kills me. I can just see it now. Cooper Hebert died of blue balls and a broken heart.

Chalk again?" Cal seemed almost disappointed. "Too bad there's no chalk monster." Penn snorted with amusement. Chalk monster. That was like saying it was a vampire. Everyone knew vampires didn't exist. Zombies who drank blood to stay alive. Ridiculous.

...in the unique case of a country’s geographic position, it is difficult to consider this factor as anything other than a cause, unless we assume that in prehistoric times peoples migrated to climates that fit their concepts of power distance, which is rather far-fetched.

I told them you’d take it like this,” said Hermione with a hint of complacency. “If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives--!” “--because it’s the first time for all of us,” said Ron. “This is different, pretending to be me--” “Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry,” said Fred earnestly. “Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever.” Harry did not smile. “You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair.” “Well, that’s that plan scuppered,” said George. “Obviously there’s no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate.” “Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve got no chance,” said Fred. “Funny,” said Harry, “really amusing.

It’s never funny until someone gets hurt.” -Unknown

You should see yourself through my eyes, Raine Cooper. Gorgeous, fascinating, stubborn, funny, but I wouldn't have you any other way." Torin St. James

Raj: I don't like bugs, okay. They freak me out.
 Sheldon: Interesting. You're afraid of insects and women. Ladybugs must render you catatonic. #12

You are hereby warned that any movement on your part not explicitly endorsed by verbal authorization on my part may pose a direct physical risk to you, as well as consequential psychological and possibly, depending on your personal belief system, spiritual risks ensuing from your personal reaction to said physical risk. Any movement on your part constitutes an implicit and irrevocable acceptance of such risk," the first MetaCop says. There is a little speaker on his belt, simultaneously translating all of this into Spanish and Japanese. "Or as we used to say," the other MetaCop says, "freeze, sucker!" "Under provisions of The Mews at Windsor Heights Code, we are authorized to enforce law, national security concerns, and societal harmony on said territory also. A treaty between The Mews at Windsor Heights and White Columns authorizes us to place you in temporary custody until your status as an Investigatory Focus has been resolved." "Your ass is busted," the second MetaCop says. "As your demeanor has been nonaggressive and you carry no visible weapons, we are not authorized to employ heroic measures to ensure your cooperation," the first MetaCop says. "You stay cool and we'll stay cool," the second MetaCop says. "However, we are equipped with devices, including but not limited to projectile weapons, which, if used, may pose an extreme and immediate threat to your health and well-being." "Make one funny move and we'll blow your head off," the second MetaCop says.

My body is tired as worn out rug, but my brain (if i had) is always full of curiosity, jumping around for seeking new funs. If they could learn how to be cooperative each others, my life could be way easier... sigh*

I’d even had business cards made up reading, ABIGAIL COOPER, P.I. with teeny-weeny little letters underneath in parentheses spelling out PSYCHIC INTUITIVE. Most people think I’m trying to be clever. The truth is, I’m a chickenshit.

It was too much for weak men, of more or less good will, who knew in their hearts that the Pope was right ad that they ought to cooperate with him, when the Pope demanded, with harsh and angry words, that they should immediately change their way of life and give up all small comforts they had grown accustomed to, in order to live in a state of self-denial suitable for the strictest ascetic. They were agreed that it was time for a reform within the Church. But if this were reform... And the language he used when he broke into a rage! "Shut up!" he said to the cardinals. He shouted "Pazzo!" -Idiot- to Cardinal Orsini, and "Ribaldo!" -Bandit- to the Cardinal of Geneva. His electors began to regret their choice bitterly.

On Earth, when I was a boy, most everybody got sick. Rashes, funny little fevers. All the unmodified people got sick every now and then. It's part of being human. We think of viruses as evil but in reality few are. Life usually seeks to cooperate, not fight.

On Earth, when I was a boy, most everybody got sick. Rashes, funny little fevers. All the unmodified people got sick every now and then. It’s part of being human. We think of viruses as evil but in reality few are. Life usually seeks to cooperate, not fight.

