Eds Funny Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Eds Funny. Here they are! All 39 of them:

Haven't you ever heard of the saying, "If you want to shoot the general, first shoot the horse!"?' --Lin If you wanna shoot the general, then you should just SHOOT THE GENERAL!' --Ed
Hiromu Arakawa (Fullmetal Alchemist, Vol. 14 (Fullmetal Alchemist, #14))
It's so trendy, almost bleeding to death. All the cool girls are doing it.
Francine Pascal (Fearless (Fearless, #1))
He slowed down a bit more. "Gaia, how do you know these things?" She shrugged. "I'm smart." "And modest, too." "Modesty is a waste of time," she pronounced. "I'll keep that in mind.
Francine Pascal (Fearless (Fearless, #1))
From day one, I’ve been prepared With vo5 wax for my ginger hair.
Ed Sheeran
I'd rather be ignored as a frog than eaten as a human.
E.D. Baker (Dragon's Breath (The Tales of the Frog Princess, #2))
We're engaged to be engaged, aren't we?
E.D. Baker (Dragon's Breath (The Tales of the Frog Princess, #2))
I broke up with this girl, and they put me with a psychiatrist who said, 'Why did you get so depressed, and do all those things you did?' I said, 'I wanted this girl and she left me.' And he said,'Well, we have to look into that.' And I said, 'There's nothing to look into! I wanted her and she left me.' And he said, 'Well, why are you feeling so intense?' And I said, 'Cause I want the girl!' And he said, 'What's underneath it?' And I said, 'Nothing!' He said, 'I'll have to give you medication.' I said, 'I don't want medication! I want the girl!' And he said, 'We have to work this through.' So, I took a fire extinguisher from the casement and struck him across the back of his neck. And before I knew it, guys from Con Ed had jumper cables in my head and the rest was...
Woody Allen
But who am I if I'm not Janie the bulimic? Bulimia has become so much a part of me that I can't remember what it felt like not to purge. It's been this secret that I have hidden from my parents and my friends (well, except for Nancy) and the rest of the world. It's the way I can let off the pressure of always feeling like I'm not smart enough, I'm not thin enough, not pretty enough, not funny enough, just plain not enough enough.
Sarah Darer Littman (Purge)
You're impossible," she told him. "Of course I am," he answered. "It's part of my charm.
David Eddings (Castle of Wizardry (The Belgariad #4))
Look at your eyes. You've got bigger bags than Louis Vuitton.
Matt Dunn (The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook (Ed & Dan, #1))
Alamak, it's that Ed Saranwrap! I love his music!” As Ed Sheeran
Kevin Kwan (Rich People Problems (Crazy Rich Asians, #3))
What am I go­ing to do?” Coral asks. “Stay here,” I say. “Watch. Cov­er me if some­thing goes wrong.” “That’s bull­shit,” she says half­heart­ed­ly.
Lauren Oliver (Requiem (Delirium, #3))
Your--ah--intervention, shall we say, has simplified things in the palace enormously. We no longer have to worry about Salmissra's whims and peculiar appetites. We rule by committee, and we hardly ever find it necessary to poison each other anymore. No one's tried to poison me for months.
David Eddings (Castle of Wizardry (The Belgariad #4))
The queen sighed. "What am I going to do with all of you now!" "You're going to let us continue our journey," Belgarath replied calmly. "We'll argue about it, of course, but in the end that's the way it'll turn out." She stared at him. "You did ask, after all. I'm sure you feel better now that you know.
David Eddings (Castle of Wizardry (The Belgariad #4))
The priest DID have it coming, though," Lelldorin declared hotly. "What priest?" "The priest of Chaldan at that little chapel who wouldn't marry us because Arianna couldn't give him a document proving she had her family's consent. He was very insulting." "Did you break anything?" "A few of his teeth is about all-- and I stopped hitting him as soon as he agreed to perform the ceremony.
David Eddings (Castle of Wizardry (The Belgariad #4))
As they prepared to mount, Barak's horse, a large, sturdy gray, sighed and threw a reproachful look at Hettar, and the Algar chuckled. 'What's so funny?' Barak demanded suspiciously. 'The horse said something,' Hettar replied. 'Never mind.
David Eddings (Queen of Sorcery (The Belgariad #2))
Would you look at this?" Silk waved a piece of parchment at the old man. "What's the problem?" Belgarath took the parchment and read it. "That whole business was settled years ago," Silk declared in an irritated voice. "Why are these things still being circulated?" "The description IS colorful," Belgarath noted. "Did you see that?" Silk sounded mortally offended. He turned to Garion. "Do I look like a weasel to you?" "--an ill-favored, weasel-faced man," Belgarath read, "shifty-eyed and with a long, pointed nose. A notorious cheat at dice." "Do you mind?
