Hello Kitty Quotes

You look ridiculous,” Wren said. “What?” “That shirt.” It was a Hello Kitty shirt from eighth or ninth grade. Hello Kitty dressed as a superhero. It said SUPER CAT on the back, and Wren had added an H with fabric paint. The shirt was cropped too short to begin with, and it didn’t really fit anymore. Cath pulled it down self-consciously. “Cath!” her dad shouted from downstairs. “Phone.” Cath picked up her cell phone and looked at it “He must mean the house phone,” Wren said. “Who calls the house phone?” “Probably 2005. I think it wants its shirt back.

At 7:45, I was in the bathroom putting on some mascara when Jenna slipped in wearing an outfit that I can only describe as Hello Kitty Goes Goth.

The pyjamas have cats on them. I am informed that these cats belong to an organisation called Hello Kitty.

On a Creep Scale from Hello Kitty to Cthulhu, I award it a Freddy Krueger. Granuaile MacTiernan

That’s Carlos?” Phineas lowered his sword and whistled under his breath. “Hello, kitty.

Jenna slipped in wearing an outfit that I can only describe as Hello Kitty Goes Goth.

Nothing drives home a win more absolutely for the Sanctuary than a severed head delivered in a Hello Kitty box, topped with a big gingham bow.

Yo mama so ugly even Hello Kitty said good bye.

You can always count on an asshole to be an asshole.

Ever since they invented Hello Kitty, the world hasn't been the same. You can safely chart the rise of The Culture of Cute since that flat-faced skank started showing up everywhere.

I make jewelry. I drink caramel machiattos. I wear Hello Kitty to bed. Of course I love romantic comedies,' I said with a smile as we neared my house. But I didn’t just love them. I wanted to live within them. I wanted a love like in the movies.

She kissed Mitch on the forehead. “Hello, pretty kitty.

I wanted to shut myself in my room, collapse on my bed, and figure out what the Hello Kitty had happened that afternoon.

The equation Bubble Tea = Something to Look Forward To depressurizes the misery of capitalism and is a Hello Kitty band-aid on the festering wound of Neo-Liberalism.

I think about pasta in the shape of Hello Kitty, stockings with diamond seams up the back, Marilyn's crumbling cake-mascara, and Liz Taylor's new white hair. I haven't got time for the trivials.

I’m as bouge as the next person. My mother was a waitress and my father was a bartender. People think I went to Yale and shit, because I have a vocabulary and I wear a suit. I wear a suit because I aspire to wear a fuckin’ suit. I didn’t work my whole fuckin’ life to wear a Hello Kitty fuckin’ wifebeater up here.

She looks like she just saw a ghost, a unicorn, and Hello Kitty having a three-way in a clown car and they didn’t invite her. I

Most twenty-four-year-old women I know sleep in something more revealing. Something more adult." I raised my eyebrows. "There is nothing wrong with my Hello Kitty T-shirt." It was thin and comfortable, and it reached to my mid-thigh, which meant that if I had to get up in the middle of the night to dispatch any intruders, I'd do it with my butt covered and modesty intact. Sean frowned. "Sure, if you're five. Got a touch of arrested development happening there?" Argh.

But I didn't want to be anyone's green card ticket, meal ticket, cook, washing lady, housemaid, personal masseuse, baby machine, regularly-scheduled-hole in the mattress. Only to end up dead, discarded, buried in a ditch somewhere, dumped into the big, blue sea, all used up. Boys should just stay home and fuck their mothers.

We were supposed to meet Nick and Daisy by the back entrance (wherever that was) at eight. At 7:45, I was in the bathroom putting on some mascara when Jenna slipped in wearing an outfit that I can only describe as Hello Kitty Goes Goth.