It’s funny, you start out with nothing, and you work hard, and you end up with homes and boats and children. That’s the American dream, and I guess that we lived it. But it was a time when you could work hard and get ahead. I don’t think the world is the same anymore

You might want to pop your collar." "Hey if the biker doesn't pop his, I'm not popping mine. Also? We're thirty years past that fashion faux pas." "Yeah, but it still comes in handy when you're sporting a hickey." "What?" My hands flew to my neck, and I found the tender spot. "Shit. No, that's not-- I burned it. My hair wasn't cooperating, so I dragged out the curling iron." "Gabriel has a curling iron?" "No, I meant--Damn it." I rooted through my bag for concealer. "I'm sorry. If I'd noticed, I'd have hidden it." "I know." His lips twitched. "It is kinda funny, though, watching you guys scramble with excuses. Gabriel told me you weren't answering my calls because you forgot your phone in the car. Which is about as likely as you leaving your arm behind. He dried his hair so fast the back was sticking up. And then he scarfed down half the food I brought for lunch. I've never seen him eat like that." He smiled. "But I do appreciate he's being circumspect." "He's not going to wave it in your face." "No, but we are talking about Gabriel, who never goes out of his way to cushion anyone's feelings but yours. He's being very thoughtful. It's sweet. Just don't tell him I said that." "I won't." I finished applying the concealer. "Better?" "Yep." He leaned over for a better look and then stopped. "Is that a bite on your collarbone?" "Shit! No. Damn it. Ricky laughed as I frantically applied more makeup.

A little grease is what makes this world go round. One hand washes the other. Know what I mean? You scratch my back, I'll Scratch yours.' Yossarian knew what he meant. 'That's not what I meant,' Doc Daneeka said, as Yossarian began scratching his back. 'I'm talking about co-operation. Favors. You do a favor for me, I'll do one for you. Get it?' 'Do one for me,' Yossarian requested. 'Not a chance,' Doc Daneeka answered.

What’s that?” “I’ll tell you after you guess what I am.” I kept a straight face. “Rumpelstiltskin?” He rolled his eyes. “Be serious.” “Werewolf? No, that might have explained the superhuman strength if I didn’t know about the runes. Vampire crossed my mind, but you don’t sparkle.” His eyebrows shot up. “Sparkle?” “Yeah, like Edward. He’s superhot and perfect.” Torin scowled. “You have seen vampires?” “Of course. On the screen, in my dreams. What are you doing?” “Climbing your tree.” I swallowed. “Why?” “I like getting close and personal when talking to a beautiful woman.” My cheeks grew warm, and I looked behind me. “Who?” “You, Freckles.” He stopped at one of the top, sturdy branches, leaned against it, and studied me. “You should see yourself through my eyes, Raine Cooper. Gorgeous, fascinating, stubborn, funny, but I wouldn’t have you anyway.” Oh, wow. No guy had ever complimented me with such conviction. My cheeks shot past warm to hot, which meant my face was red as beets. “You’re kidding, right?” “No, I’m not. Don’t you think you’re beautiful?” “I meant does that old line really work anymore. I like getting close and personal when talking to a beautiful woman,” I repeated, imitating his deep voice and wiggling my brow.

