Fat Joe Quotes

Strange, isn't it,' mused Glokta as he watched him struggle for air. 'Big men, small men, thin men, fat men, clever men, stupid men, they all respond the same to a fist in the guts. One minute you think you're the most powerful man in the world. The next you can't even breathe by yourself.

The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino." - Joe Fox

...I blink back the threat of tears, swiped at my nose and narrowed my eyes. "Listen to me, you two bags of monkey shit, "I yelled. "I am not in a good mood. My car keeps stalling. The day before yesterday I threw up on Joe Morelli. I was called a fat cow by my ex-husband. And if that isn't enough...my hair is ORANGE! ORANGE, FOR CHRISSAKE! And now you have the gall to force yourself into my home and threaten my hamster. Well, you have gone too far. You have crossed the line!

Above us, the moon hangs like a fat blister on the feel of the sky, ready to burst in a spray of viscous white pus" chap 22.

Jeannie is Bill Clinton, and I am Al Gore. She “feels their pain,” and I’m the dork reminding them to turn off the lights. I’m always Joe Biden saying the wrong thing.

She banged the stick against the side of the pipe, drew it back, and lanced it at the porcupine. “I’ll be a candle right up your ass, you don’t keep waddling, fat boy,” she half sang, half choked. He

You've got enough fat stored to run to California, so the more you train your body to burn fat instead of sugar, the longer your limited sugar tank is going to last. The way to activate your fat-burning furnace is by staying below your aerobic threshold--your hard-breathing point--during your endurance runs. Respecting that speed limit was a lot easier before the birth of cushioned shoes and paved roads; diet, and those tumors may never appear in the first place. Eat like a poor person, as Coach Joe Vigil likes to say, and you'll only see your doctor on the golf course.

I’ll be a candle right up your ass, you don’t keep waddling, fat boy,

Time to pour a glass of strawberry Quik—Mr. Beukes liked to use it as an ingredient in his protein shakes, and I liked to use it as an ingredient in my fat ass—

THEY WOULDN’T LET LOU WALK ANYWHERE, DIDN’T WANT TO TAKE A chance that the fat man might get dizzy and fall onto his face, so after his examination he sat in a wheelchair and a man-nurse wheeled him to recovery. The man-nurse was his age and had sleepy eyes with dark circles under them, and a jutting Cro-Magnon forehead. His name tag said, improbably, BILBO. He had a spaceship tattooed on one hairy forearm: Serenity from the TV show Firefly. “‘I am a leaf on the wind,’” Lou said, and the man-nurse said, “Dude, don’t say that. I don’t want to start crying on the job.

Left one for you, kiddo, he imagined the fat man telling him. Marshall’s skull grinned with small, sharp, slanting teeth. Might come in handy. You never know. In another couple days, when you’re too weak to stand, it might be just what the doctor ordered. Swallow one as needed for pain and call me never.

I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods. For instance,there is a brownstone in the East Seventies where, during the early years of the war, I had my first apartment. It was one room crowded with attic furniture, a sofa and fat chairs, upholstered in that itchy particular red velvet that one associates with hot days on a tram. The walls were stucco, and a color rather like tobacco-spit. Everywhere, in the bathroom too, there were prints of Roman ruins, freckled brown with age. The single window looked out on a fire escape. Even so, my spirits heightened whenever I felt in my pocket the key to this apartment; with all its gloom, it was still a place of my own, the first, and my books were there, and jars of pencils to sharpen, everything I needed, so I felt, to become the writer I wanted to be. It never occurred to me in those days to write about Holly Golightly, and probably it would not now except for a conversation with Joe Bell that set the whole memory of her in motion again.

It could me so much worse,' Renée said. 'It could be a disease that involves pus or leaky privates. It could've been one of these things where your parts rot and fall off. There's nothing sexy about swine flu. I bet this is the most sexy pathogen ever. I think it makes me look like a tigress! A fat, frumpy tigress. Like if Catwoman got really out of shape.

What I eventually realized was that people would bait me into fighting them so they could sue me and get money. I paid out hundreds of thousands of dollars in assault suits.

ran towards the closest building I saw, and at the time I remembered wishing that Joe wasn’t so fat.

