Fyi Quotes

...When it was finished, the scaled dragon looked around and as the thing spotted V, a growl rippled up to the bleachers, then ended in a snort. "You finished, big guy?" Va called down. "FYI, goalpost over there would work righteous as a toothpick.

All I see are ankles and wrists--and FYI, you're pulling a Mileyfrickin'-Cyrus with that belly flash. Not attractive.

So you’re saying the afterlife is hard on the libido? FYI, that’s probably not a good bullet point for your recruiting brochure.

Jesus waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect! If he had only waited one day, a lot of people wouldn't have even heard he died. They'd be all, "Hey Jesus, what up?" and Jesus would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday!" and they'd be all, "Uh, you look pretty alive to me, dude..." and then Jesus would have to explain how he was resurrected, and how it was a miracle, and the dude'd be like "Uhh okay, whatever you say, bro..." And he's not gonna come back on a Saturday. Everybody's busy, doing chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' the beard, NO. He waited the perfect number of days, three. Plus it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI, that's when he invented the high five. That's why we wait three days to call a woman, because that's how long Jesus wants us to wait.... True story.

Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.

Without time,” the angel said, “you have only the bottomless, shapeless mire of eternity.” “FYI, philosophy bores me.” “Not philosophy. Reality. Time is what gives life significance.

You mean there’s someone out there better than your father? (Quills) No, idiot. My father trained him. Just FYI, my father is also his godfather. So you want to be real nice to Dev. All of us take it personally when people aren’t. (Adron)

Darryl does talk," Skylar said. "If you listen. And FYI, I have a really strong feeling that he's going to be the next Bill Gates, so you might want to be a little nicer to him." "I have a really strong feeling," Bethany deadpanned, "that if you don't tell me what's on that USB drive, I will end you.

FYI, baby, havin' your attitude back is so far from annoying, it's not fuckin' funny.

Just FYI, in case you need a barometer reading on the day’s suckery, it is high. Very high. There is a shitstorm warning in effect.

And I still hate myself. Just FYI. Still think I'm the worst. But, you know. That's not uncommon.

FYI, when I type WTF, you are supposed to read What the Fuck? Same with OMG, and OMFG, which are Oh My God and Oh My Fucking God. Only a completely lame Disney Channel nimnode pronounces the letters.

They’re plotting against you. (Jaden) Who? (Jericho) Your best friends, fool, who do you think? The Easter Bunny or the assholes who brought you here? FYI, they’re planning to feed you to the gallu so that they can control your powers without your fighting them. If I were you, I’d be gone five minutes ago. (Jaden)

She broke off a piece of bacon and offered it to the cat who sat staring holes through her. “For him, this is makeup sex. That’s all you get,” she said when Galahad inhaled the bacon then affectionately butted his head against her calf. “Just FYI, if you let another man rub up against you, and I sniff it out, you won’t be able to buy me off with bacon.” He handed her the syrup pitcher so she could drown her French toast. “So noted.

Do I really look so pathetic to all of you? Like I couldn't possibly meet someone on my own? Half the people in the world are women. Odds are that at least a few of them would be willing to go out with me.' 'Damn right,' Phillip chimes in. 'And it's not like he's been celibate since he moved out. He had sex last night, FYI.' 'Don't help me, Phillip.

Suddenly, Kat turned to face him again. “Oh, and Howard?” “Yes?” “FYI—my number is listed.” With her parting shot, she sashayed off, hips swinging, leaving him with his mouth hanging open. Slowly, a big, sappy grin spread across his face.He scores! Nothin’ but net.

FYI, your mom wouldn’t date your dad if she could make that choice again. -Punk

Mallory leaned toward me. “FYI, your eyes are silver. I’ll just add ‘horny’ to the list of reasons that happens.” I nodded absently.

FYI: Mother and daughter constellations are very close to each other. So close, in fact, that if you listen in on a moonless night you can hear Andromeda telling Cassiopeia to "back off and give her some space already".

Just FYI," Lenny says, his face still red from the nasty sunburn. "I've got a shitload of condoms in my duffle. Front pocket." "For what?" "Listen if you don't know what condoms are for I'm not gonna teach you." "I know what they're for, shithead. I just highly doubt you're getting any ass on this trip." "Watch me," Lenny says. "My boy gets action all the time." "Yeah, I bet your right hand is tired from all that action" I mumble as I walk to the bathroom. "I'm a leftie!" Lenny calls after me. I try not to wince from thinking about it.