New Rule: If you're going to have a rally where hundreds of thousands of people show up, you may as well go ahead and make it about something. With all due respect to my friends Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, it seems that if you truly wanted to come down on the side of restoring sanity and reason, you'd side with the sane and the reasonable--and not try to pretend the insanity is equally distributed in both parties. Keith Olbermann is right when he says he's not the equivalent of Glenn Beck. One reports facts; the other one is very close to playing with his poop. And the big mistake of modern media has been this notion of balance for balance's sake, that the left is just as violent and cruel as the right, that unions are just as powerful as corporations, that reverse racism is just as damaging as racism. There's a difference between a mad man and a madman. Now, getting more than two hundred thousand people to come to a liberal rally is a great achievement that gave me hope, and what I really loved about it was that it was twice the size of the Glenn Beck crowd on the Mall in August--although it weight the same. But the message of the rally as I heard it was that if the media would just top giving voice to the crazies on both sides, then maybe we could restore sanity. It was all nonpartisan, and urged cooperation with the moderates on the other side. Forgetting that Obama tried that, and found our there are no moderates on the other side. When Jon announced his rally, he said that the national conversation is "dominated" by people on the right who believe Obama's a socialist, and by people on the left who believe 9/11 was an inside job. But I can't name any Democratic leaders who think 9/11 was an inside job. But Republican leaders who think Obama's socialist? All of them. McCain, Boehner, Cantor, Palin...all of them. It's now official Republican dogma, like "Tax cuts pay for themselves" and "Gay men just haven't met the right woman." As another example of both sides using overheated rhetoric, Jon cited the right equating Obama with Hitler, and the left calling Bush a war criminal. Except thinking Obama is like Hitler is utterly unfounded--but thinking Bush is a war criminal? That's the opinion of Major General Anthony Taguba, who headed the Army's investigation into Abu Ghraib. Republicans keep staking out a position that is farther and farther right, and then demand Democrats meet them in the middle. Which now is not the middle anymore. That's the reason health-care reform is so watered down--it's Bob Dole's old plan from 1994. Same thing with cap and trade--it was the first President Bush's plan to deal with carbon emissions. Now the Republican plan for climate change is to claim it's a hoax. But it's not--I know because I've lived in L.A. since '83, and there's been a change in the city: I can see it now. All of us who live out here have had that experience: "Oh, look, there's a mountain there." Governments, led my liberal Democrats, passed laws that changed the air I breathe. For the better. I'm for them, and not the party that is plotting to abolish the EPA. I don't need to pretend both sides have a point here, and I don't care what left or right commentators say about it, I can only what climate scientists say about it. Two opposing sides don't necessarily have two compelling arguments. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke on that mall in the capital, and he didn't say, "Remember, folks, those southern sheriffs with the fire hoses and the German shepherds, they have a point, too." No, he said, "I have a dream. They have a nightmare. This isn't Team Edward and Team Jacob." Liberals, like the ones on that field, must stand up and be counted, and not pretend we're as mean or greedy or shortsighted or just plain batshit at them. And if that's too polarizing for you, and you still want to reach across the aisle and hold hands and sing with someone on the right, try church.

An Outside Context Problem was the sort of thing most civilisations encountered just once, and which they tended to encounter rather in the same way a sentence encountered a full stop. The usual example given to illustrate an Outside Context Problem was imagining you were a tribe on a largish, fertile island; you’d tamed the land, invented the wheel or writing or whatever, the neighbours were cooperative or enslaved but at any rate peaceful and you were busy raising temples to yourself with all the excess productive capacity you had, you were in a position of near-absolute power and control which your hallowed ancestors could hardly have dreamed of and the whole situation was just running along nicely like a canoe on wet grass . . . when suddenly this bristling lump of iron appears sailless and trailing steam in the bay and these guys carrying long funny-looking sticks come ashore and announce you’ve just been discovered, you’re all subjects of the Emperor now, he’s keen on presents called tax and these bright-eyed holy men would like a word with your priests. That was an Outside Context Problem; so was the suitably up-teched version that happened to whole planetary civilisations when somebody like the Affront chanced upon them first rather than, say, the Culture.

Where do the biggest movie star of his generation and a revered director (and great actor in his own right) stay when they are visiting someone? Would you believe the local Holiday Inn? Hoping to forge a better connection to Chris, Clint Eastwood and Bradley Cooper came to see me and the rest of the family in early spring of 2014, before they started filming American Sniper. The unpretentiousness of their visit and their genuine goodwill floored me. It was a great omen for the movie. Bubba and I picked them up at the local airport and brought them home; within minutes Bubba had Bradley out in the back playing soccer. Meanwhile, Clint and I talked inside. He reminded me of my grandfather with his courtly manners and gracious ways. He was very funny, with a quiet, quick wit and dry sense of humor. After dinner--it was an oryx Chris had killed shortly before he died--Bradley took Bubba to the Dairy Queen for dessert. Even in small-town Texas, he couldn’t quite get away without being recognized, and when someone asked for his photo, he stepped aside to pose. Bubba folded his arms across his chest and scanned the area much as his dad would have: on overwatch. I guess I didn’t really understand how unusual the situation was until later, when I dropped them off at the Holiday Inn. I watched them walk into the lobby and disappear. That’s Clint Eastwood and Bradley Cooper! Awesome!