He'd been down at the Cass County Library, reading...Win danced a jig he thought that was so funny...about this cat Henry David Thoreau, which he pronounced Toe-Row. He read about his life and read some of his writings and this cat really had his shit together...Toe-Row knew better than anybody that Life is a Big Fat Asshole with everybody trying to Stick It To You when they get half the chance.

Starbucks’s truly beautiful idea was the simple realization that Americans wanted to spend more money for a cup of coffee, that they’d feel much better about themselves if they spent five dollars for a cup of joe rather than buy that cheap drip stuff that shows such as Friends suggested only fat white trash in housecoats (or people who actually worked for a living) drank anymore—in their trailer parks or meth labs or wherever such people huddled for comfort.

67 percent of the women told the researchers that they didn’t exercise regularly, and 37 percent said they didn’t get any exercise. After this initial assessment, Crum and Langer divided the maids into two groups. They explained to the first group how their activity related to the number of calories they burned and told the maids that just by doing their jobs, they got more than enough exercise. They didn’t give any such information to the second group (who worked in different hotels from the first group and so wouldn’t benefit from conversations with the other maids). One month later, the researchers found that the first group lost an average of two pounds, lowered their percentage of body fat, and lowered their systolic blood pressure by an average of 10 points—even though they hadn’t performed any additional exercise outside of work or changed their eating habits in any way. The other group, doing the same job as the first, remained virtually unchanged. This

I am merciful,' exclaimed Glokta, waving his hand airily, as the ambassador himself had done but a few short minutes before, 'but my mercy has limits. Speak.' 'I am here under a flag of parley, on a mission from the Emperor himself! To harm an unarmed emissary would be expressly against the rules of war!' 'Parley? Rules of war?' Glokta chuckled. Severard chuckled. Vitari chuckled. Frost was silent. 'Do they even have those any more? Save that rubbish for children like Vissbruck, that's not the way grown-ups play the game. Who is the traitor?' 'I pity you, cripple! When the city falls—' Save your pity. You'll need it for yourself. Frost's fist scarcely made any sound as it sank into the ambassador's stomach. His eyes bulged out, his mouth hung open, he coughed a dry cough, somewhere close to vomiting, tried to breathe and coughed again. 'Strange, isn't it,' mused Glokta as he watched him struggle for air. 'Big men, small men, thin men, fat men, clever men, stupid men, they all respond the same to a fist in the guts. One minute you think you're the most powerful man in the world. The next you can't even breathe by yourself. Some kinds of power are nothing but tricks of the mind. Your people taught me that.

And,” I continued, “I’m probably going to be a bitch most of the time. I guarantee I’ll find a reason to yell at you almost every day, and don’t be surprised if a few drinks get dumped on you from time to time. That’s just me, and you’re going to have to deal with it. Because I’m not changing for you or anyone else. And I-” Wesley slid off his bar stool and pressed his lips against mine before the words could get out. My heart pounded as every thought vacated my mind. One of his arms encircled my waist, pulling me as close to him as possible, and his free hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. He kissed me so passionately I thought we would catch on fire. It wasn’t until after he pulled away, both of us in need of some air, that I could think straight again. “You jerk!” I yelled, pushing him away from me. “Kissing me to make me shut up? God, you’re so obnoxious. I could just throw something at you right now.” Wesley hopped onto his bar stool with a big grin, and I suddenly remembered him telling me that I was sexy when I was mad at him. Go figure. “Excuse me, Joe,” he called to the bartender. “I think Bianca wants a Cherry Coke.” Despite my best efforts, I smiled. He wasn’t perfect, or even remotely close, for that matter, but, hey, neither was I. We were both pretty fucked up. Somehow, though, that made everything more exciting. Yeah, it was sick and twisted, but that’s reality, right? Escape is impossible, so why not embrace it? Wesley took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. “You look beautiful tonight, Bianca.