FYI, this book is not that serious. This is meant to be read when super bored, then forgotten fifteen minutes later. It could be read cover-to-cover during one medium-to-severe case of diarrhea.

Alex watched the severed head fall and the body slump over. 'I'm not reattaching that. Just FYI.

Meteor shower tonight, if you're interested. I've got Swisher, fyi.

FYI, women think glasses are a sign of brains, and also, they're sexy.

Ted: Barney, the 3 days rule is insane. I mean, who even came up with that? Barney: Jesus. Marshall: Barney, don't do this, not with Jesus. Barney: Seriously, Jesus started the whole wait-three-days thing. He waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect. Barney: If he'd have only waited one day, a lotta people wouldn't have even heard that he died. They'd be all "Hey, Jesus. What up?" And Jesus would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday." Barney: Then they'd be all, "Uh, look pretty alive to me dude." And then Jesus would have to explain how he was resurrected and how it was a miracle. And then the dude would be like "Ah, oh-kay, whatever you say "bro"." Robin: Wow, ancient dialogue sounds so stilted now. Barney: And you're not gonna come back on a Saturday, everybody's busy! Doin' chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' their beards. No, he waits the exact, right number of days - three. Ted: Ok, I promise, I'll wait 3 days. Just please stop talking. Barney: Plus, it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already. They're all in there - "Oh no, Jesus is dead." Barney: Then BAM! He bursts through the back door, runs up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched and FYI, that's when he invented the high-five. Barney: Three days, Ted. We wait three days to call a woman because that's how long Jesus wants us to wait. True story.

To say my day sucked would be like saying the Sicilians were only mildly intimidating. FYI, they were terrifying. Many a man shit their pants in their presence and I was living in my own personal hell.

(And FYI: the Black Death was not my fault. I took one century off to lie around the beach in Cabo and came back and found that the nosoi had got loose and a third of the continent was dead. Gods, I was so irritated.)

FYI: Gentoo penguins mate for life. Whereas Adélie penguins prostitute themselves for rocks. I’d like to be your Gentoo penguin. -Greg

And FYI, Deliverance took place in Georgia. In West Virginia we kiss our cousins.

I came home to find three rocks on my desk and a card with a penguin on the front. Seeing it was from Greg, I did a little happy dance as I bounced into my room, reading his inscription. Dearest Fiona, I’m missing you dreadfully. It’s been an age, I don’t think you’ll recognize me when next we meet. I’ve put on ten stone and lost all my hair. And an eye. I hope you fancy a fat bald man with an eye patch. Come out with me on Friday. Finals will finally be over and it’ll be time to celebrate. I’ll pick you up at four. We’ll do a first date do-over, eat at Manganiello’s again, plus a new, improved surprise. Also, FYI: Gentoo penguins mate for life. Whereas Adélie penguins prostitute themselves for rocks. I’d like to be your Gentoo penguin. -Greg P.S. Unless you’re open to a rock arrangement. If so, please find my first down payment enclosed.

As I contemplated these happy possibilities, we wound our way through the Pasadena Valley. "I never liked this city," I murmured. "It makes me think of game shows, tawdry parades and drunk washed-up starlets with spray-on tans." Piper coughed. "FYI, Jason's mom was from here. She died here, in a car accident." "I'm sorry. What did she do?" "She was a drunk washed-up starlet with a spray-on tan." "Ah." I waited for the sting of embarrassment to fade. It took several miles.

You own a dress that won’t make my dick get hard?” Her eyes got squinty, but her mouth stayed closed. “Can I take that as a no?” he pushed. “FYI, women don’t like it when men talk like that, Benny Bianchi.” “Bullshit, Francesca Concetti. They fuckin’ love that shit.

FYI, I’m giving this establishment a really crappy Yelp review.

And FYI, I don’t kiss on the mouth. So if you want to taste me you’ll have to do it somewhere else,” I add, flashing a wicked grin. “Call it a test. You make me cum with your mouth and I’ll let you take me to the hotel next door. If you can’t make me cum, then I go back out to the bar and find someone who can.

Charlie turned out to be a blue-ink person, while I was exclusively black. FYI for nonwriters: blue versus black ink is an essential identity issue. Much like Coke versus Pepsi, or the Beatles versus the Stones, or college-ruled notebooks versus regular. You can be one kind of person or the other, but not both.