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

Hiya, cutie! How was your first day of school?" She pops the oven shut with her hip. He shakes his head and pulls up a bar stool next to Rayna, who's sitting at the counter painting her nails the color of a red snapper. "This won't work. I don't know what I'm doing," he says. "Sweet pea, what happened? Can't be that bad." He nods. "It is. I knocked Emma unconscious." Rachel spits the wine back in her glass. "Oh, sweetie, uh...that sort of thing's been frowned upon for years now." "Good. You owed her one," Rayna snickers. "She shoved him at the beach," she explains to Rachel. "Oh?" Rachel says. "That how she got your attention?" "She didn't shove me; she tripped into me," he says. "And I didn't knock her out on purpose. She ran from me, so I chased her and-" Rachel holds up her hand. "Okay. Stop right there. Are the cops coming by? You know that makes me nervous." "No," Galen says, rolling his eyes. If the cops haven't found Rachel by now, they're not going to. Besides, after all this time, the cops wouldn't still be looking. And the other people who want to find her think she's dead. "Okay, good. Now, back up there, sweet pea. Why did she run from you?" "A misunderstanding." Rachel clasps her hands together. "I know, sweet pea. I do. But in order for me to help you, I need to know the specifics. Us girls are tricky creatures." He runs a hand through his hair. "Tell me about it. First she's being nice and cooperative, and then she's yelling in my face." Rayna gasps. "She yelled at you?" She slams the polish bottle on the counter and points at Rachel. "I want you to be my mother, too. I want to be enrolled in school." "No way. You step one foot outside this house, and I'll arrest you myself," Galen says. "And don't even think about getting in the water with that human paint on your fingers." "Don't worry. I'm not getting in the water at all." Galen opens his mouth to contradict that, to tell her to go home tomorrow and stay there, but then he sees her exasperated expression. He grins. "He found you." Rayna crosses her arms and nods. "Why can't he just leave me alone? And why do you think it's so funny? You're my brother! You're supposed to protect me!" He laughs. "From Toraf? Why would I do that?" She shakes her head. "I was trying to catch some fish for Rachel, and I sensed him in the water. Close. I got out as fast as I could, but probably he knows that's what I did. How does he always find me?" "Oops," Rachel says. They both turn to her. She smiles apologetically at Rayna. "I didn't realize you two were at odds. He showed up on the back porch looking for you this morning and...I invited him to dinner. Sorry." As Galen says, "Rachel, what if someone sees him?" Rayna is saying, "No. No, no, no, he is not coming to dinner." Rachel clears her throat and nods behind them. "Rayna, that's very hurtful. After all we've been through," Toraf says. Rayna bristles on the stool, growling at the sound of his voice. She sends an icy glare to Rachel, who pretends not to notice as she squeezes a lemon slice over the fillets. Galen hops down and greets his friend with a strong punch to the arm. "Hey there, tadpole. I see you found a pair of my swimming trunks. Good to see your tracking skills are still intact after the accident and all." Toraf stares at Rayna's back. "Accident, yes. Next time, I'll keep my eyes open when I kiss her. That way, I won't accidentally bust my nose on a rock again. Foolish me, right?" Galen grins.

Yet in 2012, he returned. Plenty of the speechwriters were livid. The club was the embodiment of everything we had promised to change. Was it really necessary to flatter these people, just because they were powerful and rich? In a word, yes. In fact, thanks to the Supreme Court, the rich were more powerful than ever. In 2010, the court’s five conservative justices gutted America’s campaign finance laws in the decision known as Citizens United. With no more limits to the number of attack ads they could purchase, campaigns had become another hobby for the ultrawealthy. Tired of breeding racehorses or bidding on rare wines at auction? Buy a candidate instead! I should make it clear that no one explicitly laid out a strategy regarding the dinner. I never asked point-blank if we hoped to charm billionaires into spending their billions on something other than Mitt Romney’s campaign. That said, I knew it couldn’t hurt. Hoping to mollify the one-percenters in the audience, I kept the script embarrassingly tame. I’ve got about forty-five more minutes on the State of the Union that I’d like to deliver tonight. I am eager to work with members of Congress to be entertaining tonight. But if Congress is unwilling to cooperate, I will be funny without them. Even for a politician, this was weak. But it apparently struck the right tone. POTUS barely edited the speech. A few days later, as a reward for a job well done, Favs invited me to tag along to a speechwriting-team meeting with the president. I had not set foot in the Oval Office since my performance of the Golden Girls theme song. On that occasion, President Obama remained behind his desk. For larger gatherings like this one, however, he crossed the room to a brown leather armchair, and the rest of us filled the two beige sofas on either side. Between the sofas was a coffee table. On the coffee table sat a bowl, which under George W. Bush had contained candy but under Obama was full of apples instead. Hence the ultimate Oval Office power move: grab an apple at the end of a meeting, polish it on your suit, and take a casual chomp on your way out the door. I would have sooner stuck my finger in an electrical socket. Desperate not to call attention to myself, I took the seat farthest away and kept my eyes glued to my laptop. I allowed myself just one indulgence: a quick peek at the Emancipation Proclamation. That’s right, buddy. Look who’s still here. It was only at the very end of the meeting, as we rose from the surprisingly comfy couches, that Favs brought up the Alfalfa dinner. The right-wing radio host Laura Ingraham had been in the audience, and she was struck by the president’s poise. “She was talking about it this morning,” Favs told POTUS. “She said, ‘I don’t know if Mitt Romney can beat him.