Richard Durham was a black writer whose credits in radio would run a gamut from Irna Phillips serials to prestige plays for such as The CBS Radio Workshop. But in Destination Freedom Durham wrote from the heart. Anger simmers at the foundation of these shows, rising occasionally to a wail of agony and torment. On no other show was the term “Jim Crow” used as an adjective, if at all: nowhere else could be heard the actual voices of black actors giving life to a real black environment. There were no buffoons or toadies in Durham’s plays: there were heroes and villains, girlfriends and lovers, mothers, fathers, brutes; there were kids named Joe Louis and Jackie Robinson, who bucked the tide and became kings in places named Madison Square Garden and Ebbets Field. The early historical dramas soon gave way to a more contemporary theme: the black man’s struggle in a modern racist society. Shows on Denmark Vesey, Frederick Douglass, and George Washington Carver gave way to Richard Wright’s Black Boy and the lives of Louis Armstrong, Fats Waller, and Nat King Cole. The Tiger Hunt was a war story, of a black tank battalion; Last Letter Home told of black pilots in World War II. The stories pulled no punches in their execution of the common theme, making Destination Freedom not only the most powerful but the only show of its kind.

Real G's do real things.

Way too many fat people in shorts.

In the Base period, when training volume is relatively high and intensity is low, eating a diet rich in “good” fats is beneficial to improving your ability to burn fat for fuel while conserving glycogen stores—a physiological goal of training at this time of the season.

Much like a recovering alcoholic marks every single day they've been sober, recovering fat asses can't help but think back to how little they thought about what they ate.

18 Unlikely Things I've Said Flirtatiously: 'My nickname in high school was blow job Lena, but because I gave NO blow jobs! Like when you call a fat guy Skinny Joe'.... 'Let's meet for coffee, yeah. Well, not coffee coffee. Like a different drink, because coffee gave me a colon infection and I had to wear this paper underwear the hospital gave me.

JOE’S MEAN GREEN (GREEN JUICE) Makes 2 servings Nutrition per serving: 251 kCal; 1049 kJ; 6 g protein; 54 g carbohydrates; 1 g fat; 0 g saturated fat; 2 g fiber; 30 g sugar; 128 mg salt Ingredients: 16 kale leaves 2 cucumbers 8 celery sticks 4 apples 1 lemon 2-inch (5 cm) piece of fresh root ginger

What’s that got to do with a few gray hairs?” Angelo wanted to know. “Girl see one or two and she thinks maybe the man done aged enough to calm down, make somethin’ outta himself. She willin’ to let him look so maybe she could see what his prospects are like. That way a man like me might get a great night or a lifetime of pot roasts, fat babies, and halfhearted regrets.

So what is saturated fat? Think of it this way. Fats are made of a framework of carbon and oxygen atoms, with hydrogen atoms attached to the carbon chains. A fat that contains as many hydrogen atoms as the carbon skeleton can support is referred to as being “saturated” with hydrogen. In the case of unsaturated fat, instead of joining to hydrogen atoms, some of the carbon atoms forge additional linkages to each other. We call these fats “unsaturated” because they contain less than their full complement of hydrogen atoms. The shape of these molecules is also different. They are decidedly kinky at the position of the missing hydrogens. The molecules are bent, and they cannot be packed together as closely as the straight saturated fats. Closely packed fats are what make for crumbly cookies and flaky pastry. They also make for clogged arteries.

food processors had long insisted that their cookies wouldn’t crumble properly if they made them with vegetable oil, and that unsaturated vegetable fats did not meet the requirements for high-volume fast-food frying. Then, all of a sudden, these major technical difficulties appeared to be licked; suddenly, we could relax and dine on fatty cookies and french fries, our blood gushing freely through our clean arteries. Well, we shouldn’t have allowed ourselves to relax quite so fast. While the food-processing industry did, for the most part, switch from saturated to unsaturated fat, we must bear in mind that all unsaturated fats are not the same. Some actually behave like saturated fats in the body. Here’s the story. We can solidify an unsaturated vegetable oil so that it will behave more like a saturated fat — that is, we can “partially hydrogenate” it. Treatment with hydrogen gas allows some hydrogen atoms to be inserted into the molecule. Unfortunately, not only does this process make the fat more saturated, but it also converts some of the unsaturated fat molecules into a slightly different, although still unsaturated, form. These so-called trans-fatty acids have had the “molecular kink” taken out of them, and their long straight chains can now cluster together, behaving just like the infamous saturated fats we use in cookies and fried foods. So, in a sense, we have leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Consumers may gain confidence by reading labels assuring them that a food contains no saturated fats, but that confidence wavers when they are confronted with the issue of trans-fatty acids. The bottom line is that trans-fatty acids, which on a product label can fall under the “unsaturated” umbrella, may be just as damaging to arteries as the notorious saturated fats. They may have taken the kink out of the molecule, but the hype about reduced saturated fats is still pretty kinky.