Anon, I have no idea who you are and to be honest you can fuck off. Yes, Lo takes medication (although FYI it’s for anxiety, not depression and if you were really a friend of hers you’d know that) but so do literally hundreds of thousands of people, and the idea that that automatically makes her either “unstable” as you put it, or suicidal, is fucking offensive.

Here’s something that might not occur to you: If a state trooper sees a weird, patchwork Toyota Echo hurtling down I-95, and it looks like half of a small country is immigrating to the States in this one little car, you might get stopped. Just FYI. In

Not much different from the morgue. Smaller,” she noted, scanning the steel worktables, the gullies on the sides, the hoses and tubes and tools. “I guess he got some of his knowledge of anatomy working here. Might have had some of his early practice sessions on corpses.” “Charming thought.” “Yeah, well, being as they were already dead—hopefully—it probably didn’t upset them too much. Oh, and FYI? When my time comes, I don’t want the preservatives and the stylist. You can just build a big fire, slide me in. Then you can throw yourself on the pyre to show your wild grief and constant devotion.” “I’ll make a note of it.

You gotta find a life outside this office,” he threw out a hand then pinned his eyes on me. “You gotta find a man.” My back snapped straight. “Tack, really—” He didn’t miss my response. He just misinterpreted it. “Don’t go woman on me and tell me you don’t need a man to complete you. It’s bullshit. Woman looks like you, goddamn waste. But a woman who has the love you got to give, that’s not a waste. That’s a crying shame.” I closed my mouth because that was sweet. Then I opened it to remind him, “Uh, FYI, I can’t go woman on you since I am a woman, so going woman is redundant.

FYI, car crashes kill way more kids than cancer does. Those crosses you see on the side of the highway, the little white ones hung with fading silk flowers? They’re for people my age. (“People who were texting,” my dad liked to remind me—because he never wanted to blame Budweiser for anything.)

There are those who argue that a body needs to be buried a full six feet down, but there are also those who argue that just one foot of soil is needed to create a smell barrier. I think three and a half feet is a good compromise. “Three and a half feet, you won’t become a treat!” as the old saying goes. (This is not an old saying, FYI.)

FYI I am well aware that you are married. That does not mean that you are not mine.

Devon clutches his book protectively against his chest. "You can like the classics and paranormal romance. It's not mutually exclusive. And it's shifters, FYI.

Being a telepath in a non-telepathic society is a great way to learn how much you don’t like people or ever want to be around them if you have any choice in the matter, FYI.

@THEBryanLeech: There’s nothing better in life than a cup of peppermint tea, a comfortable pair of PJs and a good book. @RonanFitz to @THEBryanLeech: You got hacked by your grandad again. Just FYI.

Just FYI," I told Phin, "he was flirting with you." She looked at me, then at Mark's departing form. "Oh. That explains a lot. I'm good at a lot of things, but flirting isn't one of them. Especially with someone I find extremely attractive." "Here's a tip... Don't overthink it. It's more of an instinct than an intellect thing." "Right," she said. "Pheromones." With a sage nod, she followed Mark.

On different projects I got to skydive, play with parrots, and eat five bags of Cheetos in an hour (FYI, it isn’t how I suspected. If you eat enough Cheetos you will NOT actually poop an extra-large Cheeto).

Okay, okay,” their dad said, and Alec heard him pull in a deep breath. “We can’t turn on each other.” Their mother sighed. “You’re right. Let’s just go to bed. It’s been a long day. Oh, and I can’t find the book, FYI.

Trina, what do you think?” I ask. “Honestly, I could care less what you guys wear, but you’re going to have to run it by Margot and Kristen. They might have their own ideas.” Delicately I say, “Just FYI, it’s ‘I couldn’t care less,’ not ‘I could care less.’ Because if you could, then you are technically caring.” Trina rolls her eyes, and Kitty slides back into her chair and says, “Why are you like this, Lara Jean?” I shove her in the side.