David Eddings (Enchanters' End Game (The Belgariad #5))
You won't be able to do it wrong, Durnik--any more than you'd be able to lie or cheat or steal. It's built into you to do it right, so don't worry about it." "That's all very well for you to say, Mistress, Pol," he replied, "but if you don't mind, I will worry about it just a bit--privately of course.
David Eddings (Enchanters' End Game (The Belgariad #5))
It’s not a matter of Dad sitting down with his preadolescent son and incorporating 'Don’t be a criminal!' into the 'birds and the bees' talk. (I mean, that couldn’t hurt, probably. But it’s not the point.) It’s about teaching our boys to actively oppose sexual violence. It’s all well and good to say you’re against rape and would never rape anyone, end of story. But somewhere in that crowd of guys laughing about an unconscious girl getting 'a wang in the butthole, dude'—and the one listening to Daniel Tosh say, 'Wouldn’t it be funny if she got gang-raped right now?' and the one reading an op-ed in the Washington Post that puts 'sexual assault' in quotation marks, as though it exists only in the eye of the beholder—somewhere in all of those crowds is the guy who would rape someone. The guy who will rape someone. The guy who has raped someone. And could you blame any of those guys for thinking that rape is not a serious crime, or even something to be particularly ashamed of, when so many 'good' guys around them are laughing at the same jokes?
Kate Harding
Well--to put it briefly--Arianna and I had become--well--friends." "I see." "Nothing improper, you understand," Lelldorin said quickly. "But our friendship was such that--well--we didn't want to be separated." The young Asturian's face appealed to his friend for understanding. "Actually," he went on, "it was a little more than 'didn't want to.' Arianna told me she'd die if I left her behind." "Possibly she was exaggerating," Garion suggested. "How could I risk it, though?" Lelldorin protested. "Women are much more delicate than we are-- besides, Arianna's a physician. She'd know if she'd die, wouldn't she?
David Eddings (Castle of Wizardry (The Belgariad #4))
Mountains could be what happens when Father Earth eats something that doesn’t agree with him. When he burps, mountains pop up." "That’s absurd," Keselo said, trying not to laugh. "If you’ve got a better theory, I’d be happy to hear it," Red-Beard said mildly. "Anyway, a burp isn’t anything but air that boils up out of a man’s stomach, so Father Earth’s mountains have chunks of empty air in the middle of them—burps that didn’t quite manage to make it to the surface, you understand.
David Eddings (The Elder Gods (The Dreamers, #1))
His agility surprised Phoebe Ash. She saw the plaster cast on his right leg. Funny messages in ink—“Go break the left one, tiger!”—had been written on the off-white plaster.
Ed Lynskey (The Quetzal Motel)
WHAT A CONCUBINE SHOULD NEVER SAY: In your case, ED is not a man's name.
Robin Glasser (My Life as a Concubine)
Harper, have you ever had the overwhelming urge to rip out your reproductive tract and use the fallopian tubes to choke the stupidity out of men? Because that’s where I’m at.
Mazey Eddings (A Brush with Love (A Brush with Love, #1))
Trump/Russia is Far Worse Than Watergate. It’s basically Watergate on Russian-made steroids. That would also help explain Trump’s man-boobs and crazy mood swings.
Ed Krassenstein
I'm sick and tired of everyone making fun of the size of Trump's hands. We should all be bigger than that. So should Donald Trump's hands
Ed Krassenstein
I thought the trees down in Lady Zelana’s country were about as big as a tree could get,” he said, “but the ones around here are so tall that they probably tickle the moon’s tummy when she goes by.
David Eddings (Crystal Gorge (The Dreamers, #3))
Men have a kind of... well, an 'eel' on them... It isn't an eel really, but pretending it's an eel makes things so much easier. Here's the thing: this eel spends its entire life trying to find a home, and what do you think women have inside them? Caves, where the eels like to live. You may not know this about eels, but they're quite territorial. When they find a cave they like, they wriggle around inside it for awhile to be sure that... well to be sure it's a nice cave, I suppose. And when they've made up their minds that it's comfortable, they mark the cave as their territory, by spitting. Men like doing this very much. There are even men who do little in their lives besides search for different caves to let their eels live in.