Richards remembered the day - that glorious and terrible day - watching the planes slam into the towers, the image repeated in endless loops. The fireballs, the bodies falling, the liquefaction of a billion tons of steel and concrete, the pillowing clouds of dust. The money shot of the new millennium, the ultimate reality show broadcast 24-7. Richards had been in Jakarta when it happened, he couldn't even remember why. He'd thought it right then; no, he'd felt it, right down to his bones. A pure, unflinching rightness. You had to give the military something to do of course, or they'd all just fucking shoot each other. But from that day forward, the old way of doing things was over. The war - the real war, the one that had been going on for a thousand years and would go on for a thousand thousand more - the war between Us and Them, between the Haves and the Have-Nots, between my gods and your gods, whoever you are - would be fought by men like Richards: men with faces you didn't notice and couldn't remember, dressed as busboys or cab drivers or mailmen, with silencers tucked up their sleeves. It would be fought by young mothers pushing ten pounds of C-4 in baby strollers and schoolgirls boarding subways with vials of sarin hidden in their Hello Kitty backpacks. It would be fought out of the beds of pickup trucks and blandly anonymous hotel rooms near airports and mountain caves near nothing at all; it would be waged on train platforms and cruise ships, in malls and movie theaters and mosques, in country and in city, in darkness and by day. It would be fought in the name of Allah or Kurdish nationalism or Jews for Jesus or the New York Yankees - the subjects hadn't changed, they never would, all coming down, after you'd boiled away the bullshit, to somebody's quarterly earnings report and who got to sit where - but now the war was everywhere, metastasizing like a million maniac cells run amok across the planet, and everyone was in it.

She looks extra comfy in her pink pajama bottoms and gray Hello Kitty tank top, and I’m glad I wore my sweats and a loose T-shirt, otherwise I’d be asking to borrow some of her pj’s. That’s how you know you have a best friend on your hands. Regular friends invite you over and ask if you’d like water or coffee or something. Best friends offer you their favorite raspberry soda and their comfiest clean pajamas. Best friends can meet up after not speaking for a while, as if nothing happened.

Same shit, different toilet.

Not so much Hello Kitty as Hell No Kitty.

You’ve got little cats on your gun,” Edgar Lowes said. “Hello Kitty stickers,” she said. “I count coup.

On a Creep Scale from Hello Kitty to Cthulhu, I award it a Freddy Krueger.

It's the same affect of your mom putting on one of those flesh tone Band-Aids when you really wanted a hello Kitty one. It did the job, but that was about it

One thing I don’t know is why you’re drinking coffee from a Hello Kitty thermos.” Cletus sounded both interested and irked. “And why haven’t you bought one for me? You know I like that Hello Kitty.

His own daughters constantly presented him with a mathematical impossibility, one minute running around the house wearing pajamas covered in images of the blankly staring Hello, Kitty, the next minute announcing they had dates who would be picking them up at seven. He believed his daughters were not old enough to date and yet clearly by the standards of this country they were old enough to be members of a terrorist organization

The Professor noted two nymphs with strawberries on their heads, a DayGlo Amish lady, a mustachioed man in a rainbow apron. He wrote Saturday Night Fever, then crossed it out and wrote Drag Ball + Bollywood and underlined it twice.

The war—the real war, the one that had been going on for a thousand years and would go on for a thousand thousand more—the war between Us and Them, between the Haves and the Have-Nots, between my gods and your gods, whoever you are—would be fought by men like Richards: men with faces you didn’t notice and couldn’t remember, dressed as busboys or cab drivers or mailmen, with silencers tucked up their sleeves. It would be fought by young mothers pushing ten pounds of C-4 in baby strollers and schoolgirls boarding subways with vials of sarin hidden in their Hello Kitty backpacks. It would be fought out of the beds of pickup trucks and blandly anonymous hotel rooms near airports and mountain caves near nothing at all; it would be waged on train platforms and cruise ships, in malls and movie theaters and mosques, in country and in city, in darkness and by day. It would be fought in the name of Allah or Kurdish nationalism or Jews for Jesus or the New York Yankees—the subjects hadn’t changed, they never would, all coming down, after you’d boiled away the bullshit, to somebody’s quarterly earnings report and who got to sit where—but now the war was everywhere, metastasizing like a million maniac cells run amok across the planet, and everyone was in it.

you have a superhero as a teacher you can't get away with anything.

I hate Hello Kitty. I hate her for not having a mouth or fangs like a proper kitty. She can’t eat, bite off a nipple or finger, give head, tell anyone to go and fuck his mother or lick herself. She has no eyebrows, so she can’t look angry. She can’t even scratch your eyes out. Just clawless, fangless, voiceless, with that placid, blank expression topped by a pink ribbon.

He'd made her see that she'd been living on the edges of life, existing rather than embracing its bountiful richness in technicolour. He'd plunged her head first into a storm of sensations and emotions; a mental shredding of an old, dull skin; a seductive invitation. 'Hello, come with me, let me show you somewhere bigger, more dazzling, more truly alive.