How’s the coffee?” “She hasn’t had any yet,” Cletus answered for me, then added, “but she wants you to ask her on a date tonight, no place public. Somewhere private, for discussing things.” Jethro’s eyes widened, and he glared at his brother’s reflection in the rearview mirror, snapping, “Cletus.” “Don’t clutch your pearls at me, big brother. Look at her, for hootenanny’s sake. She’s got the hots for your ugly face, Lord help her. And I know you’ve been thinking about her, judging by how long you took in the bathroom this morning.” I clamped a hand over my mouth just as shocked laughter burst from my lips. “Dammit, Cletus,” Jethro growled, turning the ignition and shooting his brother an incendiary look. “You are the worst. Just, don’t speak. Ever. Don’t speak ever again.” Jethro’s gaze darted to me then away as he sighed, looking remorseful. “I’m so sorry.” I placed my hand on Jethro’s thigh—FYI he had a really nice thigh—to ease his mind and because I wanted to touch him. “No, no. Please don’t apologize. He’s right and he’s wrong. I do have the hots for your face, but it isn’t at all ugly.” At this Cletus snorted and grumbled, “Well, it ain’t pretty.” Jethro pressed his lips together and I could see the hint of a smile there amidst his frustration. “Glad you have the hots for my face.” “Just ask her out already,” Cletus demanded. “She ain’t doing anything tonight. You two will go out tonight.

Suddenly he jumped from his boulder as if he'd had a marvellous idea. "But that's not important! I remember what I came down here to ask you. I've never ridden a centaur before. Mind taking me for a spin around the block?" "Um ..." He put his fingers to his temples and intoned, "I predict you're going to say yes." FYI, centaurs hate being taken for a ride, either literally or metaphorically. Nevertheless, I managed a forced smile. "I would be ... delighted. Yes." "Oh yeah!" Apollo crowed triumphantly. "Who has two thumbs and the gift of prophecy?" He jerked his thumbs at himself. "This god!

Why do you think Lara is Lara Casnoff, and Mrs. Casnoff is Mrs. Casnoff?” Elodie whispered as she worked her magic on the enchanted door. “It’s her family name, right? So shouldn’t she be Miss Casnoff? Or Ms.?” Of all the things to wonder about, that’s what you’re focused on? Her marital status? “It’s weird, that’s all I’m saying,” she hissed in reply. You know you can talk to me in my head, right? You don’t have to talk out loud and make everyone think I’m a crazy person. Just FYI. “The only time I can talk is when I’m in your body, so sue me, I’m taking advantage of that.” Before we could snipe at each other anymore, the door suddenly gave way. Pushing it open, Elodie dashed inside, closing the door behind her. Lara Casnoff’s office was the total opposite of Mrs. Casnoff’s, complete with soaring bookcases and a heavy wooden desk so brightly polished that I could see myself in it. “Any idea on where we should start?” Elodie whispered. The desk, I finally said. It’ll be locked, and if it’s anything like Mrs. Casnoff’s desk, magic won’t work on it. There’s a nail in my pocket. Get it out, and I’ll talk you through jimmying the lock. Elodie’s disdain flooded over me, but she got the nail and went to work on the lock. “Were you a burglar in the real world?” she muttered as she worked.

FYI the kids were there? FYI? FYI was an afterthought; FYI was supplementary. It wasn’t essential. This information, that his children had been deposited into his home under the cover of darkness during an unscheduled time with the use of a key that had been supplied to Rachel in case of a true and dire emergency, seemed essential.

Just an FYI for you citizens. The mayor and every city of Chicago alderman have voted themselves the right to carry a concealed weapon. Don’t you feel a little safer knowing that? The insanity is that the troubles in the hood get worse by the year. Yet the voters put the same fools in charge at every election. Go figure. They may as well elect gang members.

So what's your story?" Maddie didn't try to hide the singsong lilt of her voice as she spoke. She didn't want to. She'd learned at a very young age that nothing annoyed manly men more than girly girls, and if Maddie had one talent, it was truly exceptional girliness. "Shut up and be quiet," Stefan snapped. "That's just a tad redundant, FYI." "Shut up!" he hissed near her ear. Maddie couldn't help but shift her weight from foot to foot, almost pacing in place. She was careful of the ice and the snow, though. No use falling to the ground and having Stefan accidentally pull the trigger. "You really do give a lot of orders," she told him. He tightened his grip. "I'm the one with the gun." "Well, yeah. Sure. Technically. But I'm the one with the winning personality, and that should count for something." "You should be scared," he said in the same tone a movie villain might use to say You should be dead when the hero materializes five years later, hungry for vengeance. Stefan was confused, and Maddie couldn't blame him. So she turned back and shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't think you're a bad guy." He let her go and spun her around, grabbing Logan's unzipped coat and pulling her closer. "I. Have. The. Gun," he reminded her. Maddie smiled and pulled away. "And I have Taylor Swift's signature scent. Doesn't make me a pop star. It just makes me smell like Taylor Swift, which isn't as great as it sounds because, to a bear, Taylor Swift smells delicious. Stefan stuttered for a moment, then fell silent.

