Gold Digger Quotes

I'm here to tell you, though, ladies that the term "gold digger" is one of the traps we men set to keep you off our money trail; we created that term for you so that we can have all our money and still get everything we want from you without you asking for or expecting this very basic, instincual responsibility that men all over the world are obligated to assume and embrace. ... KNOW THIS: It is your right to expect that a man will pay for your dinner, your movie ticket, your club entry fee, or whatever else he has to pay for in exhange for your time.

The public has an insatiable curiosity to know everything except what is worth knowing.

Holy shit, you’re the most accomplished stalker I’ve ever met.” “It’s not stalking if you like it.

Money brings you the women you want, struggle brings you the women you need.

Well, I go wherever the ring takes me. Not because I’m a gold digger or anything; it’s more of a Lord of the Rings thing. This ring gives me powers. Though I’m totally going to lose it when my hair falls out and I start calling it ‘my precious.

Your father's impressive.''He's a scary motherfucker, but we get along well.

Once you know what you want, you can make the rest happen

She wasn’t hard-boiled. It was just that she put love on a special plane, where a man without money or looks couldn’t move.

His heart thrashed like a bobcat in a trap. When he refused to run for governor, they begged him to run for lieutenant governor. Augusta was all for it, since she’d taken up with the Pioneer Ladies Society, serving punch in the back of the ballroom. Felt good to have her on his side for a change.

At the bottom of the mountain you have your scoffers and doubters, by midpoint you have your envious and haters, and when you reach to the top you have new friends and family you never met or thought existed.

The reason gold-diggers trivialize relationships is because they do not know love,they only know money.

If I were a robot, and I got cheated on with a vacuum cleaner, I’d question my cleanliness. I’d also wonder if dating a beautiful yellow bulldozer was wise. Is my bulldozer nothing but a gold digger?

You'd be quite sane and well-adjusted if your family had happened to somebody else

The difference between the rich and the poor, is finding true love.

About money-grubbing women, here’s my stance: Bring on the gold diggers. I’ve got nothing to offer but pyrite.

Ernestine used to remark, in a tone tinged with envy, that Lill was probably New Jersey's youngest gold digger, and that few adult gold diggers ever had received more, in return for less.

a real woman doesn't help u spend your money she helps u to make more money

She was the type of bitch who looked for three things in a man. Good looks. Good reputation. And per$onality.

Because he has finally realized that it is it and not him that is loved by the woman he loves, many a man is jealous of his own car, house, wardrobe, or salary.

It’s a tree falling in a forest conundrum: if a white kid raps all the lyrics to ‘Gold Digger’ and there isn’t a black person around to hear it, is it still racist?

I want the term gold digger to include dudes who look for a woman who will do tons of emotional labour for them.

Stanley spent more time pushing the wheelbarrow than digging, because he was such a slow digger. He carted away the excess dirt and dumped it into previously dug holes. He was careful not to dump any of it in the hole where the gold tube was actually found.

Prostitution is the art of separating the vagina from the woman, and the man from the money.

It’s a really depressing world you live in, man. This world where everybody’s a gold digger, where everybody’s using each other, or competing against each other. This world where two people can’t be together because they might love each other.

No greater humiliation, it seems to me, was meted out to any man than Montezuma; no race was ever more ruthlessly wiped out that the American Indian; no land was ever raped in a bloody and foul way than California was by the gold diggers. I blush to think of our origins—our hands are steeped in blood and crime.

Most men each have a to-do list of women that they plan on executing if and when they get rich or famous.

Women are like flies: they settle on sugar or shit. I'm not saying I'm sugar, but she's sure settled for shit now. My name is George Schmidt.

Gold-diggers are our nation’s hardest workers; do you know how much effort goes into pretending to give a shit about some guy for his money? A lot. Hoes are Britain’s unsung heroes.

And on those rare occasions when she wasn’t defined by others’ actions, then she was dismissed out of hand as either a lightweight or a gold digger based on the thing she hated most about herself.

Hey, baby, it’s me. Your shithead of a husband.” He spoke and caressed her lifeless hand. Wayne wanted to shake her, do anything to wake her up. One tear fell from his eye and the ice around his heart smashed to smithereens. With Lily in his life, he had some semblance of control over his emotions. The thought of losing her and never seeing her smile, or to even hear her sing, was breaking him more than any gold digger could his bank balance.