carefully. Cute, smart, funny? That described Lucy! She could win the spokespet contest, easy!

Wiggling my breasts against his back, I waited for the groan. Cooper glanced back at me and frowned. “I need to start wearing sweatpants or else you’ll kill me.” “I don’t understand,” I said, batting my eyes innocently. “Are you talking about this?” Wiggling my breasts against him again, I jumped when his hands went to my bare thighs. Stroking from my hips to knees, Cooper gave me a grin. “I’m getting you naked this weekend. Even if I have to lie, cheat, and steal, I’m hitting a homerun with you, baby.” “Sure, whatever. Can we leave now?” “Temptress.” “Dickhead.” “Beauty.” “Stud.” “A stud that needs sweatpants.” “If it’s such a hassle, maybe we shouldn’t fool around at my place?” Cooper just laughed while pulling away from school. He was laughing again when he parked at the curb next to my apartment building. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing. When I don’t get enough oxygen to my brain, it gives me the giggles.” Now, I was laughing as we walked to the front door. “My mom might be home.” “I’ll be sure to feel you up silently then.” Grinning, I unlocked the door and pushed it open to find the air conditioner running high. “My mom sometimes gets overheated.” “Lady issues. Check. No more info is necessary or desired.” Shutting the door, I turned down the air conditioner before finding two sodas in the refrigerator. “I need a shower.” Cooper stared at me with a pained expression. “Sweatpants.” Laughing, I left him to my crappy cable. After a quick shower, I changed into a loose tank top and shorts. Feeling daring, I chose to wear panties, but no bra. Returning to the living room, I found Cooper stretched out with his legs over the coffee table and his arms spread out along the back of the couch. He looked large and menacing then he glanced at me and grinned. “Would now be a bad time to mention I’m horny?” he asked as I opened my soda and joined him on the couch. “If I never again heard a single thing about you being horny, I’d still be well informed.

Baby Cooper and Aaron running around causing trouble,” Dad said, setting an album on Lark’s lap. “Aaron was a very good baby. Didn’t cry at all. Not once.” When I laughed, Dad gave me a wink. “Here was our boy at three months.” Lark looked at the picture and laughed. Knowing exactly what she thought was so funny, I explained, “They thought they were adopting a girl, so I wore pink those first few months.” “Babies grow so fast at that age,” Mom said. “No reason to waste money on new clothes when he wouldn’t know the difference.” Lark laughed at this comment and kept laughing until the pictures reached when I was three. Her eyes moistened and again I was the one to explain. “Lark’s little brother died around that age.” As Mom and Dad descended on her with hugs, I never saw my girl look so startled. Life was different for her now. No longer was she struggling to survive in a dysfunctional family of revolving fathers and a cold mother. Now, she was a Barnes and we were fully functional and only slightly on the weird side. “You have curls,” she cooed, running her finger over a picture of me at five. “I loved those curls,” Mom said. “She put barrettes in those curls,” I muttered, standing behind the three of them as they looked through the album. Ignoring my parents’ laughter, I continued, “I begged to have my hair shaved short. Once it was, I never looked back.

sea

I can’t believe what I am seeing, a Vicar dancing like a lunatic to Madness, and no one apart from me finds this funny.

I rolled my eyes. " What, are you my dad now?" "Maybe your daddy..." "Just kidding," Neil said. "You probably don't even know what that means." "Hey, just because I came out like five seconds ago doesn't mean I don't know what a daddy is!" I defended. "I've been on the internet. I know who Anderson Cooper is.

It’s funny how a person’s mood can consume everything around them, even poison your own state of mind, as though the darkness is somehow contagious; you don’t need to be in the same room – sometimes not even the same house – when you know the very worst of someone has surfaced, you get sucked into the gloom. A black hole.