Tell me you didn’t really watch Nausicaa.” Miho tried to keep a serious face, which must have been difficult enough in her flannel Hello Kitty pajamas. But the girl was a terrible liar. She smirked. “No. Kiki just ended. So much for our Miyazaki marathon.” “We got through two movies,” Sakura said. “Tonight, that’s a marathon.” They’d wanted to watch movies tonight, just to clear their minds, and had agreed on nothing violent. All three of them loved the films of Miyazaki, who had become perhaps the most successful director in Japan while making only animated films. Kara had vetoed Howl’s Moving Castle because she’d seen it too recently, and they had all seen My Neighbor Totoro far too many times, so they had started with Spirited Away.

What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Kitty presses. “Shouldn’t you know if you’re somebody’s girlfriend or not?” “We haven’t discussed it yet. I mean, not explicitly.” Kitty switches the channel. “You should look into that.” I roll on my side and prop myself up on my elbow. “But would that change anything? I mean, we like each other. What’s the difference between that and the label? What would change?” Kitty doesn’t answer. “Hello?” “Sorry, can you say that again at the commercial break? I’m trying to watch my show.” I throw a pillow at her head. “I would be better off discussing these things with Jamie.” I clap my hands. “C’mere, Jamie!” Jamie lifts his head to look at me and then lies back down again, nestled against Kitty’s side, still hoping for pudding, I’m sure.

A child kicked me. “What the fuck?” I said, looking down and seeing a young Chinese girl with a vinyl Hello Kitty knapsack. She laughed, and then she kicked me again, harder. I looked at her parents, but they both had dead, distant faces. The resigned expressions of older parents who had accidentally had a child, late in life. No doubt their little girl had kicked them both senseless, and now they were oblivious. But I was not oblivious. And I was not amused. “Stop that,” I said, leaning down and speaking into the top of her head. “Don’t kick.” She kicked again. The little fucker. I bent down. “Do you speak English?” I asked, sweetly. I smiled. “Do you speak English, you little cutie pie?” She nodded, gave a little giggle, and then stepped on my toes, which were exposed through the straps of my sandals. I immediately stopped smiling and narrowed my eyes. I whispered, “You kick me one more time you little cocksucker, and once we get on the boat, I’ll push your mother into the ocean, and she’ll die. And then I’ll hurt your daddy. And then I’ll be your new daddy, and I’ll take you home with me.” She moved quickly to the other side of her parents, where she kept a wary, silent eye on me. “Next time people ask if we’re ever going to have kids, I think I’ll tell them this little story,” Dennis said. “What?” I said, indignant. “She’s a horrible, spoiled little bitch.” “She’s just a little girl,” he said. I laughed. “Little girl, my ass. She’s a little Chinese dragon.” Dennis rolled his eyes, and we finally boarded the glass-bottom boat.

What did Kavinsky say about it?” Chris asks me. “Nothing yet. He’s still at lacrosse practice.” My phone immediately starts to buzz, and the three of us look at each other, wide-eyed. Margot picks it up and looks at it. “It’s Peter!” She hot-potatoes the phone to me. “Let’s give them some privacy,” she says, nudging Chris. Chris shrugs her off. I ignore both of them and answer the phone. “Hello.” My voice comes out thin as a reed. Peter starts talking fast. “Okay, I’ve seen the video, and the first thing I’m going to say to you is don’t freak out.” He’s breathing hard; it sounds like he’s running. “Don’t freak out? How can I not? This is terrible. Do you know what they’re all saying about me in the comments? That I’m a slut. They think we’re having sex in that video, Peter.” “Never read the comments, Covey! That’s the first rule of--” “If you say ‘Fight Club’ to me right now, I will hang up on you.” “Sorry. Okay, I know it sucks but--” “It doesn’t ‘suck.’ It’s a literal nightmare. My most private moment, for everybody to see. I’m completely humiliated. The things people are saying--” My voice breaks. Kitty and Margot and Chris are all looking at me with sad eyes, which makes me feel even sadder. “Don’t cry, Lara Jean. Please don’t cry. I promise you I’m going to fix this. I’m going to get whoever runs Anonybitch to take it down.” “How? We don’t even know who they are! And besides, I bet our whole school’s seen it by now. Teachers, too. I know for a fact that teachers look at Anonybitch. I was in the faculty lounge once and I overheard Mr. Filipe and Ms. Ryan saying how bad it makes our school look. And what about college admission boards and our future employers?” Peter guffaws. “Future employers? Covey, I’ve seen much worse. Hell, I’ve seen worse pictures of me on here. Remember that picture of me with my head in a toilet bowl, and I’m naked?” I shudder. “I never saw that picture. Besides, that’s you; that’s not me. I don’t do that kind of stuff.” “Just trust me, okay? I promise I’ll take care of it.” I nod, even though I know he can’t see me. Peter is powerful. If anyone could fix such a thing, it would be him. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Coach is gonna kick my ass if he sees me on the phone. I’ll call you tonight, okay? Don’t go to sleep.” I don’t want to hang up. I wish we could talk longer. “Okay,” I whisper. When I hang up, Margot, Chris, and Kitty are all three staring at me. “Well?” Chris says. “He says he’ll take care of it.” Smugly Kitty says, “I told you so.” “What does that even mean, ‘he’ll take care of it’?” Margot asks. “He hasn’t exactly proven himself to be responsible.” “It’s not his fault,” Kitty and I say at the same time.