But there's something flirty/sexy about his voice that's appealing to my inner romantic comedy actress. Then again, maybe it's just his penthouse apartment I'm hearing. My inner gold digger frequently beats the crap out of my inner Meg Ryan.

Let your mistress’s birthday be one of great terror to you: that’s a black day when anything has to be given. However much you avoid it, she’ll still win: it’s a woman’s skill, to strip wealth from an ardent lover. A loose-robed pedlar comes to your lady: she likes to buy: and explains his prices while you’re sitting there. She’ll ask you to look, because you know what to look for: then kiss you: then ask you to buy her something there. She swears that she’ll be happy with it, for years, but she needs it now, now the price is right. If you say you haven’t the money in the house, she’ll ask for a note of hand – and you’re sorry you learnt to write. Why - she asks doesn’t she for money as if it’s her birthday, just for the cake, and how often it is her birthday, if she’s in need? Why - she weeps doesn’t she, mournfully, for a sham loss, that imaginary gem that fell from her pierced ear? They many times ask for gifts, they never give in return: you lose, and you’ll get no thanks for your loss. And ten mouths with as many tongues wouldn’t be enough for me to describe the wicked tricks of whores.

So many guys try to show off to a girl by boasting of their financial assets and flashing their cash around etc, but a girl who makes her own money and is building her own empire is not impressed by such things. -Show me the integrity not the money.

I had never much cared about ancestry the way my parents spoke of it when we went back to India. There, ancestry meant unpronounceable names and impenetrable orthodoxies. But this gold digger felt viscerally like my forebear. What if this was my land, after all?

There are reality shows for gold-diggers while televised Bridezillas and messy infidelities get sky-high ratings. To think that amidst all the infidelity, Americans actually had the nerve to try to get all sanctimonious when the gay marriage debate surfaced. Shut up! My

The next summer we went to France for six weeks, and I added another 420 words, most of them found in the popular gossip magazine, ‘Voici’. “Man-eater”, I’d say. “Gold digger, roustabout, louse”. “Who are you talking about?” my neighbors would ask. “What social climber? Where?

Colonization of India was primarily economic,” a professor lectured in college, which made the whole thing sound like the Brits had merely pickpocketed a few wallets. But in the gold digger, see the emasculation of colonization. The only way out is as an export. Through the porthole, his motherland shrinks.

Should it happen, that your partner leaves you for someone else with more money. To where later you strike it richer than the person they left you for, and the ex finds out, after losing all and regretting. It was a blessing that it ended. Though money wasn't sufficient then, mostly they were rich with your love, now suffering being broke in both.

It was better with the subs than it was with the gold diggers or the hookers. These were real people, with real lives, real jobs, real hearts. It meant something when they submitted to my demands. It meant trust, and trust meant love. I got that--I mean, I understood that. And, oh, Lisa, how I needed that—but I didn’t know how to deal. I was too broken.

Joseph scoffed. “People lie all the time. What if this woman is a gold-digger or something?” “That would be great. I need somebody to help me dig, maybe we’ll find some.

If you choose money over love, you will always be poor.

I looked at her and thought it seemed less that things had been lost than that they were being found, over and over again.

Elf-dog," hissed Gimlet, retrieving his beard. "Pig of a dwarf," suggested Legolam. "Toymaker." "Gold-digger.

Missy As Jessica mentioned earlier in the book, I also have to laugh when I hear people talk about Korie, Jessica, and me as gold diggers. I think, Oh please! Jase was skinning raccoons for extra money when Cole (our second child) was born! The only gold I was interested in was Jason’s old gold-colored Chevy, because it had a bench seat and I could snuggle up to him while he drove.

What'd you like me to buy you, Nan? Some pearls or--" She stopped before him, planted her arms akimbo, and spoke furiously. "I am not vot you call a gold-digger! I am not lady enough! If when you get tired of me, you vant to give me a hundred dollars--or fifty--fine. But you must, by God, understand, when Nande Azeredo takes a man, it iss because she likes him! Pearls? What would I do with pearls? Can I eat pearls?