Old people poke me at weddings and tell me “your next” So I started doing the same thing to them at funerals.

There is another me in the remaining cell. He is wearing a white tennis shirt, shorts and oversized mirrorshades, lounging in a deck chair by a swimming pool. He has a book in his lap: Le Bouchon de cristal. One of my favorites, too. ‘It got you again,’ he says, not bothering to look up. ‘Again. What is that, three times in a row now? You should know by now that it always goes for tit-for-tat.’ ‘I almost got it this time.’ ‘That whole false memory of cooperation thing is a good idea,’ he says. ‘Except, you know, it will never work. The warminds have non-standard occipital lobes, non-sequential dorsal stream. You can’t fool it with visual illusions. Too bad the Archons don’t give points for effort.’ I blink. ‘Wait a minute. How do you know that, but I don’t?’ ‘Did you think you are the only le Flambeur in here? I’ve been around. Anyway, you need ten more points to beat it, so get over here and let me help you out.’ ‘Rub it in, smartass.’ I walk to the blue line, taking my first relieved breath of this round. He gets up as well, pulling his sleek automatic from beneath the book. I point a forefinger at him. ‘Boom boom,’ I say. ‘I cooperate.’ ‘Very funny,’ he says and raises his gun, grinning. My double reflection in his shades looks small and naked. ‘Hey. Hey. We’re in this together, right?’ And this is me thinking I had a sense of humor. ‘Gamblers and high rollers, isn’t that who we are?’ Something clicks. Compelling smile, elaborate cell, putting me at ease, reminding me of myself but somehow not quite right— ‘Oh fuck.’ Every prison has its rumours and monsters and this place is no different. I heard this one from a zoku renegade I cooperated with for a while: the legend of the anomaly. The All-Defector. The thing that never cooperates and gets away with it. It found a glitch in the system so that it always appears as you. And if you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust? ‘Oh yes,’ says the All-Defector, and pulls the trigger

But the true delights of mobspeak, I found, stretched much further. The mobsters we dealt with were adept at casually twisting English into streetwise poetry and hilarious malapropisms. A cooperating witness, Joey Ambrosino, once told me his captain hadn’t directly come out and admitted a crime to him. “It was more of an insinnuendo,” he explained.

Within eighteen months, we had numerous cooperating witnesses—and not just lower level associates. Soldiers and captains turned. Even Carmine Sessa, the family’s consigliere, cooperated. One prominent mob defense lawyer wisecracked to me that there was so much flipping going on, the Colombo family was now being referred to among defense attorneys as the House of Pancakes.

It's not what it looks like. That was a photo one of my barbecue teammates took. That was our ice luge. It melted, so I was picking it up and throwing it over the fence there. But from the angle he took the picture, my teammates thought it looked funny and posted it online. You can write your story and try to get a couple of clicks. It is what it is. ut it's just stupid. It's a nonstory. Given what’s happening with so many elected officials in the capital with so many real scandals going on, it seems like someone is trying to do a little misdirection and throw some heat onto a political consultant who has no skin in the game.

I trust you won’t make a run for it as long as I’m here.” Emil laughed. “Is that what they told you when they assigned you as my handler? That I’m docile and friendly? That I’m cooperative and pleasant to be around? That if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead? That’s a little too much faith put in government employees, if you ask me.

Acknowledgments You hold this book in your hands ◆ because Bonnie Nadell and Austen Rachlis, no matter how many bananas drafts they read (and boy were they bananas), saw what this book could be, and helped me to see it too. Because Naomi Gibbs saw it and brought it fully into itself, and was a joy to work with, like everyone at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt: Larry Cooper, Chrissy Kurpeski, Liz Anderson, Michelle Triant, among others, who took my weird visions and made them manifest, and beautiful. And because Andrea Schulz, years ago, when she first heard about my day job, said, Oh, you should definitely write about that. Thank you, Kayla Rae Whitaker and Amber Sparks, for your words and your kindness. You hold this book because I lived in Boston for eleven years and worked in both fundraising and finance, and had a LOT to process. Thank you, MGH and the Prospect Research Team (2010–2014), especially Angie Morey. I loved the work, but I loved working with you all even more. You are an astounding group of human beings. Thank you, Michael and Deanna Sheridan, Wendy Price, Barry Abrams, Heather Heald, and Eddie Miller, for the years before MGH, the days of RFPs and BlackBerrys (those who know, know). I didn’t always love the work itself, but working with you was a gift, and it changed my life. Thank you, Grub Street, which I am thrilled to work for still; thank you to Michelle Hoover, Alison Murphy, and Chris Castellani, and to all the thoughtful, visionary, funny, and immensely talented writers and people in the Grub universe.