Dear Young Black Males, Please listen to me closely. You have to start making smart choices in your life because, if you don’t, the judge won’t have any problems locking you up and throwing away the key. FYI: They’re charging minors as adults in some cases nowadays. Trust me, they don’t care about your life. They will wash you up in a heartbeat, simply because you’re a black male. Following the crowd will get you caught up. Trying to play the hard role will get you caught up. Trying to show out for others just to make a name for yourself will get you caught up. Stealing, robbing, selling drugs, etc…it will all catch up with you sooner or later. The statics for black males in prison is alarming. Give yourself a chance! Find another way! No matter what upbringing you’ve had, it’s up to you to make a change. You can’t live your life making excuses for why you do what you do. Prove them all wrong! Prove to yourself that you’re better than the life that was dealt to you. Rise up my brothas! You’re much better than that.

Two seconds went by before I got a response. Lenny: The offer stands, bish. Lenny: You’re the best person I know, fyi. I smiled down at my phone. Me: I love you too Lenny: [eye rolling emoji] Lenny: I was texting you because Grandpa G is making margaritas and he was asking where you were. Me: Tell him I love him. Lenny: I will. You find Rip? Me: I’m watching him. Lenny: Stalker Me: He’s standing in front of me, I can’t help it. Lenny: Pretty sure that’s what every stalker thinks. I chanced another glance at the man and held back a sigh. Me: Sometimes I don’t understand why him. Lenny: Because he looks like he’s been in jail and that’s about as far away from what every jackass you’ve ever dated looks like? Lenny: Grandpa G says he loves you too and to come over and bring the girl with you if she’s around. I didn’t tell him you’re at the bar, otherwise he’d want to invite himself. You know how that man gets in public. I almost laughed at the first comment and definitely laughed at the second one. Rip did look like he’d done time. That was unfair, but it was the truth. For all I knew, he probably had. Then again, I was probably judging him by a face he had no say in. For all I knew, he had a marshmallow heart and rescued and rehabilitated small animals when he wasn’t at work. Deep down, he might have a caring and loving disposition that he only shared around very few people—people who had won his trust. You never knew. The idea of that put a small smile on my face and kept it there as I typed a message back, leaving the first comment alone. Me: I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, but if I leave soon, I’ll drop by. Tell Grandpa G that the girl is working tonight. You’re all coming for the graduation, right? Lenny: Yes. I’m legit ready to cry this Saturday. Lenny: I’ve got the blow horn ready by the way. TOOT TOOT, bish. She wasn’t the only one preparing herself to cry this weekend, and that made me happy for some reason.

I hate that black people can’t decide what they want to be called. First they were “colored,” then “Negro,” then “black.” After that they became “people of color” and now they’re “African-American.” I say: Pick one! White people aren’t that smart; we can’t follow. I’ll call you ultrasuperduperstar if it makes you happy, but for God’s sake give me a final answer! The back-and-forth is giving me a migraine. And, can I just say that I don’t understand ethnocentricity? For example, where did “African-American” come from? My friend Beverly always says, “I’m African-American.” And I always say, “You’re from Massapequa Park. Exactly where in Africa is that? Is it part of the Serengeti or maybe Kenya adjacent?” Last time I checked Massapequa Park was four stops after Bellmore on the Long Island Railroad. Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans, Polish-Americans, etc., only refer to themselves like that when they want a big parade in their honor, so they can drink in public and get alternate side of the street parking waived. Otherwise they’re plain old Americans. And FYI, no one has ever, in my 239 years on this planet, called me a Hebraic-American. Jew bitch? All the time, but Hebraic-American bitch? Never.

