Dog The Bounty Hunter Quotes

I rooted through my pocketbook and did a fast paraphernalia inventory. I was carrying defense spray, which was a big no-no in a crowded mall. And I carried a stun gun, which on close examination turned out to need a new battery. My two pairs of cuffs were in working order, and I had an almost full can of hair spray. Okay, probably I wasn't the world's best-equipped bounty hunter. But then what did I really need to bring in an old guy with a nose that looked like a penis and a loser hot dog vendor?

There is so much going on, but there is so much less of any real value happening. I don’t think that books or fiction in general is as important to the society or culture at large as it was in years gone by- we are the products of what I believe is a decidedly- and purposefully- less literate culture. To utilize a symbol everyone can understand intuitively, Big Brother WANTS you to be stupid- and He wants you to tune in to Joe Millionaire and Friends, to Wife Swap and Dog The Bounty Hunter, and a million other circuitous destinations where He will provide you with examples of precisely how brainless and inane He wants you to be. Stupid is as stupid does. Stupid citizens aren’t a threat to the status quo.

To the man standing on the corner holding the sign that said “God hates gays.” I’ve never seen, exactly who it is that you paperclip your knees, meld your hands together and pray to But I think I know what he looks like: I bet your God is about 5’10”. I bet he weighs 185. Probably stands the way a high school diploma does when it’s next to a GED. I bet your god has a mullet. I bet he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves, a fanny pack and says words like “getrdun.” I bet your god—I bet your god—I bet your god watches FOX news, Dog the Bounty Hunter, voted for John McCain, and loves Bill O’Reilly. I bet your god lives in Arizona. I bet his high school served racism in the cafeteria and offered “hate speech” as a second language. I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat, and racial slurs tattooed to his tongue just to make intolerance more comfortable in his mouth. I bet he has a burning cross as a middle finger and Jim Crow underneath his nails. Your god is a confederate flags wet dream conceived on a day when the sky decided to slice her own wrists, I bet your god has a drinking problem. I bet he sees the bottom of the shot glass more often than his own children. I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams until they taste like good ideas, Probably cusses like an electric guitar with Tourette’s plugged into an ocean. I bet he yells like a schizophrenic nail gun, damaging all things that care about him enough to get close. I bet there are angels in Heaven with black eyes and broken halos who claimed they fell down the stairs. I bet your god would’ve made Eve without a mouth and taught her how to spread her legs like a magazine that she will never ever ever be pretty enough to be in. Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow, that you are standing in front of mirrors and are worshipping your own reflection. Your God stole my god’s identity and I bet he’s buying pieces of heaven on eBay. So next time you bend your knees, next time you bow your head I want you to tell your god— that my god is looking for him.

In the span of three hundred years nationwide, but only seventy years in the West, hunters in the United States had managed to kill off the wild prey of gray wolves; settlers, farmers, and ranchers had occupied most of the wolves' former habitat; wolfers had poisoned them; bounty hunters had dynamited their dens and pursued them with dogs, traps, and more poison; and finally, the government had stepped in and, primarily at the livestock industry's behest, quite literally finished them off.

You brought us to a pawnshop.” “Somethin’ like that, yeah.” “Ooh, hey. Johnny.” Luther trotted up to his master, his tongue lolling. “I know. You’re gonna sell the shifter dwarf.” “Say what?” Charlie’s eyes widened. “What?” “Now where the hell did you get an idea like that?” “We saw it on some show, Johnny. That’s what pawnshops are for, right?” Rex leaned toward a display of tiny porcelain dogs and dog bones before he pressed his nose against the glass and snorted. “You take in what you don’t want and get money for it.” “No one pawns their cousin.” Johnny clicked his tongue, then smirked. “Although

November 15th, 2012 0930 hours Podilskyi District Kiev, Ukraine   Boris Volkov brought the cleaver down on the talocrural joint, hard and with purpose, severing the anterior and posterior ankle ligaments before slicing clean through the Achilles tendon. He did the same to the left foot, tossing aside both feet into a steel drum lined with thick plastic, filled with his own concoction of lye and sulfuric acid. The result was a bone stripped clean of flesh, muscle and sinew. The bones would then be collected and fed to stray dogs roaming the back alleys of Podilskyi. He moved onto

The five of us spoil that dog like crazy. You should be so lucky to be surrounded by beautiful women who feed you treats, rub your belly, let you kick them off their beds, and tell you that you're the most wonderful being in the universe.