In other words, the essential thing here is to see clearly, to think clearly—that is, dangerously—and to answer clearly the innocent first question: what, fundamentally, is colonization? To agree on what it is not: neither evangelization nor philanthropic enterprise, nor a desire to push back the frontiers of ignorance, disease, and tyranny, nor a project undertaken for the greater glory of God, nor an attempt to extend the rule of law. To admit once and for all, without flinching at the consequences, that the decisive actors here are the adventurer and the pirate, the wholesale grocer and the ship owner, the gold digger and the merchant, appetite and force, and behind them, the baleful projected shadow of a form of civilization which, at a certain point in its history, finds itself obliged, for internal reasons, to extend to a world scale the competition of its antagonistic economies.

Which act would you prefer for tonight?” His questions broke through my musings. I was all too glad for the interruption. “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “There’s the new lovers act, the friends-who-fuck act, the swingers act, the gold-digger and sugar-daddy act, the fighting couple act—” “What about a platonic friendship act?” I interrupted. He looked at me as if I’d finally spoken a language he couldn’t understand. “Is that a joke?” ... “Then come.” Ian extended his arm with a hint of a grin. “I’ve decided our act tonight will be the fighting couple. Shouldn’t present too much of a challenge, should it?” I felt a wry smile tug at my mouth. “I think we’ll manage.

We have good news and bad news. The good news is that the dismal vision of human sexuality reflected in the standard narrative is mistaken. Men have not evolved to be deceitful cads, nor have millions of years shaped women into lying, two-timing gold-diggers. But the bad news is that the amoral agencies of evolution have created in us a species with a secret it just can’t keep. Homo sapiens evolved to be shamelessly, undeniably, inescapably sexual. Lusty libertines.

I’ve never seen you with anyone who didn’t look like a supermodel. So don’t sit there and pretend like you’ve never judged anyone based on their looks. I bet there are plenty of genuine women who wouldn’t care about your wealth or position, but you didn’t give them the time of day because they didn’t have perfect bodies, or they weren’t up to your standards of beauty. You reap what you sow and if you chose to date nothing but gold diggers, you can’t expect them to be around in your time of need.

This was what it felt like growing up. Adults and kids constantly gossiping about one another, judging whether or not you were Indian enough, using I don’t know what kind of standards. And at that point, it’s worse than gossip. It’s actually part of what I wrote my thesis about, at Stanford—because I went back, by the way, and graduated magna cum laude.

We have good news and bad news. The good news is that the dismal vision of human sexuality reflected in the standard narrative is mistaken. Men have not evolved to be deceitful cads, nor have millions of years shaped women into lying, two-timing gold-diggers. But the bad news is that the amoral agencies of evolution have created in us a species with a secret it just can’t keep. Homo sapiens evolved to be shamelessly, undeniably, inescapably sexual. Lusty libertines. Rakes, rogues, and roués. Tomcats and sex kittens. Horndogs. Bitches in heat.1 True, some of us manage to rise above this aspect of our nature (or to sink below it). But these preconscious impulses remain our biological baseline, our reference point, the zero in our own personal number system. Our evolved tendencies are considered “normal” by the body each of us occupies. Willpower fortified with plenty of guilt, fear, shame, and mutilation of body and soul may provide some control over these urges and impulses. Sometimes. Occasionally. Once in a blue moon. But even when controlled, they refuse to be ignored. As German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer pointed out, Mensch kann tun was er will; er kann aber nicht wollen was er will. (One can choose what to do, but not what to want.) Acknowledged or not, these evolved yearnings persist and clamor for our attention. And there are costs involved in denying one’s evolved sexual nature, costs paid by individuals, couples, families, and societies every day and every night. They are paid in what E. O. Wilson called “the less tangible currency of human happiness that must be spent to circumvent our natural predispositions.”2 Whether or not our society’s investment in sexual repression is a net gain or loss is a question for another time. For now, we’ll just suggest that trying to rise above nature is always a risky, exhausting endeavor, often resulting in spectacular collapse. Any attempt to understand who we are, how we got to be this way, and what to do about it must begin by facing up to our evolved human sexual predispositions. Why do so many forces resist our sustained fulfillment? Why is conventional marriage so much damned work? How has the incessant, grinding campaign of socio-scientific insistence upon the naturalness of sexual monogamy combined with a couple thousand years of fire and brimstone failed to rid even the priests, preachers, politicians, and professors of their prohibited desires? To see ourselves as we are, we must begin by acknowledging that of all Earth’s creatures, none is as urgently, creatively, and constantly sexual as Homo sapiens.