Gaston was indeed a sight to behold. His chopsticks would descend awkwardly upon a morsel of food in one of the dishes before him, take hold of it and carry it precariously in the direction of his mouth. Then the horseface co-operatively met the chopsticks halfway, the mouth sung open, and plop! - the food disappeared inside. Slices of raw fish, spinach - everything was devoured in this fashion. There was nothing in his style of eating to distinguish him from the hippopotamus Tomoe had once seen in a Disney film.

That is all. - Chase Cooper (your science lab partner) “Whoops,” Zoe said. “That can’t be a good thing.” “Look forward to hearing your response?” Brayden asked. “Were you looking at a job application when you wrote this?” “Funny,” I said, upset. Brayden made a disgusted look with his face. “Why so many exclamation points?” “Because, dude,” I said. “More exclamation points means I’m more serious!” “No,” Zoe sighed, shaking her head. “It just makes it look like you don’t understand grammar.

Why, god, why? Why have you deserted me in my moment of need? I’m going to die. I’m going to internally combust never knowing what if feels like to be inside of my girlfriend. Life is so unfair.

She couldn’t help it; she looked hungrily at his dessert-covered chest and abs. Like a woman starved and stranded at sea. Her gaze rose slowly to meet his. But before she could reply, or attack and devour him, a boat horn sounded, making them both start. An amused voice carried the short distance across the water. “He surrenders, Kerry! Don’t make him walk the plank!” Kerry pulled back as if she’d been physically poked, swinging her gaze across the water to where another sailboat was passing by, getting ready to leave the harbor for the bay, sails fully unfurled. It was Jim Stein, with his wife, Carol, an older couple who were long-time friends of Fergus’s but well known to the whole McCrae clan. She felt her cheeks flaming in embarrassment and was grateful they were far enough away not to see the particulars of what was going on. Of course they could plainly see Cooper was shirtless, but she still had on the hoodie and fishing hat, so how inappropriately could they be behaving, right? If only they knew. Five more minutes and her old friends might have gotten a completely different eyeful. Hell, five more seconds. She waved, flashed a thumbs-up, then waved again as they sailed on, leaving laughter in their wake. With her teeth still gritted in a smile, she said, “This will be all over the Cove five seconds after they get back. Sooner if they have radio signal.” She turned back to Cooper, who was grinning shamelessly, hands linked behind his head now, as if preparing for his plank walk. “Very funny,” she said, trying to ignore how the posture made his biceps flex and showed off the definition in his six-pack. She couldn’t help but note that some of the blueberries had slid all the way down to the waistband of his cargo shorts, leaving streaks of blue on his skin, like arrows pointing to where she should go to resume their little game. She realized she was staring when her eyes slid a little lower still and--she jerked her gaze back to his, realizing he’d made her blush again. She typically wasn’t much of a blusher either. But she didn’t usually find herself playing food Twister with a half-naked man. Rather than finding a mocking smile waiting for her, the curve of his lips was amused, maybe even a little affectionate. Like she was being cute or something. She’d show him cute. Then she met his eyes and saw there was nothing amused or even borderline condescending to be found there. Incendiary was the word that came to mind.

A woman is like an egg salad sandwich on a hot Texas day.

I just tried my powers and they didn't do shit for getting us out of here." Falcyn "Mine either, and I was hoping to keep you distracted so that you wouldn't beat my ass over this situation." Blaise What about you, Princess Pea? You got anything?" Falcyn "Besides a throbbing migraine? No. My teleportation isn't cooperating either." Urian "Really? If mine was working do you think I'd be here, listening to the lot of you? Promise, I'd have vanished long ago" Medea