Arthur Golden (Memoirs of a Geisha)
I arched a brow. “Something funny?” Her mouth formed a tight line. “Nope.” I approached her. “You sure?” Her gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Uh-huh.” “Okay, then.” I turned and headed over to grab the last of our things. “It’s just . . .” Eilish began and then trailed off. “Yes?” She shook her head and finally let her giggles flow free. I couldn’t help smiling, too, even though I wasn’t entirely sure an inconvenient hard-on warranted so much laughter. It was infectious all the same. She gestured to the retreating group of tourists. “I studied German at school, so I can pick out certain words. One of the women commented about you to her friend.” I smirked. “Oh yeah? What did she say?” She dabbed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “Something along the lines of a bratwurst big enough to feed an army.” My smirk died. “I wish I hadn’t asked.” “Really? I thought men enjoyed compliments about that . . . particular area.” “They do. But armies are generally made up of a bunch of blokes.” I arched a brow meaningfully. A loud burst of laughter escaped her, and she clamped her hand over mouth. God, she was too fucking adorable. She sucked in a breath, finally calming down from her fit of giggles. “You’re too much, Bryan Leech.” “That’s what the German ladies think anyway,” I deadpanned, my smirk returning. Eilish burst into laughter all over again.
L.H. Cosway (The Cad and the Co-Ed (Rugby, #3))
Anyway, Arianna and I left the castle very late one evening. I knew the knight on guard at the drawbridge so I hit hit him over the head because I didn't want to hurt him. Garion blinked. "I knew he'd be honor-bound to try to stop us," Lelldorin explained. "I didn't want to have to kill him, so I hit him over the head." "I suppose that makes sense," Garion said dubiously. "Arianna's almost positive he won't die." "DIE?" "I hit him just a little too hard, I think.
David Eddings
Natasha took his arm, gushing to him that she was ready for outrage from PETA, a protest or two, an Op-Ed in the New York Times that would be publicity gold. Ping Xi nodded blankly. I called in sick the day of the opening. Natasha didn’t seem to care. She had Angelika fill in at the front desk. She was an anorexic Goth, a senior at NYU. The show was a “brutal success,” one critic called it. “Cruelly funny.” Another said Ping Xi “marked the end of the sacred in art. Here is a spoiled brat taking the piss out of the establishment. Some are hailing him as the next Marcel Duchamp. But is he worth the stink?
Ottessa Moshfegh (My Year of Rest and Relaxation)
Sarah sits up and reaches over, plucking a string on my guitar. It’s propped against the nightstand on her side of the bed. “So . . . do you actually know how to play this thing?” “I do.” She lies down on her side, arm bent, resting her head in her hand, regarding me curiously. “You mean like, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,’ the ‘ABC’s,’ and such?” I roll my eyes. “You do realize that’s the same song, don’t you?” Her nose scrunches as she thinks about it, and her lips move as she silently sings the tunes in her head. It’s fucking adorable. Then she covers her face and laughs out loud. “Oh my God, I’m an imbecile!” “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, but if you say so.” She narrows her eyes. “Bully.” Then she sticks out her tongue. Big mistake. Because it’s soft and pink and very wet . . . and it makes me want to suck on it. And then that makes me think of other pink, soft, and wet places on her sweet-smelling body . . . and then I’m hard. Painfully, achingly hard. Thank God for thick bedcovers. If this innocent, blushing bird realized there was a hot, hard, raging boner in her bed, mere inches away from her, she would either pass out from all the blood rushing to her cheeks or hit the ceiling in shock—clinging to it by her fingernails like a petrified cat over water. “Well, you learn something new every day.” She chuckles. “But you really know how to play the guitar?” “You sound doubtful.” She shrugs. “A lot has been written about you, but I’ve never once heard that you play an instrument.” I lean in close and whisper, “It’s a secret. I’m good at a lot of things that no one knows about.” Her eyes roll again. “Let me guess—you’re fantastic in bed . . . but everybody knows that.” Then she makes like she’s playing the drums and does the sound effects for the punch-line rim shot. “Ba dumb ba, chhhh.” And I laugh hard—almost as hard as my cock is. “Shy, clever, a naughty sense of humor, and a total nutter. That’s a damn strange combo, Titebottum.” “Wait till you get to know me—I’m definitely one of a kind.” The funny thing is, I’m starting to think that’s absolutely true. I rub my hands together, then gesture to the guitar. “Anyway, pass it here. And name a musician. Any musician.” “Umm . . . Ed Sheeran.” I shake my head. “All the girls love Ed Sheeran.” “He’s a great singer. And he has the whole ginger thing going for him,” she teases. “If you were born a prince with red hair? Women everywhere would adore you.” “Women everywhere already adore me.” “If you were a ginger prince, there’d be more.” “All right, hush now smartarse-bottum. And listen.” Then I play “Thinking Out Loud.” About halfway through, I glance over at Sarah. She has the most beautiful smile, and I think something to myself that I’ve never thought in all my twenty-five years: this is how it feels to be Ed Sheeran.
