Deadly Combo Quotes

Stupidity mixed with arrogance mixed with anger mixed with adrenaline is a deadly combination. Just as deadly as adding fries and a soda and making it a combo meal.

It was nothing I hadn't thought of, plenty, and in far less taxing circumstances; the urge shook me grandly and unpredictably, a poisonous whisper that never wholly left me, that on some days lingered just on the threshold of my hearing but on others roared up uncontrollably into a sort of lurid visionary frenzy, why I wasn't sure, sometimes even a bad movie or a gruesome dinner party could trigger it, short term boredom and long term pain, temporary panic and permanent desperation striking all at once and flaring up in such an ashen desolate light that I saw, really saw, looking back down the years and with all clear-headed and articulate despair, that the world and everything in it was intolerably and permanently fucked and nothing had ever been good or okay, unbearable claustrophobia of the soul, the windowless room, no way out, waves of shame and horror, leave me alone, my mother dead on a marble floor, stop it stop it, muttering aloud to myself in elevators, in cabs, leave me alone, I want to die, a cold, intelligent, self-immolating fury that had-- more than once-- driven me upstairs in a resolute fog to swallow indiscriminate combos of whatever booze and pills I happened to have on hand: only tolerance and ineptitude that I'd botched it, unpleasantly surprised when I woke up though relieved for Hobie that he hadn't had to find me.

Eric Steele utilized the Mark XI’s voice command function by saying, “Nav,” and a map appeared in the upper-right quadrant of the visor. The yellow blinking arrow told him that he needed to come left, so he lowered his shoulder and banked gently until he was locked on the correct glide path. This thing is legit. Steele had grown up on James Bond and thought being a spy was all about the gadgets. But in the real world batteries failed and an operator lived and died by making a plan and sticking to it. One of the main reasons Steele was still alive while so many of his friends were dead was because he didn’t leave anything to chance. He carefully brought his left arm up to eye level and double-checked the Mark XI’s readings with the GPS/altimeter combo strapped to his forearm. Once he was sure that he knew exactly where he was, he snapped his arms tight and accelerated to 200 miles per hour.

Simone’s reasons for wanting to watch the kids weren’t all one hundred percent genuine. Yes, she wanted a better relationship with her sons just because now that they were in her life, she truly wanted to get to know them. But she also saw how they treated their grandmother, Winter, Fatima, and their women. The triplets catered to and spoiled all of the women that they loved. Simone could barely get a burger combo out of them. Not because they hated her but because spoiling her didn’t come naturally to them like it did with others. She wanted that to change. Serenity’s dad was a dead beat, and Simone worked hard to pay her bills and take care of her daughter. She often worked more than forty hours a week, and she was still struggling. It would be nice to have someone offer to pay a bill or two, book a massage for her, or send her out of the country on vacation.

The death fat is that fat tire inside, the IAF. Why? In 1970, a Big Food scientist at a company under the New Jersey Turnpike found the ‘bliss point’ for humans, the perfect combo of refined sugar, salt, and fat that was optimally addictive to humans—junk food. The reason you die from eating at the bliss point is that the inside fat tire grows and grows and provokes inflammation in the body, and that sounds the alarm for the immune system to rush at it all the time, but it keeps on growing and growing until at a critical moment it outgrows the blood supply and the bloodless fat cells die—really quickly die—and this attracts the macrophages, which migrate to the abdominal fat and eat up the dead cells and kind of circle the wagons.

Peter, Mike and Tony’s background is a world away from mine. Our schooling, class, family—on paper, we couldn’t be farther apart. For all of early Genesis’ gigging and recording experience, they’ve been somewhat cloistered. I’ve been schooled in the rough and tumble of the life of a gigging performer and musician. I’ve been on the stage in London’s West End, a regular down the front at the Marquee, the drummer for an almost comically diverse array of groups, bands and combos. I have ducked and dived through swinging sixties Soho, and I have the energy, momentum and enthusiasm to prove it. I can apply all of that to the rather more conservative, rather less worldly Genesis. I’m also quick with a joke, a mood-lightening attribute that will come in very handy when Peter, Mike and Tony revert to school playground bickering. When they start arguing about who stole whose protractor, I can always step in with some distracting bonhomie. My personality, and my ability to break the ice, is exactly what these buttoned-up public schoolboys need, even if they don’t know it. English reserve will only take you so far. In the same way that my very limited experience as a songwriter means I will end up being the band’s musical arranger in these early days, I can also rearrange the mood.

I start taking piano lessons with my Great-Auntie Daisy at her musty Edwardian house in Netheravon Road, Chiswick. She’s charming, patient and helpful and, to the surprise of both of us, it comes to me easily. Once I hear something, I never have to look at the page again. I have what they call “big ears,” which is great for learning songs, less good for learning to read music. This frustrates Auntie Daisy, but she doesn’t hold it against me. On her death, I inherit her 1820 straight-strung Collard & Collard. I will record all of Face Value, my first solo album, using that piano. I never do learn to read music, and still can’t to this day. If I had, things might have been very different. When I form the Phil Collins Big Band in 1996, to communicate with the brilliant, seasoned jazz players in that combo I have to invent my own phonetic way of doing the charts.