Where do these underarm odors come from? We can blame bacteria that inhabit the surface of our skin. There are millions of them, and they feed on us. Indirectly. Our apocrine sweat glands, which are mostly found in our armpits and private regions, produce a yellowish fluid that harbors fats, proteins, and various steroids. The fluid has no smell, but its components are great food for bacteria. As they digest these components, the bacteria produce a variety of malodorous compounds. To put it bluntly, unless we take care, we’ll end up reeking of bacterial poop.

She be like, im a queen where my wedding ring? I’m like, look, ma, I’m married to the streets..

Strange, isn’t it,’ mused Glokta as he watched him struggle for air. ‘Big men, small men, thin men, fat men, clever men, stupid men, they all respond the same to a fist in the guts. One minute you think you’re the most powerful man in the world. The next you can’t even breathe by yourself.

Low body fat is an important predictor variable for total time performance in triathlon.

the bushes no more. I stare up at the looming, lit, downtown skyscrapers, the Transamerica Building, Grace Cathedral and Coit Tower spearing black skies beyond crooked hills, the Bay Bridge’s running lights behind me like an airport landing strip, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate, the roaring Pacific leading to the Great Highway’s abandoned beachheads where the Boys of Belvedere and I used to stay up all night building giant driftwood sculptures and setting them on fire at dawn, dancing like Indians, and I know nowhere I go can compare to this place, because nowhere else can offer me what this city has, standing on 22nd and Mission, two o’clock on some random Sunday afternoon, fat, orange sun splashing, the mango, melon, and papaya peddlers on rolling carts camped beneath the giant Woolworth’s sign, the Mexican panadarias baking empanadas, rich, wheat breads, taquerias stewing al pastor and grilling carne asada, onions and avocado and horchata, greasy spoons carved into alley walls and indie beaneries brewing pungent coffees, the bead and trinket stores with their Jesus and Mary candles for 99 cents, the outlandish drag queen fashions in the Foxy Lady display window,

Always been lean.” “Oh, me too.” And he patted his belly. “The body of a hero lies just below this carefully nurtured layer of fat.” She raised a brow. Clover loved to see things done well, and she’d a hell of a brow-raise, did Wonderful. “And what could possibly drag your fat this close to the fighting?” “Black Calder. He tells me you need help.” “That I’ll not deny. When does it get here?

Fat dubbers - Joe Biden

Mr. Schwartz locked the front door of his shop, then led the boys into a rear room. It was so filled with costumes of all kinds and paraphernalia for theatrical work, plus piles of cartons, that Frank and Joe wondered how the man could ever find anything. “Here is today’s shipment,” Mr. Schwartz said, pointing to six cartons standing not far from the rear entrance to his shop. Together he and the boys slit open the boxes and one by one lifted out a king’s robe, a queen’s tiara, and a Little Bopeep costume. Suddenly Mr. Schwartz said: “Here’s a skeleton marked size thirty-eight. Would one of you boys mind trying it on?” Frank picked up the costume, unzipped the back, and stepped into the skeleton outfit. It was tremendous on him and the ribs sagged ludicrously. “Guess a fat man modeled for this,” he remarked, holding the garment out to its full width.