Emma Chase (Royally Matched (Royally, #2))
After a while, Trevor said, “Know something funny? Chassie wants us to talk. She thinks it’ll help if we get everything out in the open.” “So she doesn’t realize that was our issue? That we couldn’t be open?” Trevor frowned. “First time you’ve said ‘we’ in that old argument, Ed. You always blamed me for us not holdin’ hands and shit.” “I’ve learned the hard way maybe you were right about the kinda baggage other people hide when they’re showing a different face to the world.” When Edgard didn’t elaborate, Trevor demanded, “You gonna explain that comment? Or you gonna sit there with that smug-ass look and make me guess?” “Trying to explain it when you’re in a piss-poor mood would be a waste of breath.” Edgard gave Trevor a cool once-over. “And for the record, I’m not acting smug. I’m just as screwed up about all this with Chassie as you are.” “Right. I’m sure you’re happy as shit.” Seething, Edgard snapped, “You never had the balls to tell me how you felt when we were together every goddamn day, so don’t you ever f**king presume to tell me anything about the way I feel now when you haven’t seen me for three and a half f**king years.” “I didn’t mean—
Lorelei James (Rough, Raw and Ready (Rough Riders, #5))
Ed Seykota: "Fundamentals that you read about are typically useless as the market has already discounted the price, and I call them 'funny-mentals.' I am primarily a trend trader with touches of hunches based on about twenty years of experience. In order of importance to me are: (1) the long-term trend, (2) the current chart pattern, and (3) picking a good spot to buy or sell. Those are the three primary components of my trading. Way down in very distant fourth place are my fundamental ideas and, quite likely, on balance, they have cost me money.
Matthew R. Kratter (A Beginner's Guide to the Stock Market)
THEBryanLeech: The main problem with being sober: you can tell when people are faking their laughter. #MyJokesArentFunnyAnymore RonanFitz to THEBryanLeech: Your jokes were never funny. #SorryNotSorry
L.H. Cosway (The Cad and the Co-Ed (Rugby, #3))
Over the past five years, I’ve said my best prayers every night, haven’t missed a night, though I gotta admit, if it wouldn’t break my mother’s heart, I’d probably have stopped a year ago. I mean, praying to be free of Hiskott only makes me expect to be free soon, and then when the prayer’s never answered, you feel even worse, and you wonder what’s the point. I’m not criticizing God, if that’s what you think, because nobody knows why God does things or how He thinks, and He’s humongously smarter than any of us, even smarter than Ed. They say He works in mysterious ways, which is for sure true. What I’m saying is, maybe the whole praying business is a human idea, maybe God never asked us to do it. Yeah, all right, He wants us to like Him, and He wants us to respect Him, so we’ll live right and do good. But God is good—right?—and to be really good you’ve got to have humility, we all know that, so then if God is the best of the best, then He’s also the humblest of the humble. Right? So maybe it embarrasses Him to be praised like around the clock, to be called great and mighty all the time. And maybe it makes Him a little bit nuts the way we’re always asking Him to solve our problems instead of even trying to solve them ourselves, which He made us so we could do. Anyway, so after almost giving up on prayer, and being pretty darned sure that God is too humble to sit around all day listening to us praise Him and beg Him, the funny thing is, I’m praying like crazy for Oddie. I guess I’m hopeless.
Dean Koontz (Dean Koontz 3 Books Collection Set)
Gothic is the genre of fear. Our fascination with it is almost always revived during times of instability and panic. In the wake of the French Revolution, the Marquis de Sade described the rise of the genre as 'the inevitable product of the revolutionary shock with which the whole of Europe resounded,' and literary critics in the late eighteenth century mocked the work of early gothic writers Anne Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis by referring to it as 'the terrorist school' of writing. As Fred Botting writes in Gothic, his lucid introduction to the genre, it expresses our unresolved feelings about 'the nature of power, law, society, family and sexuality' and yet is extremely concerned with issues of social disintegration and collapse. It's preoccupied with all that is immoral, fantastic, suspenseful, and sensational and yet prone to promoting middle-class values. It's interested in transgression, but it's ultimately more interested in restitution; it alludes to the past yet is carefully attuned to the present; it's designed to evoke excessive emotion, yet it's thoroughly ambivalent; it's the product of revolution and upheaval, yet it endeavors to contain their forces; it's terrifying, but pretty funny. And, importantly, the gothic always reflects the anxieties of its age in an appropriate package, so that by the nineteenth century, familiar tropes representing external threats like crumbling castles, aristocratic villains, and pesky ghosts had been swallowed and interiorized. In the nineteenth century, gothic horrors were more concerned with madness, disease, moral depravity, and decay than with evil aristocrats and depraved monks. Darwin's theories, the changing roles of women in society, and ethical issues raised by advances in science and technology haunted the Victorian gothic, and the repression of these fears returned again and again in the form of guilt, anxiety, and despair. 'Doubles, alter egos, mirrors, and animated representations of the disturbing parts of human identity became the stock devices,' Botting writes, 'signifying the alienation of the human subject from the culture and language in which s/he is located.' In the transition from modernity to post-modernity, the very idea of culture as something stable and real is challenged, and so postmodern gothic freaks itself out by dismantling modernist grand narratives and playing games. In the twentieth century, 'Gothic [was] everywhere and nowhere,' and 'narrative forms and devices spill[ed] over from worlds of fantasy and fiction into real and social spheres.