Hey,” Sean said as he stretched. “I just took Scout out.” “Thanks,” Cade said. Sean glanced back and noticed me. “Hey, Fallon.” He smirked at Cade. “Well, guess I’ll be heading to my room now.” Scout raised his head and his tail slapped against the couch. “Three’s a crowd, and all that.” Sean ruffled the fur along Scout’s neck. “Unless, of course, you’re a dog.” He stood and stretched again. “Oh, to be a dog in a crate.” Cade rolled his eyes at Sean’s fly-on-a-wall reference. “ ’Night, Sean,” he grumbled. “See you two crazy kids later.” He strolled out of the room but paused and patted the kitchen wall. “Oh, and FYI, the shower in Cade’s room backs to the kitchen.” God, Sean was like a male version of me. Poor Brinley, always having to put up with my crap. She was a damn good sport. Cade just shook his head and muttered, “Jealous?” “Fuck yeah, I am,” Sean called back as he wandered down the hall. “I’m going to start calling you magic hands.” Though Sean was still fucking around, I sensed Cade losing his patience. “It’s not just his hands,” I said. Sean looked over his shoulder at me. “I mean, call him what you want, but don’t sell him short.” Sean just stared at me, surprised by either what I’d said or the fact I’d said anything at all. I smiled in the way that always drove guys crazy, totally fake but filled with flirtation. “Listen close tonight and maybe you can figure out what I like to call him.” He leaned his head against his door frame and groaned. “Just not even fair.” He picked his head up and glanced at me. “If you get bored, you know I live right down the hall.” I laughed, though Cade didn’t seem to find quite the humor in it I did. He slipped his hand in mine. “Not happening, bro.” Sean raised his hands. “Just throwing it out there.” “Thanks,” I said sweetly. “But my schedule is pretty full with Cade RSVPing to my fuckfest and all…” Cade chuckled. Sean gaped at me then, with a pointed look at Cade, said, “Marry her, dude. Seriously, if you don’t, I will.” He stepped into his room grumbling something about fuckfests. “My roommate is in love with you now. You’re like this hot female version of him. His dream girl.

I know about fraternal and sororal serial killers. Yes, FYI, sororal is the proper adjective. Anyway, I looked up family serial killers. There have been a few in history—the Benders of Kansas in the late 1800s, the Sawney Bean clan on which the movie The Hills Have Eyes is based.

Parking the car, God offers me a raised brow, and I grin over at him. “You scared?” I repeat his words back at him. “Ask me again once we’re inside. And FYI, I’m not fucking the Pride dude. He looks like a giver.” “Ha!” I bark out, holding my gut. “I don’t think we have to fuck each other, but good to know you’re on board with the lengths we’ll have to go to get full initiation,” I jest with a soft punch to his arm.

Just an FYI,” Anna said. “Sarcasm isn’t a good look.” “Ain’t that a shame. I guess I’ll have to drop out of the Miss South Jersey pageant now, and I had my acceptance speech all memorized. Now are you going to buy something, or what? Because loitering ain’t allowed.

(I don’t want to talk about that right this second but just FYI, I’m a little bit of an athlete . . . I mean you roll it down I’m going to kick it pretty hard, that is all I’m saying. Seriously, some guys bounce it, which is illegal, but either way I’m going to whack it. So if you’re the pitcher, might as well roll it smoothly down to me so you can sleep at night because you won’t be a cheater and either way you’re going to get shelled. But that’s neither here nor there.)

He stood at the top of our steps, just as tall, broad-shouldered, and biker-boy cute as I remembered, hair tousled, leather jacket on, smiling at me. And although there was a bit of shuffling around and eyeing each other as I invited him in (FYI: seeing the person you fancy like mad for the first time after months apart is weird), soon enough, we were standing face-to-face, close enough that I could smell him.

We fight for mass especially with a reusable upper stage, which nobody has ever succeeded in,” he said. “Just FYI. It’s not like other rocket scientists were huge idiots who wanted to throw their rockets away all the time. It’s fucking hard to make something like this. One of the hardest engineering problems known to man is making a reusable orbital rocket. Nobody has succeeded. For a good reason. Our gravity is a bit heavy. On Mars this would be no problem. Moon, piece of cake. On Earth, fucking hard. Just barely possible. It’s stupidly difficult to have a fully reusable orbital system. It would be one of the biggest breakthroughs in the history of humanity. That’s why it’s hard. Why does this hurt my brain? It’s because of that. Really, we’re just a bunch of monkeys. How did we even get this far? It beats me. We were swinging through the trees, eating bananas not long ago.

progression.fyi

What the hell is wrong with you? Why don’t you just have him pull over so you can climb into his lap? FYI, that’s the wrong kind of thing to think in an effort to settle hot-and-bothered thoughts. That visual sends me into another brief catatonic state as I fantasize about riding in the driver’s seat of Nash’s car. With Nash still in it.