If you hear nothing else I say, hear this . . . you will always attract a mate who personifies who you are. If you’re a gold-digger you gonna get a drug dealer who thinks he can buy you. If you hate yourself, you gonna get a nigga who will kick your ass every day and six times on Monday. And if you violent, you’re gonna attract a monster. It will always be true. All the time. No exceptions.

Sri Lankan Socioeconomics 101 If people stopped chasing after power and connections and realized that they have all the power they need within themselves, to create whatever they want with their lives: there will be more friendships than contacts, less gold-diggers, more marriages based on love, better family lives, stable and enriched childhoods leading to a well endowed, disciplined and better educated workforce. There will be loyalty and ingenuity and better standards of education. Abundance of well educated individuals => pressure to innovate =>increased entrepreneurship, improved economy.High functioning economy attracting more foreign capital => export surplus. Educated workforce + increased involvement in international business => pressure to improve foreign allies and foreign policy => pressure to improve transparency => decrease in corruption. So stop sitting around complaining about corruption and (with all due respect,) get off your ass and do something for yourself. Stop chasing after other people's power and chase after your own dreams and you will have all the power you need.

I told her about my revenge on Topper the attempted rapist and the guy at the transient's hotel in  Brooklyn, and, finally, I told her about stealing the money. "You did what?" She sat straight up in her chair, her eyes wide, her mouth open. "Shhh." Other diners were staring at us, frozen in silent tableau, some with forks or spoons halfway  to mouth. Millie was blinking her eyes rapidly. Much quieter, she said, "You robbed a bank?" "Shhh." My ears were burning. "Don't make a scene." "Don't shush me! I didn't rob a bank." Fortunately she whispered it. The waiter walked up then and took our drink order. Millie ordered a vodka martini. I asked  for a glass of white wine. I didn't know if it would help, but I figured it couldn't hurt. "A million dollars?" she said, after the waiter left. "Well, almost." "How much of it is left?" "Why?" She blushed. "Curiosity. I must look like a proper little gold digger." "About eight hundred thousand." "Dollars!" The man at the next table spilled his water. "Christ, Millie. You want me to leave you here? You're fifteen hundred miles away from  home you know.

Girls About Town, another Paramount film, again directed by George Cukor, gave Kay the opportunity to work with her good friend, the irrepressible Lilyan Tashman, who'd previously appeared with Kay in The Marriage Playground. Kay and Lil got to run around in lingerie and play characters who could only be high-priced call girls. "Kay Francis shows off her figure in undies while explaining she's through with the gold-digger racket and intends going straight because she's found love with a rich rube. The undie pose and that bit about going straight all in one has its own satirical kick."43 Andy Lawler, who would become one of Kay's best pals, also appeared in the film as Kay's no-good husband.

Strawberries don't usually require much catching.

Daniel had given her a pair of sapphire earrings, so she made out well. The women he attracted were gold diggers, but he didn't mind. They met his needs without any sort of commitment. When he needed a date, he had a large list of beautiful women to choose from. These young, gorgeous models kept themselves available because they were lavished in finer things. On occasion, he'd sense some maternal instinct rearing its ugly head and go running. Daniel drove home exhausted. It was four in the morning, but he had to make sure he had a date for tonight's

In some countries that I have visited, I saw that citizens are very rude and animalistic. They have no moral, no values, and no manners. They are always starring at others, judging with their eyes of ignorance and their very small conscience, they are impolite wherever you go, and their customer service is horrible. They never say sorry for anything and even offend you when you complain about their mistakes and lack of proper attitude. Besides, eating in some of these nations often reveals to be a huge disaster. Food is often rotten, and commonly comes with either hair, stones of even glass, as I have found many times. They waste money as I have never seen anywhere else and are simultaneously very abusive in prices. Their prices are high but their quality level is not even suitable for animals. They represent a waste on foreign investments. Their youngest generation is also a disaster; Extremely ignorant, without any respect or education, undeserving of any job or even trust. Nobody in his right mind should ever employ them, marry them or befriend them. Most are always trying to use their friendships to take advantage of others, especially if such people are outsiders. Their women are gold diggers and extremely promiscuous, especially towards men of other cultures, as if their pride was built on the number of sex partners they can have from the widest variety of nations from around the globe, especially if such men are wealthy. And yet, they can also show a high predisposition for racist behaviors and ignorance in what regards the planet they live in. They are, foremost, selfish, sadistic and parasitic. These countries and their people represent the lowest level of mankind. Whenever you witness what I just described, you are experiencing a country reaching its end. Move out of it while you can, for God will set on such people Divine justice as quickly as such citizens, by their immoral behavior, approach it. Many of such countries end with the loss of their sovereignty for political reasons, invasions by foreign armies, civil wars, violent revolutions, major economical collapses leading the citizens to poverty and starvation, and much more.

