Fanboy Quotes

I've been waiting a long time to run tests on someone like you, " he said to Daemon, voice high-pitched. Daemon arched a brow. "Another fanboy. I have them everywhere." I muttered, "Only you would see that as a good thing." He shot me a grin.

Never give up on your dreams, and never let anyone tell you that what you love is inconsequential or useless or a waste of time. Because if you love it? If that OTP or children's card game or abridged series or YA book or animated series makes you happy? That is never a waste of time. Because in the end we're all just a bunch of weirdos standing in front of other weirdos, asking for their username.

I adore the way fan fiction writers engage with and critique source texts, by manipulating them and breaking their rules. Some of it is straight-up homage, but a lot of [fan fiction] is really aggressive towards the source text. One tends to think of it as written by total fanboys and fangirls as a kind of worshipful act, but a lot of times you’ll read these stories and it’ll be like ‘What if Star Trek had an openly gay character on the bridge?’ And of course the point is that they don’t, and they wouldn’t, because they don’t have the balls, or they are beholden to their advertisers, or whatever. There’s a powerful critique, almost punk-like anger, being expressed there—which I find fascinating and interesting and cool.

Dr. Roth: "I've been waiting a long time to run tests on someone like you." Daemon: "Another fanboy. I have them everywhere."

One time you told me that the opposite of love isn't hate. And I didn't understand that, but I think I do know. Because if you hate someone, you most still care, right? You have to care a little bit; otherwise you would just ignore them and forget they even live. Or lived.

I just have an allergic reaction to lung cancer. Gives me tumors.

Look, without our stories, without the true nature and reality of who we are as People of Color, nothing about fanboy or fangirl culture would make sense. What I mean by that is: if it wasn't for race, X-Men doesn't sense. If it wasn't for the history of breeding human beings in the New World through chattel slavery, Dune doesn't make sense. If it wasn't for the history of colonialism and imperialism, Star Wars doesn't make sense. If it wasn't for the extermination of so many Indigenous First Nations, most of what we call science fiction’s contact stories doesn't make sense. Without us as the secret sauce, none of this works, and it is about time that we understood that we are the Force that holds the Star Wars universe together. We’re the Prime Directive that makes Star Trek possible, yeah. In the Green Lantern Corps, we are the oath. We are all of these things—erased, and yet without us—we are essential.

You can't rely on love. Love will let you down every time. Every. Single. Time. I don't love Jecca. I don't love Fanboy. But... God, the buts in life will kill you absolutely every time, won't they. I don't love. But I need. I can admit that to myself.

Squee.” 1 (verb): To emit an onomatopoetic girlish swooning sound out of pure fanboy adulation. 2 (noun): the sound itself.

I don't know and I don't care anymore. I was supposed to have my way for once, just once in my life. I did everything right and I got nothing for it. I want to kill them all. no, better yet, I want to die. No, even bettter than that: I want to kill them all then die.

The best revenge is living well, my dad told me once.

It's a good day when a goddess gets on the school-bus with you.

I suddenly realize that I'm naked, which shouldn't bother me since it's the phone, but for some reason it does. "How's it hanging?" Kyra asks and now I think I'm blushing. It's just an expression, but jeez!

Is that what God does? He helps? Tell me, why didn't God help my innocent friend who died for no reason while the guilty ran free? Okay. Fine. Forget the one offs. How about the countless wars declared in his name? Okay. Fine. Let's skip the random, meaningless murder for a second, shall we? How about the racist, sexist, phobia soup we've all been drowning in because of him? And I'm not just talking about Jesus. I'm talking about all organized religion. Exclusive groups created to manage control. A dealer getting people hooked on the drug of hope. His followers, nothing but addicts who want their hit of bullshit to keep their dopamine of ignorance. Addicts. Afraid to believe the truth. That there's no order. There's no power. That all religions are just metastasizing mind worms, meant to divide us so it's easier to rule us by the charlatans that wanna run us. All we are to them are paying fanboys of their poorly-written sci-fi franchise. If I don't listen to my imaginary friend, why the fuck should I listen to yours? People think their worship's some key to happiness. That's just how he owns you. Even I'm not crazy enough to believe that distortion of reality. So fuck God. He's not a good enough scapegoat for me.