Phase I Shopping List For smoothies: 5 red apples 5 small bananas 3 medium oranges 1 bag red or green grapes 5 pears 3 avocados (can use for soups, too) 1 bunch fresh spinach 3 limes 4 (10- or 12-ounce) bags frozen raspberries 2 (10- or 12-ounce) bags frozen blueberries 2 (16-ounce) bags frozen strawberries 1 (16-ounce) bag almonds (can also use for snacking) Ground cinnamon Almonds or 1 (16-ounce) bag almond meal, depending on the strength of your blender Plain or vanilla protein powder (see this page for a complete guide to buying protein powder) 1 (12-ounce) bag ground or whole flaxseeds or chia seeds, depending on the strength of your blender (Some, like the blenders I describe on this page, will be able to grind the seeds themselves. Less powerful machines might require ground seeds.) ½ gallon fat-free, 1 percent, or 2 percent organic milk (or unsweetened nondairy milk of your preference) 1 quart fat-free, 1 percent, or 2 percent plain Greek yogurt (Chobani, Oikos, Fage, Trader Joe’s, Siggi’s, or Icelandic Skyr) For soups: 1 head broccoli 2 medium zucchini 1 pound carrots (can be used for snacking, too) 1 box bouillon cubes (I prefer Knorr’s) Garlic powder Onion powder For snacks: 1 pint fresh blackberries or raspberries 1 small package high-fiber crackers, like Ryvita ½ pound low-fat cheese of your choice 1 (5-or-so-ounce) bag air-popped, low-cal popcorn 1 pound sliced turkey 1 (12-ounce) package frozen or fresh peeled edamame

As friends, they genuinely feared for my life.

Charles the Simple ruled France from 898– 922. He was the son of Louis the Stammerer. He succeeded his cousin, Charles the Fat.

Wanted's lead was Wesley Gibson, drawn by J.G. Jones to resemble handsome rapper Eminem with an eye on the movie potential, but who stood for every shy, overweight, underweight, misunderstood kid reveling in the power to trash, denigrate, and insult his imagined enemies - who were just about everybody, especially the creators of the comic books, music, games, and movies that brought to these miserable lives the only meaning they would ever know. Geek royalty. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. Wesley acted out the new porn-fueled fantasies of dumping the fat girlfriend, hooking up with the hot sex-mad assassin chicks, raping pretty newsreaders, and Getting Away with It All. At its best, reminiscent of the cool, amused cruelty of a Joe Orton play, the bludgeoning effect of Wanted's uneasy satire exposed the horrible truth: The fragile, asocial, and different really just wanted to do coke, fuck bimbos, and bully people. The revolution had arrived.

between endless examples of fat bastardy, there was the odd moment of slick trickery too.

The last thing in the world she wanted was to end up like the boss. Vera was bloated, idle. When the inspector leaned against the desk at the front of the room to address her minions, the fat on her bum spread and made unsightly bulges in those dreadful crimplene trousers she’d taken to wearing now the weather was colder. Though Holly had seen her put on a surprising turn of speed occasionally, not even her biggest admirer – the brown-nose Joe Ashworth – would claim she was fit, and the woman’s diet would make any doctor weep.

Joe wondered what that must be like. Sal thought he gave every spare minute to his work. Your soul belongs to the fat woman.

She could be as callous as hell, but occasionally she connected with a witness and, when that happened, she would move heaven and earth to help them. The objects of her pity were usually loners, clumsy, despised. And fat, Joe thought, grinning to himself despite the situation. Much like Vera herself.

the room. “Now it seems anyone’s son can get an education, and a business, and become rich. The merchant guilds: the Mercers, the Spicers and their like, grow steadily in wealth and influence. Jumped-up, posturing commoners dictating to their natural betters. Their fat and greedy fingers, fumbling at the strings of power. It is almost too much to stand.” He gave a shudder as he paced across the floor.

... Melissa better not turn her back on her because nothing sums up crazy as much as a fat woman in love.

He was a man one always forgot. To this day I cannot describe him, except his fatness and his powdered clean-shaven cheeks and his big laugh; all his identity escapes me - except that he was called Joe. There are some men whose names are always shortened.

Chris Eubank, Nigel Benn, Michael Watson and Joe Calzaghe slugged it out in classic fights until they had nothing left to give. They are all here: heavyweight legends like Frank Bruno and Lennox Lewis, Joe Bugner and Tyson Fury, as well as less celebrated fighters such as Bunny Johnson and Dennis Andries, Maurice Hope and Pat Cowdell,

For him to claim now that he'd dashed off a spec script brilliant enough to win him a fat Hollywood contract did not merely strain Credulity; it beat the crap out of Credulity and sent Credulity's next of kin scurrying to its bedside.