Lithuanian citizens are the rudest and most animalistic I have ever seen in Europe. They have no moral, no values, and no manners. They are always starring at others, judging with their eyes of ignorance and their very small conscience, they are very rude, they are impolite wherever you go, and their customer service is horrible. They never say sorry for anything and even offend you when you complain about their mistakes and lack of proper attitude. Besides, eating in Lithuania is a huge disaster. Food is often rotten, and commonly comes with either hair, stones of even glass, as I have found many times. These people should be ashamed to be part of Europe and be removed from the European Union. They waste money as I have never seen anywhere else and are very abusive in prices. Their prices are high but their quality level is not even suitable for animals. They represent a waste on foreign investments. Their youngest generation is also a disaster: Extremely ignorant, without any respect or education, they deserve to be unemployed and starve to death. Nobody in his right mind should ever employ a Lithuanian, marry a Lithuanian or be friend with a Lithuanian. Lithuanias are always trying to use their friendships to take advantage of others, especially if such people are outsiders. Lithuanian women are gold diggers and extremely promiscuous, especially towards men of other cultures, as if their pride was built on the number of sex partners they can have from the widest variety of nations from around the globe, especially if such men are wealthy. Nevertheless, Lithuanians are also extremely racist and ignorant about the planet they live in. They are selfish, sadistic and parasitic. Probably the same could be said about all baltic countries, namely, Latvia, but for now, it is suffice to say this statement is an undoubted fact for the country in analysis. If Latvian and Lithuanian sovereignty ever end within this generation due to major unemployment, massacres and civil wars, and the vast majority of its people perish, I would say Divine justice has been made on both nations.

She had grown now not to blame any man, honest miner or bloody bandit. She blamed only gold. She doubted its value. She could not see it a blessing. She absolutely knew its driving power to change the souls of men. Could she ever forget that vast ant-hill of toiling diggers and washers, blind and deaf and dumb to all save gold?

Some people married for money. Some divorced for love.

As she grew older, Erin accepted the fact that her mother was a restless gold digger who would never be happy, never be satisfied. On the other hand, her husbands knew exactly what they were getting and didn't seem to care. It taught Erin one of life's great lessons: an attractive woman could get whatever she wanted, because men were so laughably weak.

The fact that there were more adults than children at her party didn't seem to faze Dixie. "That child is like a dandelion," Lettie said. "She could grow through concrete." Dixie's birthday party had a combination Mardi Gras/funeral wake feel to it. Mr. Bennett and Digger looped and twirled pink crepe paper streamers all around the white graveside tent until it looked like a candy-cane castle. Leo Stinson scrubbed one of his ponies and gave pony rides. Red McHenry, the florist's son, made a unicorn's horn out of flower foam wrapped with gold foil, and strapped it to the horse's head. "Had no idea that horse was white," Leo said, as they stood back and admired their work. Angela, wearing an old, satin, off-the-shoulder hoop gown she'd found in the attic, greeted each guest with strings of beads, while Dixie, wearing peach-colored fairy wings, passed out velvet jester hats. Charlotte, who never quite grasped the concept of eating while sitting on the ground, had her driver bring a rocking chair from the front porch. Mr. Nalls set the chair beside Eli's statue where Charlotte barked orders like a general. "Don't put the food table under the oak tree!" she commanded, waving her arm. "We'll have acorns in the potato salad!" Lettie kept the glasses full and between KyAnn Merriweather and Dot Wyatt there was enough food to have fed Eli's entire regiment. Potato salad, coleslaw, deviled eggs, bread and butter pickles, green beans, fried corn, spiced pears, apple dumplings, and one of every animal species, pork barbecue, fried chicken, beef ribs, and cold country ham as far as the eye could see.