(Man, I wish life had emoticons, you know? So that when your dad pisses you off you could like click a mental button or something and just show him one of those rolleyes. That would rock) Anyway.

When you feel like things are out of control, you take control. Yeah, that's what you do. Take control. So, yeah. Oh, yeah.

The world pretty much sucks most of the time. But the point of life isn’t to live in a world that doesn’t suck. The point is to try to make it suck a little bit less.

In a way, i feel sorry for boys. They're weak. You show them boobs or a butt and they just fall apart. But I feel sorry for girls, too. Because girls get screwed, even when they're not naked with a guy. Everyone hates girls--even other girls. I mean, "girl" is like an insult, you know? "That's so girly." "Stop being a girl." "You're like a little girl." Hey, you know what? I was a little girl once and I kicked ass. I was awesome.

You’ve told me repeatedly now that you find me blindingly attractive.” “That doesn’t mean I like you. Besides, your brand of pretty is like a weapon. You reel victims in with it, just like a vampire does. I wouldn’t be surprised if you sparkle in the sun.” “I cannot believe I’m arguing with a woman who references Twilight.” “The fact that you know I’m referencing Twilight betrays you as a secret Edward-loving fanboy.” His snort is loud and scathing. “Team Jacob all the way.” I can’t help it, my eyes fly open, and I lift a corner of my mask to glare at him. “That’s it. We can never be friends.

...She's not buying [the lie], but there's nothing else on the shelves.

And if it's locked, I'll knock it the hell down." He thinks when he busts out "hell" I take him more seriously. Yeah. Insert eye roll here.

Tell your fanboy we said hello.” “Our fanboy,” Jeremy reminded him

It just means that if someone hates you, they still have feelings for you. If they really didn't care about you, they'd just forget about you. They wouldn't even waste the time hating you.

You can't rely on love. Love will let you down every time. Every. Single. Time.

Oh, that was smooth. I'm as subtle as a fart.

Horrible abominations might be unpleasant, but at least they didn't have fanboys. - Aki

Thanks to the very best in Microsoft/Intel engineering, it crashes every time you exhale too hard in its general vicinity. --Fanboy on his computer

Love makes you weak. This I know for sure. Mom loved Roger. Roger loved Mom.And look what happpened there. She died. She thought her love made her strong. She kept telling me-after she was diagnosed-she ket telling me, "I'm going to beat this Kyra. I'm going to come out of it. I love you and I love your father and that love is my strength. You're my strength.

I'm strong thanks to you, Kyra. You're my strength." And who the hell was she to put that burden on me? I was her strength? Then what did that mean as the cancer ate her from the inside out? What did that mean as she got weaker and weaker and weaker? When the cancer migrated her brain and made her forget things and space out randomly? You can't rely on other people to be your strength. You have to be your own strength.

His eyes weren't soft anymore. They were focused and steady and they held me in their light. In them I could see all the Finches I had known. The fanboy and the wanderer and the traitor and the hero.

I won't let myself be used or manipulated. I won't let myself be a hypocrite. I am foe me. I am not weak. For anyone.

Dr. Kennedy talked me out of killing myself--for now--without saying a single words or even knowing what was going on. Which, I've decided, is the mark of a totally kick-ass therapist.

Of the seminal moments in my life, Careers Day in the autumn of Year 5 is my favorite. Everyone had to dress as whatever they wanted to be once they grew up. I had gone in a tweed jacket and a bow tie, and when Miss Weston asked me what I wanted to be, I told her that I wanted to be the Doctor. 'Shouldn't you be wearing a lab coat and stethoscope like Paul?' She pointed to Paul Black, who was trying to strangle everyone with the stethoscope in question. Before I could answer, a boy I didn't know from the other class spoke up. 'Paul's *a* doctor,' he explained, giving me a look of approval. 'He wants to be *the* Doctor.' 'Who?' 'Exactly,' we said at the same time, relieved that she understood. She didn't. We were sent to the quiet table to reflect on why cheeking teachers was wrong.

