Headline Dating Quotes

I’d love to create a personal profile on a dating site with a headline that reads, “Great Listener Seeks Mute Woman.

THIS book is radioactive. And so are you. Unless you are dead, in which case we can tell how long ago you died by how much of your radioactivity is left. That’s what radiocarbon dating is—the measurement of the reduction of radioactivity of old bones to deduce the time of death. Alcohol is radioactive too—at least the kind we drink. Rubbing alcohol usually isn’t, unless it was made organically—that is, from wood. In fact, the US Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives tests wine, gin, whiskey, and vodka for radioactivity. A fifth of whiskey must emit at least 400 beta rays every minute or the drink is considered unfit for human consumption. Biofuels are radioactive. Fossil fuels are not. Of those killed by the Hiroshima atomic bomb, the best estimate is that fewer than 2% died of radiation-induced cancer. These statements are all true. They are not even disputed, at least by experts. Yet they surprise most people.

The British public had quickly and sincerely taken the new princess-to-be to their hearts. Diana had high expectations to live up to and she was still very young. She had barely turned twenty. Her birthday was July 1. I wondered if some part of the reason for the late July wedding date was so that she would be comfortably out of her teens when she married. I thought mischievously about the palace’s reaction to possible headlines such as “Prince Weds Teenager.

Oh Come All Ye Faithful “Occum” Claus stood a head taller than most of the other men at the party.  Like most of his crazy family, he wore a Santa suit, only the coat of his outfit was missing, exposing suspenders and a sleeveless white tank top.  The man was heavily muscled and looked angry; a mixture of holiday cheer and a Navy SEAL having a really bad day.  He was the picture that went along with the headline “Christmas Nightmare” or “Crazed Santa Attacks Orphans with Fire Ax.

ITEM. Eleven women from the Miss Black America Pageant all claimed Mike Tyson touched them on their rears. So the founder of the pageant filed a $607 million lawsuit against Mike Tyson. Several of the contestants eventually admitted they had lied in the hope of getting publicity and cashing in on the award money.49 Think about it. If each woman had the potential for being awarded $20 to $30 million, aren’t we really bribing women to make false accusations? And the Miss Black America Pageant itself got more publicity than it had received in its history. The lawsuit made tabloid headlines; the dropping of the lawsuit was buried in the back pages. When we fail to give as much attention to an accusation being false as to the original accusation, the accused is left with an image problem. When this image problem was added to Tyson’s already tarnished image, Tyson was doubtless more likely to be found guilty when one of the Miss Black America contestants (Desiree Washington) accused him of date rape than he would have if tabloid headlines had recently been saying “Black Beauties Bribed by Big Bucks.

comment. TRUMP PROMISES “BIG, BEAUTIFUL” TAX CUTS FOR CHRISTMAS, read the Washington Examiner headline later that day. TRUMP: TAX CUT IS MY GIFT TO YOU and TRUMP SEES TAX PLAN AS CHRISTMAS GIFT added CNN and The Wall Street Journal. Expectations were set. The Speaker’s office never mentioned delaying the date again.

Dildos the size of which I had never seen, and could imagine no earthly use for, unless one wanted to keep one by the door to use on intruders. The sight of a woman confidently holding one of those monsters in her hands would be enough to scare any man away. And if it didn't, a smack on the side of the head with it and he'd be out. I could see the headlines: Woman Subdues Attacker With Giant Dildo! And the article itself. "Police agree that silicone dildos make better defensive weapons than handguns. Their flexibility is reminiscent of a rubber hose, and leaves no mark except a red welt in the shape of the penis head. Being attacked by a giant dildo has become known as 'weenie whipped.

The agent reported from 26 BC, but that’s four years after Caesarion was supposed to have died. He’s alive and Pharaoh in Egypt, having struck a deal with Octavian. Octavian, who by 26 BC was now Augustus, Emperor of Rome.” “Okay,” Nada said. “Lead with the headline. And?” Edith stared at him in shock. “History is very different and going to get more so accordingly. Four years different when the agent etched this message. The fact there is no update to the message means that in that agent’s time, things had gone off course enough that he could not access the Needle. Or perhaps he no longer lived.” She barely paused to take a breath. “It could explain why, in your man Eagle’s history, the Lateran Obelisk was still in Egypt, never having been brought to Rome. “The implications are staggering if this is left unchecked.” She looked at her watch. “We only have six hours to fix this. It’s just the beginning. It’s likely, if left unchecked, the obelisk will disappear and then . . .” Moms held up a hand as Nada began to say something. “Six hours to fix something that’s already gone wrong for four years in the past?” “Yes, yes,” Edith said. “That’s the way the Patrol works. Go back to the day Caesarion was supposed to have been killed, although I believe the exact date isn’t recorded. I’ll have to do research.” She closed her eyes in thought. “After the naval battle at Actium, when Antony was defeated by Octavian, he fled back to Egypt. Cleopatra was there with Caesarion, who she had claimed from birth was the son of Caesar and heir.” “Was he?” Moms asked.

Even in the grimmest of enterprises there are tension breakers. At one point, the tabloid National Enquirer ran a story headlined “Bush and Saddam Are Cousins” and offered genealogical “proof” that not only was George Bush related to the queen of England, but “Hussein and President Bush share a common ancestry dating back at least to the crusades.” This news prompted the President to circulate a memo to the national security team that said, “No decisions I make will be affected by my relationship with Saddam Hussein. The Queen and I would have it no other way.