The California Gold Rush, both the first and second one, had inflicted almost as much damage as the bounty. Stream channels where the Diggers fished had been disturbed or re-routed and blasting had damaged the habitat the Diggers fed on. In addition, foods the Diggers gathered from the land had been damaged or destroyed as the way was cleared for cattle, who ate one of the major source of Digger food: the acorn. Worse, as with all California tribes, contact with white men had led to new diseases for which the Indians had no immunity. The Nevada cowboy had speculated that the Sierra Diggers had once numbered perhaps ten-thousand, but that number had been whittled down to about one-thousand by the time the young man had left for Nevada.

But then the money business began. You like to give a girl presents when you're in love—you like to do things right. Well, Lord knows, Eva was no gold-digger—she was as likely to be pleased with a soda as a pair of imported gloves. On the other hand, she was as likely to be pleased with the gloves.

I’d learned from Hobbes that feelings, or instincts, came from the subconscious and should not be ignored since they were often more reliable than the intellect, especially when the intellect was mine.

The only women who showed him any interest these days were gold diggers who lusted after his money and the perceived excitement it could provide, or fallen socialites who’d become accustomed to a lifestyle that was slipping from their grasp. Women who once knew him before the accident now looked at him with pity. Strangers acted uncomfortable when they saw his scars.

Not being rich, or ever likely to be, it was unlikely I’d succumb to that particular temptation and I enjoyed a sudden feeling of righteous superiority over my less fortunate, if much richer, neighbours.

Gold will always be the measure worthy standard in any element, and fire proven test of value!

You would have had to forgive people, if you’d gone on, I wrote. You would have had to believe that idiots grow up and change. You would have had to be big enough to accept that, or the bitterness might have eroded you. But you would have. You would have found a way to be generous to everyone who was never generous to you. You would have figured out that thing historians and politicians and all the world today is struggling with—the moral weight of the past, how to hold it.

The DJ announced the couple. As Alfie took Camila in his arms and spun her around, the strains of Kanye West's "Gold Digger" blasted across the tent. Camila and Alfie stood paralyzed on the dance floor, staring at us with horror on their faces. Mary Ellen just about leapt on top of the DJ's equipment in an attempt to shut it off. He immediately understood he was in huge trouble, and after a few seconds of fumbling, Lonestar started to play. Although we tried to recover the best we could, the damage was done. The couple danced together, but Camila's face was ashen as she clearly fought back tears. Mary Ellen and I cornered the DJ to threaten his life, but he told us the groom's daughters had given him the orders, telling him it was a funny joke that their future stepmother would love. How could anyone believe jokes were ever appropriate at weddings? Apparently they had also given him $500 to play the song, which really sealed the deal. There was nothing scarier than a mean girl with a boatload of cash.

Gold diggers of 2400AD, they risked everything on a throw of the dice. They thought of themselves as scientists, they thought of themselves as investigators, but they were really thieves, speculators, intellectual cowboys. Theirs was the heritage of science as it had defined itself four hundred years before. They were beachcombers. They went out one morning with their lives all washed up and returned in the evening corporate CEOs heavy with patents: that was the typical trajectory on Motel Splendido: that was the direction of things.

To be honest, I was more interested in sexually objectifying you than talking about your salary.” Olek eyed me. “Damn.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Again, we’re back to the future ‘how I met your mother’ story. She wasn’t a gold digger, son, she just wanted my dick.

Which you get by tapping maple trees for their syrup. Oh my gosh, these people aren’t dog smugglers. Or gold diggers. They’re after liquid gold. Patti, that’s maple syrup!’ She instinctively looked around for Patti, but realised

A gold digger. My rose garden is fertilized by the bodies of men after my money.” “And beautiful roses they are.

7. Gold.—In 1858 it was reported that gold had been discovered far to the north, on the banks of the Fitzroy River, and in a short time many vessels arrived in Keppel Bay, their holds and decks crowded with men, who eagerly landed and hastened to Canoona, a place about sixty or seventy miles up the river. Ere long there were about fifteen thousand diggers on the scene; but it was soon discovered that the gold was confined to a very small area, and by no means plentiful; and those who had spent all their money in getting to the place were in a wretched plight. A large population had been hurriedly gathered in an isolated region, without provisions, or the possibility of obtaining them; their expectations of the goldfield had been disappointed, and for some time the Fitzroy River was one great scene of misery and starvation till the Governments of New South Wales and Victoria sent vessels to convey the unfortunate diggers away from the place.