Here's the thing. Here's the thing I hate: His concern is like a really warm drink when your body is cold, and you feel it go all the way down your throat and then into your stomach, where it pools and spreads out. But the problem is, that cold is good. Cold is numb. And when you're numb, you can't feel pain. You can't feel pain until some stupid warm drink makes you not numb anymore and then you can feel again.

Hell is being alone.

Jessica Stone. The Jessica Stone. My costar. As in, indie film poster child, beloved by the internet for being sexy and cute and funny, sure to snag an Oscar one day Jessica Stone. I think I saw her last movie in theaters fifteen times, and not just because it was based on a graphic novel. Don’t fanboy, I order myself. Don’t fanboy. Gail looks at me, surprised. “But Dare, we were—” I cough. Twice. Gail looks between Jessica Stone and me, widens her eyes, and finally gets it. Her ears go even redder. “Oh. Oh.” She grabs her backpack and makes a hasty retreat. “I…um. I’ll be around if you need me, Dare.” After the door closes, Jessica Stone turns her eyes—which are super, freakishly, ice-water blue—to me. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” My tongue ties into ten hundred knots. She can intrude as much as she wants. I mean, not intrude—like, let me politely be in her presence for the rest of my life—but intruding works too. Into my life. As much as she wants. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. But it’s Jessica Stone. Damn it, man, don’t fanboy.

What is clear is that being a reader/fanboy (for lack of a better term) helped him get through the rough days of his youth, but it also made him stick out in the mean streets of Paterson even more than he already did.

VOTERS are the ultimate Consoomers. The product they fanboy over is either Team Red or Team Blue, and their whole self-identify revolves around the ritual of deluding themselves into believing they had any control over the selection of the actor pretending to be their leader.

A guy next to me sees the massive bruise on my arm. "God, what a wuss! You got bruised from playing dodge ball?" I look at him, and I realize that I don't know him. I don't even recognize him from walking through the halls or assemblies. I couldn't tell you what grade he's in or what classes he takes. So why does he even bother? Why does he even bother being mean to me?

Mom's already dead!" I yelled at him. "Who the hell do you think you're saving?" And he just gave me his Sad, Tired look. It's one of the three he's got, the other two being Pissed Off and Blised Out on ESPN.

Congratulations Tomi Adeyemi on your breakout novel CHILDREN OF BLOOD AND BONE. A project catching fire, such as this one has, is the hope (not a guarantee) of every storyteller. Hemingway said it best, 'It is the journey that matters, in the end.

What is the main thing you’re around here to do? What’s your mission and vision? What are your short- and long-term business strategies? What makes you stand out as a business and also keeps your employees engaged and dedicated? What engages the fan-boy crowd that drives your social media engagement and carries your brand flag without the paycheck?

Kitsune Art: Fanboy’s Delight.” Kağan’s body became stock still. His posture stiffened, spine straightening like a nutcracker. A shudder went through his body, visible even through the thick, black fur. It went all the way up from his toes to his head, and then back down again. Small twitches soon followed. Tiny muscles spasms that made his body look like quivering jello. Like a man suffering an epileptic seizure, the spasming grew more intense with each passing second, until the cat yōkai fell onto his back, twitching and jerking, his body seizing up. Froth started pouring from his mouth. Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Several seconds later, Kağan lay still, unmoving save for the stuttering of his chest. Kevin blinked. Once. Then he looked at Iris as she walked over to him. “What kind of illusion did you just cast on him?” Iris’s grin was the kind someone had only when they were immensely pleased with themselves. “I made him watch twenty-four hours of Boku no Pico compressed into six seconds.” Kevin turned green. “I regret asking already. Oh, gods. I think I’m gonna be sick.” “Don’t worry, Stud.” Iris’s reassuring smile did nothing to reassure him. If anything, it did the opposite. “I would never cast that on you.” “I suppose that’s something to feel grateful about.” “After all, if you suddenly became a vegetable, then I would never be able to convince Lily-pad to let me join you two in a threesome.” The sound of Kevin’s palm meeting his face echoed several decibels louder than it should have through the mostly empty street. ***