Carina Chocano (You Play the Girl: On Playboy Bunnies, Stepford Wives, Train Wrecks, & Other Mixed Messages)
Most days I look like s**t. Today wasn’t much different. I always tell myself lies about how I will work out more or look better. I’m great at making plans in my head, coordinating the steps I’d need to be successful, but I’m not that good at following them. In that moment, my plan is the best thing ever. The idea is revolutionary and will change the world. Until it sits in a pile on the floor in my room with other “great plans” I’ve come up with and one day I learn that the idea wasn’t so original after all. Someone much smarter than me and more determined and organized created it. If this story is not found in a pile in my room, I’d be surprised. Yeah, even when I look good, I look bad. I have so much black under my eyes from lack of sleep you’d think that I was emo. I look like I am ready to kill someone when I’m exhausted (which is more often than not). It is funny to me since I’m not that pessimistic of a person but people who don’t know me and only see my exhaustion may confuse it for anger. Oh no, that guy may blow up a school. He may shoot this place up. I swear I’ve never even thought about doing such crazy things. I just looked p***ed off when I’m tired. What makes my already appealing appearance even worse is that I hate getting haircuts. I never did like sitting in the barber chair as a stranger cuts my hair, using those absurd tools to be precise with my hair follicles. I sit there hoping the guy doesn’t go all Van Gogh on me, and when it is over, I’m always asked how I think it looks. Like I know anything about that. Because now I’m an expert in fashionable hairstyles after sitting in a raised chair for five minutes. A few times I’ve gone in to get a haircut and told the guy it was awesome only to get home and realize it was awful. That was when I went a bunch. Now I will only get like two or three haircuts a year. That is how much I hate it.
Greg Luti (A Day In The Life)
The Zombie Firetruck by Stewart Stafford Sirens moan, grave duty's flash of red, A mortuary whiff of something dead, Hoses trained with brains they suck, Your friendly neighbourhood zombie firetruck! All that remained of the human fire team, From the zombie pandemic of 2017, Still in their uniforms, their only treasures, Apocalyptic times call for end-time measures. When they reached the fire, people did scoff, They lurched, staggered, body parts fell off, As they wandered around, fire hoses forlorn, These knightly living dead faced a blazing dawn. The chief, hat off to his skeleton crew, In a voice once alive, now croaky like flu: 'To the hydrant, my ghouls, let's save Gothik Town, Or they'll call Ghostbusters, we'll be the clowns!' A glowering inferno, a cremation scene, Zombie firefighters, brave and light green. Through smoke and ash, they gravely stand, Composed decomposition with skeletal hand. Axeman Bony Ed led their clattering charge, Into the smoke, his cadavers did barge, The townsfolk looked on in dead of night, And disbelief, tiredness and mild fright. There soon followed medic Cemetery Phil, Decaying Murphy, Old Salty, and Dead Drill, Slab Stevens, Madly Hyde and Molly Voodoo, Determined to shake their initial hoodoo. A mother and baby backed by burning drapes, Team Macabre charged up the fire escape, Saving both and getting everyone out, Drank Brainer Ade as they leaked like a spout. Somehow, undead teamwork saved the day, No lives were lost as the water sprayed, Doused the flames, cool flatlined heroes, Much zombie kudos, no longer scary zeroes. The crowd cheered, did they ever doubt it? High fives lost hands but new ones sprouted, Frankenstein proud in their flapping flesh, Sure to get medals at the HalloweenFest. With a final groan and a clatter of bones, The zombie firetruck headed back home. Rotten yet proud, in their reanimated way, The risen would fight fires another day. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.
Stewart Stafford