Sindy is British and much more demure and well brought up than Barbie, who seems like a brash, oversexualised gold-digger if you ask me. The sort of girl who would marry a minor Rolling Stone. Even in her air-hostess uniform she looks like a hard-eyed little pole dancer.

what’s a buckle-bunny?” She grinned. “It used to be a description of the girls who hung around rodeo cowboys looking to hook up. Now it means any Texas gold digger who’s looking for a sugar daddy.” “I’m not a gold digger.” “No, you advise them in your column. You tell them to support themselves and get their priorities straight.” “Everyone should listen to me,” I said, and Haven laughed, lifting her glass. -Ella & Haven

They might have held green cards, but their values and traditions were still starkly Middle Eastern and Karim’s brother had chosen a beautiful Norwegian girl as his future wife. Not only had he not known her for long, which was the first objection, but she was also a former lingerie model, which for Karim’s parents was completely unacceptable. His father had pronounced the girl a gold-digger, his mother had practically called her a whore, and yet still his brother Arman persisted.

There is a misperception about black women in society. When a black woman presents expectations to a man, she is seen as needy, bossy and a gold digger. When a woman who is not of African American descent expresses the same thing from a man, she is seen as a trophy wife. When a woman of European descent presents the same thing, she is viewed as a classy woman with standards. When a woman of European descent presents the same standards as a black woman, the Caucasian woman is credited for implementing rules of dating when she expects a man to pay for dinner or when she tells a man what she desires out of a relationship. The value of African American women is reduced not only by dominant culture and society, but by men, particularly African American men. The media, radio, music, television, newspapers and movies have devalued African American women when in reality African American women are honorable, respectable, classy, elegant, beautiful, educated and hardworking women. Dark skin women are viewed as angry, unattractive and uneducated within modern society. African American women are seen as loud, irate, insensitive and angry women as a result of labels from some African American men, media, movies and music. Television, magazines, social media, internet, videos and some music present Hispanic, Latino, White and Armenian women as trophy wives, idols and models while presenting African American women as mistresses, one night stands, casual sex, gold diggers and “baby mamas.” Latino and Dominican women are viewed as physically beautiful while Caucasian women are viewed as ideal and classy within media, music, music videos and movies. Media presents black women as bitter, scorned, ghetto, ratchet and promiscuous as if women of other races do not exhibit those characteristics. Women of other races are on television and the internet using profanity, fighting, engaging in sexual acts and cheating, however, there is an emphasis on African American women who exhibit those behaviors” (McEachern 85).

An inch to a man’s heart is a mile to his wallet.

THE MISCONCEPTION: Men who have sex with RealDolls are insane, and women who marry eighty-year-old billionaires are gold diggers. THE TRUTH: The RealDoll and rich old sugar daddies are both supernormal releasers.

I started seeing poetry from a strictly consumerist perspective as poets serving up beverages. Most, maybe like 97 percent or something, serve lemonade. You can consume their work and it will teach you nothing, and it will leave a sticky unpleasant feeling in your mouth and a slight nausea in your stomach. There are all kinds of home-made lemonades, milky lemonade, watery lemonade, some throw pepper in it or even puke in the lemonade, but its still lemonade, just a puky sort. Then there are a few that offer stronger drinks. Some say the secret is the cellar, but I think that's just a propaganda story. If you leave a bottle of lemonade in the cellar for 10 years it won't turn into wine. But some of these fools are doing exactly that. Stinky old lemonade full of dust. And then there's those that think the problem is the Lemonade isn't smooth enough and they start filtering it with a sieve, imagining to be gold-diggers or something. No no no, the secret isn't cellars. The secret is rather a sincere hate for lemonade. As long as you don't hate lemonade with every pore in your body, as long as a part of you accepts the lemonade, then forget about the cellars. But if your soul says 'Fuck the Lemonade' then it starts to search. You will find that a small percentage of poetry offered is like a strong beverage. Most then, again, are like cheap beer or wine. To find a wine that's actually good or even a decent whiskey you have to sift to tuns of poems, and then you find some. There are just a few people. Just a few. I dont know if the secret of the cellar applies here either. It might. It might not. I often suspect all these blokes with distilleries are fooling the hell out of everyone. Think about it. Twenty years on a barrel of whiskey and it will sell like gold. Anyone with a sense of business would want to speed that shit up. And yet they're all flaunting the secret of their cellars, I don't believe a word of it. There's simply too much whiskey in these world and too few cellars. So I sincerely believe that the road to great poetry is to say 'Fuck the Cellars' in your soul, and start to search. There's a minute speck of poems out there that are beverages, but of a different, narcotic kind. They are almost impossible to find or create. Poetry clubs and societies do their utter best to ignore it, ban it, destroy it. These are poems that by nature make the reader say 'Fuck Beverages!' in his soul. I wish i never used this shit. Fucking hell, whats wrong with the guy who made this? That's the sort of poetry I would call a honorable beverage. But you have to ditch Lemonade, Cellars, and Beverages to get there. And you can't do that because you have not enough thirst in your soul. That's what it all starts with: thirst. And the secret of thirst is very simple: it requires a desert in your heart.