I arrived at HQ, nodded to a few ender soldiers milling about and totally fanboy-ing at me, and went straight to my room. An ender servant was standing ready outside of the room to assist me. I recognized him. “Hello, Seth,” I said. “I’m going to take a nap. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes so that I don’t miss my meeting with the Ender King?” Seth stood straight and bowed his head slightly. “Of course, sir. Would you like a snack or any water before you take your nap?” I shook my head. “I’ll eat lunch when I wake up. Please don’t let anyone disturb me. I’m exhausted.” Seth nodded his head and opened the door for me. I walked in and he closed the door behind me. I walked over to my bed and flopped down on it. I closed my eyes and began drifting to sleep but then started to think about my meeting with the Rainbow Creeper. I thought about the different things the head monk had said. My mind started spinning like a top. I would not be able to sleep unless I could take my mind off of all of that stuff. So,

Is that what God does? He helps? Tell me, why didn't God help my innocent friend who died for no reason while the guilty roam free? Okay, fine. Forget the one-offs. How about the countless wars declared in his name? Okay, fine. Let's skip the random, meaningless murder for a second, shall we? How about the racist, sexist, phobia soup we've all been drowning in because of him? And I'm not just talking about Jesus. I'm talking about all organized religion... Exclusive groups created to manage control, a dealer getting people hooked on the drug of hope, his followers nothing but addicts who want their hit of bullshit to keep their... Their dopamine of ignorance, addicts afraid to believe the truth... That there is no order, there's no power, that all religions are just metastasizing mind worms meant to divide us so it's easier to rule us by the charlatans that want to run us. All we are to them are paying fanboys of their poorly written sci-fi franchise. If I don't listen to my imaginary friend, why the fuck should I listen to yours? People think their worship's some key to happiness. That's just how he owns you. Even I'm not crazy enough to believe that distortion of reality. So fuck God. He's not a good enough scapegoat for me.

I'M AN OTAKU. Are you? You say English, We say Japanese. You say Cars, We say Nyan Cat. :D You say Justin Beiber, We say Vocaloid. -.- You say Swords, We say Bleach. You say Reality, We say Anime. You say Comics, We say Manga. You say countries, We say Hetalia. You say Hello, We say こんにちは (Konnichiwa). You learn Japanese from classes, We learn from shows. You cry if a character dies, We have a rainbow of emotions. You only feel what your favorite person feels, We feel what everyone else is feeling. You crush on popstars, We crush on anime characters. You think we're crazy, We just think you're normal. You say Crazy, We say Soul Eater. You say ocean, We say ONE PIECE!!! You say family, We say FAIRY TAIL!!! You say Ninja, We say Naruto. You say Rabbits, We say Flying Mint Bunny. You think we're fangirls/fanboys, but we're all OTAKU'S, Re-Post if Your and OTAKU and PROUND!

I cannot believe I’m arguing with a woman who references Twilight.” “The fact that you know I’m referencing Twilight betrays you as a secret Edward-loving fanboy.

It’s hard to explain how important Star Trek is to me. I think I went to my first Star Trek convention when I was fifteen. So to hear that Leonard Nimoy—Mr. Spock—was on the phone, I was not processing what he was saying. I could only focus on his amazing voice. I thought this was a phone call to see if he’d agree to do the part, but in his mind, he had already agreed to do it! He had one specific note on the script, which is that Mr. Spock doesn’t use contractions when he speaks. He says “cannot;” he doesn’t say “can’t.” And I remember just being chagrined that I hadn’t intervened and had allowed this to go on. I loved Spock so much, I used to sneak lines of Mr. Spock dialogue from the movies and TV shows into Big Bang Theory and give them to Sheldon. There’s an episode early on where Sheldon and Leonard are having a fight, and Penny asks, “Well, how do you feel?” And Sheldon replies, “I don’t understand the question.” That’s from the beginning of Star Trek IV where Spock has reunited with his mind and his body, and is being quizzed by a computer about his status. So Leonard Nimoy was just one of many fanboy moments. I once said to LeVar Burton, “If I could go back in time and tell my teenage self there would be a day where I would eventually talk to three crew members of the USS Enterprise, I’d fall over and die.