Over the past few months, we have introduced a number of great benefits and tools to make us more productive, efficient and fun. With the introduction of initiatives like FYI, Goals and PB&J, we want everyone to participate in our culture and contribute to the positive momentum. From Sunnyvale to Santa Monica, Bangalore to Beijing—I think we can all feel the energy and buzz in our offices. To become the absolute best place to work, communication and collaboration will be important, so we need to be working side-by-side. That is why it is critical that we are all present in our offices. Some of the best decisions and insights come from hallway and cafeteria discussions, meeting new people, and impromptu team meetings. Speed and quality are often sacrificed when we work from home. We need to be one Yahoo, and that starts with physically being together. Beginning in June, we’re asking all employees with work-from-home arrangements to work in Yahoo offices. If this impacts you, your management has already been in touch with next steps. And, for the rest of us who occasionally have to stay home for the cable guy, please use your best judgment in the spirit of collaboration. Being a Yahoo isn’t just about your day-to-day job, it is about the interactions and experiences that are only possible in our offices. Thanks to all of you, we’ve already made remarkable progress as a company—and the best is yet to come. Jackie

What skills have you learned so far that you can bring to the company or organization? (FYI:

But they haven’t really solved the spam problem because most of the spam in your In-box comes from co-workers. Of course, you’re not used to thinking of such messages as spam, but most of them are. Any message that is sent to one person with copies to half a dozen or more other recipients is candidate spam. The person it was directed to probably needed to see it, but how about the others? Were you on the receiving end because some action was required of you, or were you just included FYI? An

FYI—the only way I’d ever have you on any sort of leash is if it could be wrapped tightly around your neck.

When people ask a complex/compound question that requires conversation or explanation but they don't wait for you to finish answering OR they interrupt with their assumptive answers. OMG! This sends me!

Wouldn’t think of it.” Eve grinned fiercely. “And just FYI, I’m the bad cop. I’m always the bad cop.

His eyes scanned the text from his brother and froze. He still looks at you like that, FYI.

I went downstairs to tell Mitch. He was working on marching band diagrams, which, normally, I wouldn’t interrupt, but this was important. “Just FYI,” I said, “I started my period.

Two hundred years ago, Mother Nature snapped. She hit the world with a plague that ate greed. The 1% was her appetizer. Then another 60% of the population, 'til the whole world stood still. The chaos killed millions and crushed capitalism (that system that let people worship money more than earth, FYI. I know, so gross, right?). The weather she sent was so wild, it changed the face of the planet forever. Everyone was left scrambling to survive.

Just FYI, you are unique, and you are perfect!

Just FYI. It’s not like other rocket scientists were huge idiots who wanted to throw their rockets away all the time. It’s fucking hard to make something like this. One of the hardest engineering problems known to man is making a reusable orbital rocket. Nobody has succeeded. For a good reason. Our gravity is a bit heavy. On Mars this would be no problem. Moon, piece of cake. On Earth, fucking hard. Just barely possible. It’s stupidly difficult to have a fully reusable orbital system. It would be one of the biggest breakthroughs in the history of humanity. That’s why it’s hard. Why does this hurt my brain? It’s because of that. Really, we’re just a bunch of monkeys. How did we even get this far? It beats me. We were swinging through the trees, eating bananas not long ago.

I present to you ube chocolate chip cookies two ways: one with semisweet chips and the other with white chocolate chips. Tell me which you prefer. I'm honestly a little torn." They took turns sampling my offering, giving each cookie their undivided attention. Elena said, "If you're going to serve the cookies as is, I'd say the semisweet gets my vote. It plays well with the earthiness of the ube, but is still a chocolate chip cookie. The white chocolate is a bit too sweet for me." Adeena, whose capacity for sugar was probably some kind of Guinness World Record, said, "I disagree about the white chocolate being too sweet. It's so good! But it lacks oomph, you know? If you're playing with the classics, why not add macadamia nuts? Then it could be your take on white chocolate macadamia cookies. Which are my favorite cookies, FYI," she said to Elena.

what do you do all day?” “Actually, FYI,” his mother said, “that can be a somewhat awkward question to ask a person.