I always knew you'd get ahead one day.

Papa knew Demi was far from a gold digger so he was now ready to spoil her, but she still declined him every time. Papa

Money should serve the human spirit...not the other way around....Make A $ (YOU-Turn) 2-Day (today)!

Ohhh what precious life energy and safety one will spend and risk for a lifeless precious metal that the living attribute such precious value - almost worship, but then again history documents some have even fashion sacred calves from it...and to know this religion its exists in some hearts, I consciously drop my head.

I look warmly at the December winters in my life, feeling all of their wonderful, furry, fuzzies inside, as I ribbon-rap my thanks to God for His increase of faithfulness, love, favor, fortune and blessings…at this year’s end finish line. The satisfaction in my smile is smithed with THE silver refiner’s fire, my cheeks aglow like the rose stemmed in my soul’s purified Gold.

There is only enough room for one gold digger.

We were both conceptual orphans. Perhaps that is the condition of any second generation. In the space between us and the rest of adulthood lay a great expanse of the unknown. We had not grown up imbibing stories that implicitly conveyed answers to the basic questions of being: What did it feel like to fall in love in America, to take oneself for granted in America? Starved as we were for clues about how to live, we would grip like mad on to anything that lent a possible way of being.

You know it’s going to be a bad day when the phone rings at 3:24 in the morning. I mean, is there anything else that can simultaneously trigger the thoughts of “where am I” and “someone died”?

For John it was worse: they surrounded him whenever he came home, begging for autographs, locks of hair, a chance to touch him. He was always kind to fans. He could be intolerant of hangers-on, gold-diggers, money-men and sycophants, but he respected and cared for the fans. He believed that the group owed them a lot. After all, they were the ones who bought the records and paid to go to the concerts. So, however tired he was, he always stopped to sign autographs or say hello. Years later, when John was killed by a ‘fan’, who had waited for his autograph, the memory of his kindness to them stayed with me. I sometimes wondered whether, if he hadn’t been so patient and generous, he might still be alive.

Asher thinks my mom is a gold-digger and that we are leeching off his dad. My mom is thirty-eight.

Dear hubby, I’d like a divorce. Since you’re rich and famous, you’re paying for the lawyer. And since I’m not a gold digger, there’s no fee for the memories. Love, your future ex-wifey Hit me up when you rise and shine, sleeping beauty. I’m at The Palm Tree Motel, rm #17 408-242-8381

I knew you were a gold digger. Using me for money. I am shocked. Appalled. Scandalized—” Josh cut me off with a kiss. “Don’t worry. I can repay you in non-monetary ways.

Tears don't make you weak. God gave us tears to cleanse us and to heal us.

If God wanted me to marry poor he would have made me homely.

The belt clicked around my belly and he started the engine with a roar. Why he roared, I’ll never know and I came within a whisker of wetting myself. I felt how I imagined I’d feel if someone locked me in a cage with a tiger, except tigers are beautiful.

wouldn’t have bet on a sepia photograph of Queen Victoria. ‘I see you’re admiring my picture of the queer old dean.

tipped three spoons of tea into the pot, inundating it with boiling water and picked up the chipped mugs. ‘Careful with those,’ said Hobbes, ‘they’re Chippendale.’ ‘Oh right, of course.’ I held them with exaggerated care. They showed images of Chip and Dale, the cartoon chipmunks.