Each fandom may feel ownership of its creator, but in reality, creators don't owe us anything and we have no claim to them or their work.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick and grumpy, but I’ve noticed the huge spate of atheist meetings, both past and upcoming, and it’s seemed to me that there are just too many. I know this is a sign of a successful and burgeoning movement of disbelief throughout the world, and I recognize that they give us greater visibility, and I understand that they serve as a useful venue for people to make connections as well as listen to their atheist “heroes.” But to me the speakers and talks have often seemed repetitive: the same crew of jet-set skeptics giving the same talks. And how much is there to say about a movement whose members are united, after all, by only one thing: disbelief in divine beings and a respect for reason and evidence. What more is there to say? [...] Still, a few things bothered me, most notably the air of self-congratulation (which I excused on the grounds of enthusiastic people finding like-minded folks for the first time), the “fanboyness” directed at some of the famous atheists (they hardly let poor Richard alone, and I’m not sure he liked that!), and the lameness of quite a few of the talks. Again, how much new can you say about atheism? And though I had a great time, this conference sated my appetite for a long while, and I’ve refused several invitations since. (I will, however, be at the Freedom from Religion Foundation’s meeting this October). [Are there too many atheist meetings?]

He has given Caspar flowers, has given him soft toys (however ridiculous that might be as a gesture.) Has written real actual poems, with fountain pen ink on nice expensive paper. (Ridiculous also. But everyone deserves a few ridiculous romantic gestures in life, Caspar feels. Including him. Especially him. He hasn’t had an over-abundance of them up until this point.) He likes Mack. Mack likes him. It’s so simple, really, although they have perhaps enjoyed complicating it more than strictly necessary.

See? Verti gets it... Sometimes being a fan means demanding the work be of a certain quality level.

Everyone laughed again as she drew a card. Beau stopped recording and looked around before snagging a seat at the front. As I looked on, I realized he’d sat next to none other than Zane. The fanboy in me exalted right before I had to muffle my own smile. He and Beau had mean-mugged each other before simultaneously focusing on Skye again. The

[The comic book nerds] haggle over pedantic nonsense in shrill voices.

Are you a fanboy? Do you worship your idol's shit on a pedestal?

1. Admit what you don't know. 2. Ask for help. 3. If you can't help someone, find someone who can. 4. Don't be afraid to laugh. 5. Mean what you say and say what you mean. 6. Don't worry about being perfect. It's a exhausting facade. 7. Apologize right away if you screw up. 8. Take responsiblity for yourself, and your business. If people aren't satisfied , ask why. If they ask for their money back, give it to them. 9. Don't be a fanboy or fangirl of anything. Be you.

But I don’t understand,” she said. “Why have you been following me all over the world? Why didn’t you just approach me before?” “I’ve wanted to,” he confessed. “But I kept chickening out. I meant to in Frankfurt, but then you spotted me and I lost my nerve. I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of creepy stalker.” “God forbid,” Eliot muttered. Larry looked nervously at Eliot. “Then your bodyguard took off after me and I just panicked. And then there was that scary blonde in the dog costume…” “Scary?” Parker reacted, her indignation coming through Sophie’s earbud loud and clear. “I was adorable.” “My personal assistant,” Sophie explained. “She’s a furry.

In 2022, Congressman Paul Gosar of Arizona (via video) and Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene both attended a neo-Nazi convention, called the America First Political Action Committee conference, sponsored by avowed Nazi fanboy Nick Fuentes; Gosar also has two alleged white nationalist sympathizers on his staff.