Berlin wrote songs for a number of Astaire films of the period: Top Hat, Follow the Fleet, On the Avenue, Carefree. The two men became close personal friends for the rest of their lives. But the choice of Astaire as a Hollywood leading man is, at first glance, puzzling. Certainly, he was an extraordinary dancer, and songwriters appreciated his accuracy and clarity when singing their songs, even if his voice was reedy and thin. But a leading man? Essentially, Astaire epitomized what Berlin and other Jews strove to achieve. He was debonair, polished, sophisticated. His screen persona was that of a raffish, outspoken fellow, not obviously attractive, whose audacity and romanticism and wit in the end won out. It didn’t hurt that he could dance. But even his dance—so smooth and elegant—was done mostly to jazz. Unlike a Gene Kelly, who was athletic, handsome, and sexy, Astaire got by on style. Kelly was American whereas Astaire was continental. In short, Astaire was someone the immigrant might himself become. It was almost like Astaire was himself Jewish beneath the relaxed urbanity. In a film like Top Hat he is audacious, rude, clever, funny, and articulate, relying mostly on good intentions and charm to win over the girl—and the audience. He is the antithesis of a Clark Gable or a Gary Cooper; Astaire is all clever and chatty, balding, small, and thin. No rugged individualist he. And yet his romantic nature and persistence win all. Astaire only got on his knees to execute a dazzling dance move, never as an act of submission. His characters were largely wealthy, self-assured, and worldly. He danced with sophistication and class. In his famous pairings with Ginger Rogers, the primary dance numbers had the couple dressed to the nines, swirling on equally polished floors to the strains of deeply moving romantic ballads.

Berlin wrote songs for a number of Astaire films of the period: Top Hat, Follow the Fleet, On the Avenue, Carefree. The two men became close personal friends for the rest of their lives. But the choice of Astaire as a Hollywood leading man is, at first glance, puzzling. Certainly, he was an extraordinary dancer, and songwriters appreciated his accuracy and clarity when singing their songs, even if his voice was reedy and thin. But a leading man? Essentially, Astaire epitomized what Berlin and other Jews strove to achieve. He was debonair, polished, sophisticated. His screen persona was that of a raffish, outspoken fellow, not obviously attractive, whose audacity and romanticism and wit in the end won out. It didn’t hurt that he could dance. But even his dance—so smooth and elegant—was done mostly to jazz. Unlike a Gene Kelly, who was athletic, handsome, and sexy, Astaire got by on style. Kelly was American whereas Astaire was continental. In short, Astaire was someone the immigrant might himself become. It was almost like Astaire was himself Jewish beneath the relaxed urbanity. In a film like Top Hat he is audacious, rude, clever, funny, and articulate, relying mostly on good intentions and charm to win over the girl—and the audience. He is the antithesis of a Clark Gable or a Gary Cooper; Astaire is all clever and chatty, balding, small, and thin. No rugged individualist he. And yet his romantic nature and persistence win all.

In Funny Face, all it takes for the lovely Audrey Hepburn, a mousy intellectual in a Greenwich Village bookshop, to question her high-minded celibacy (“My philosophic search / Has left me in the lurch”) is a peck on the cheek from a character played by Fred Astaire. Not Cary Grant or Gary Cooper: Fred Astaire. Well, he has as much right to play a chick magnet as she has to play an existentialist, but when she falls for him she hasn’t even seen him dance; she’s only seen him trash her bookstore.

Sheldon,

I remember it was a damn funny thing for a stranger to say," Stephen said. "Old Ones, we Old Ones. With capital letters-- you could *hear* them.

Funny that heroes come in all shapes and sizes, but the true heroes are almost always silent about their accolades.

Gabe grinned. "I was just being funny." Cooper shook his head. "I don't think you're as funny as you think you are, Dad." Gabe gave a short laugh. "Got it. I'll remember that.

It’s funny how life goes, eh? You try and keep a big smile on your face. You try and stay positive, but it still shits on you when you’re not paying attention.

hot-diggity-dog!

The short answer? I listened to the sound advice of my agent and my editor, both of whom helped me find that sweet spot. The longer one? I set out to write a funny book. A ridiculous book. A book that didn’t take itself too seriously (hence the goblins, the erectile dysfunction potions, and the fact that my antagonist has bunny ears). But the characters just … got away from me. I blame Clay Cooper.

We’ve talked on the phone and texted tons and then there are the emails and Facebook stalking. We know him well enough to tell him the funny stuff.” “I’m not Facebook stalking him, are you?” “Of course.” His head came up, and he looked at me like I was nuts. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s got a business page where he posts cute pics of the dogs and stuff and his personal page where he just seems to argue with his sister. He needs to update his privacy settings—any weirdo could be watching.” For some reason, Cooper didn’t understand why I thought that statement was hilarious.