Because I never would’ve finished this book without your steady support, brilliant brainstorming sessions, and tiny chocolate chip cookies (And FYI, readers: The cliff-hanger was Deb’s idea!)

Why do you think you’re better than everybody else bc your not fyi. Krissie is sixteen your the one who needs therapy.

Oh, and by the way, I hated Inside. And just FYI, women do not go around all day thinking about how good their bras feel. That reviewer was right.

And just FYI, we’re not called Orientals anymore—we’re Gaysians!

She hadn’t told Juniper what she’d learned. What could she say? Hey, just FYI, the Bone Quarter is a lie, and I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a true afterlife, because we all get turned into energy and herded through the Dead Gate, though some small bit of us gets shoved down the gullet of the Under-King, so … good fucking luck!

It is because I can’t stop being late or confusing times in my work and personal life that I was trying to change via “step work.” (The steps, FYI, are kind of like a Catholic confession but with peer support, hazy spiritual-type language, behavior modification, and understanding laffs.) After I missed the third appointment we had made, Bernice decided that my admitted poor time management not only wasted her time but also hurt her feelings. Therefore, a seventy-five-year-old Glendale woman who had spent several hours of her final years on earth listening to me and my bunk was compelled to break up with me by text.

Delicately I say, “Just FYI, it’s ‘I couldn’t care less,’ not ‘I could care less.’ Because if you could, then you are technically caring.

FYI.

And FYI, you mean astronomer not astrologer.” “Do I?” “Ye do. Astrologer is all that star sign nonsense.” “Are you sure?” “I am,” said Tara. “The fight it caused is the reason we stopped having a table quiz.” “I thought that was because of who invented the light bulb?” “No, that’s the reason we no longer have a quiz machine. The clientele of this pub take trivia knowledge far too bleedin’ seriously.

Also, FYI: Gentoo penguins mate for life. Whereas Adélie penguins prostitute themselves for rocks. I’d like to be your Gentoo penguin. -Greg P.S. Unless you’re open to a rock arrangement. If so, please find my first down payment enclosed.

Two hundred years ago, Mother Nature snapped. She hit the world with a plague that ate greed. The 1% was her appetizer. Then another 60%of the population, 'til the whole world stood still. The chaos killed millions and crushed capitalism (that system that let people worship money more than earth, FYI. I know, so gross, right?). The weather she sent was so wild, it changed the face of the planet forever. Everyone was left scrambling to survive.

They’re my special collector’s edition of One Direction gel pens. And, FYI, they’re super-valuable now that the band has broken up.

The crowd tittered nervously. (Yes, I looked it up. Tittered is totally a real word.) Polydectes just smiled. He’d been waiting for this. “A fine promise,” said the king. “But promises are easy. Would you swear a binding oath…say, on the River Styx?” (FYI: Don’t swear on the River Styx. It’s the most serious oath you can make. If you don’t keep your word, you’re basically inviting Hades, his Furies, and all the daimons of the Underworld to drag you down to eternal punishment with no chance of parole.) Perseus glanced at his mother. Danaë shook her head. Perseus knew that making an oath to an evil guy like Polydectes was unwise. The priests who’d raised him at Athena’s temple would not approve. Then Perseus looked around at the crowd sneering and smirking at him. “I promise on the River Styx!” he shouted. “What do you want, Polydectes?” The king reclined on his uncomfortable bronze throne. He gazed at the stuffed heads decorating his walls. “Bring me…” Cue the dramatic organ music. “…the head of Medusa.” Cue the gasping crowd.

FYI, if you ever kiss me again, I will kill you.

Fyi... The urge to commit suicide is genetic!

as well as depressing, but each day I feel like I’m making a small difference. We walked a kid out of prison last week. His parents were waiting by the gate, and everyone was in tears, including me. FYI—one

When Sam produced two swimsuits from his backpack, I could have kissed him. (FYI, I didn’t.)

Lugaw was often accompanied by tokwa't baboy, a spicy tofu and pork dish, but today there was grilled and dried fish. There were also some simple stir-fried greens and chopped tomatoes seasoned with patis, the fish sauce adding the perfect amount of saltiness and umami to take the unassuming side dish to the next level (salted duck eggs also make a great addition, FYI).

Okay. That helps. Just an FYI, I’m the sort of girl that needs things spelled out or I panic, especially when I’m in unfamiliar territory.