After several years of channeling, [my spirit guide,] Orin told me that he wanted to teach me about the future and probably realities. For a period of several months, he gave me various preditions which came true. Several times he gave me exact newspaper headlines and dates, several months prior to their occurring. All the predictions centered around mass events. In all these events he would point out that they were already being set up, envisioned and planned by those in charge and he was only projecting events by reading the mass mind and probably outcomes. He told me that large scale event are easier to predict because they have energy lines from mass consciousness set up many months in advance. The psychic weight of these events, the mass agreement around them, the numbers of people involved, make it much harde to stop or change such events. One person can change his mind and thus change his future easily; but an event affecting many people is not usually altered by just one person changing his mind.

The Happiest Story about a Kid Dying of Cancer I’ve Ever Seen.” Upworthy watched the “feedback” pour in, monitoring both the percentage of people who clicked each headline and the number who shared it with their friends. It was a perfect, dispassionate science experiment, where the feedback could show Upworthy editors exactly which packaging would have the biggest impact—before they released it to the rest of the world. In moments, the results became clear: people clicked on the third headline 20 percent more often than the original. But that wasn’t the end of the test. Upworthy wrote alternate versions of the winning headline and sent it out to several other groups. It repeated the process a ruthless 18 times, for a total of 75 variations in all. Here are a few of the contenders: Headline % Lift We Lost This Kid 80 Years Too Early. I’m Glad He Went Out with a Bang 0% I Cried Through This Entire Video. That’s OK Though, Because This Kid’s Life Was Wonderful + 9% The Happiest Story about a Kid Dying of Cancer I’ve Ever Seen + 28% RIP Amazing Rock Star Teenager Who Punched Cancer in the Face with Love on the Way Out + 65% Cancer Wasn’t a Death Sentence for This Kid. It Was a Wake Up Call. -22% Her Parents Asked, “Would You Date Him If He Didn’t Have Cancer?” So There Ya Go. + 75% This Kid Just Died. What He Left Behind Is Wonderful. + 96% In the end, Upworthy tweaked the winning headline one more time: Headline % Lift This Kid Just Died. What He Left Behind Is Wondtacular. + 116%

A random check of the ombudsmen appointed at the centre, or states, indicates that a majority are retired persons from the judiciary or the administrative services. It can safely be assured that these appointees had not caused any inconveniences to the appointing government during their service, and managed the media by doling out catchy phrases and dramatic headlines, not necessarily reflecting the truth. Recall the corruption of the former minister for telecommunications, Sukhram. Has anyone discovered till date how and why N. Vittal, his secretary, failed to prevent his minister from indulging in corrupt practices? Subsequently, the same Vittal was appointed as central vigilance commissioner.

My wife and I can't recall how many years we've been married, but we'll never forget our first backpacking trip together. We'd just begun dating and I was her trail-hardened outdoorsman, a knight in shining Cordura, the guy who could handle any wilderness emergency. She was my...well, let's just say I was bent on making a good impression. This was her first backpacking experience and I wanted to have many more with her as my hiking partner. I'd checked and double-checked everything--trail conditions, equipment, weather forecast. I even bought a new stove for the occasion. We set off under overcast skies with packs loaded and spirits high. There was precipitation in the forecast, but it was November and too early for snow, I assured her. (Did I mention that we were just a few miles south of Mount Washington, home to the worst, most unpredictable weather in the Northeast?) As we climbed the few thousand feet up a granite ridge, the trail steadily steepened and we strained a bit under our loads. On top, a gentle breeze pushed a fluffy, light snowfall. The flakes were big and chunky, the kind you chase with your mouth open. Certainly no threat, I told her matter-of-factly. After a few miles, the winds picked up and the snowflakes thickened into a swirling soup. The trail all but dissolved into a wall of white, so I pulled out my compass to locate the three-sided shelter that was to be our base for the night. Eventually we found it, tucked alongside a gurgling freshet. The winds were roaring no, so I pitched our tent inside the shelter for added protection. It was a tight fit, with the tent door only two feet from the log end-wall, but at least we were out of the snowy gale. To ward off the cold and warm my fair belle, I pulled my glittering stove from its pouch, primed it, and confidently christened the burner with a match. She was awestruck by my backwoods wizardry. Color me smug and far too confident. That's when I noticed it: what appeared to be water streaming down the side of the stove. My new cooker's white-gas fuel was bathing the stove base. It was also drenching the tent floor between us and the doorway--the doorway that was zipped tightly shut. A headline flashed through my mind: "Brainless Hikers Toasted in White Mountains." The stove burst into flames that ran up the tent wall. I grabbed a wet sock, clutched the stove base with one hand, and unzipped the tent door with the other. I heaved the hissing fireball through the opening, assuming that was the end of the episode, only to hear a thud as it hit the shelter wall before bouncing back inside to melt some more nylon. My now fairly unimpressed belle grabbed a pack towel and doused the inferno. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, while I swallowed a pound of three of pride. We went on to have a thoroughly disastrous outing. The weather pounded us into submission. A full day of storm later with no letup in sight, we decided to hike out. Fortunately, that slippery, slithery descent down a snowed-up, iced-over trail was merely the end of our first backpacking trip together and not our relationship. --John Viehman