Another howl ruptured the quiet, still too far away to be a threat. The Beast Lord, the leader, the alpha male, had to enforce his position as much by will as by physical force. He would have to answer any challenges to his rule, so it was unlikely that he turned into a wolf. A wolf would have little chance against a cat. Wolves hunted in a pack, bleeding their victim and running them into exhaustion, while cats were solitary killing machines, designed to murder swiftly and with deadly precision. No, the Beast Lord would have to be a cat, a jaguar or a leopard. Perhaps a tiger, although all known cases of weretigers occurred in Asia and could be counted without involving toes. I had heard a rumor of the Kodiak of Atlanta, a legend of an enormous, battle-scarred bear roaming the streets in search of Pack criminals. The Pack, like any social organization, had its lawbreakers. The Kodiak was their Executioner. Perhaps his Majesty turned into a bear. Damn. I should have brought some honey. My left leg was tiring. I shifted from foot to foot . . . A low, warning growl froze me in midmove. It came from the dark gaping hole in the building across the street and rolled through the ruins, awakening ancient memories of a time when humans were pathetic, hairless creatures cowering by the weak flame of the first fire and scanning the night with frightened eyes, for it held monstrous hungry killers. My subconscious screamed in panic. I held it in check and cracked my neck, slowly, one side then another. A lean shadow flickered in the corner of my eye. On the left and above me a graceful jaguar stretched on the jutting block of concrete, an elegant statue encased in the liquid metal of moonlight. Homo Panthera onca. The killer who takes its prey in a single bound. Hello, Jim. The jaguar looked at me with amber eyes. Feline lips stretched in a startlingly human smirk. He could laugh if he wanted. He didn’t know what was at stake. Jim turned his head and began washing his paw. My saber firmly in hand, I marched across the street and stepped through the opening. The darkness swallowed me whole. The lingering musky scent of a cat hit me. So, not a bear after all. Where was he? I scanned the building, peering into the gloom. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the walls, creating a mirage of twilight and complete darkness. I knew he was watching me. Enjoying himself. Diplomacy was never my strong suit and my patience had run dry. I crouched and called out, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” Two golden eyes ignited at the opposite wall. A shape stirred within the darkness and rose, carrying the eyes up and up and up until they towered above me. A single enormous paw moved into the moonlight, disturbing the dust on the filthy floor. Wicked claws shot forth and withdrew. A massive shoulder followed, its gray fur marked by faint smoky stripes. The huge body shifted forward, coming at me, and I lost my balance and fell on my ass into the dirt. Dear God, this wasn’t just a lion. This thing had to be at least five feet at the shoulder. And why was it striped? The colossal cat circled me, half in the light, half in the shadow, the dark mane trembling as he moved. I scrambled to my feet and almost bumped into the gray muzzle. We looked at each other, the lion and I, our gazes level. Then I twisted around and began dusting off my jeans in a most undignified manner. The lion vanished into a dark corner. A whisper of power pulsed through the room, tugging at my senses. If I did not know better, I would say that he had just changed. “Kitty, kitty?” asked a level male voice. I jumped. No shapechanger went from a beast into a human without a nap. Into a midform, yes, but beast-men had trouble talking. “Yeah,” I said. “You’ve caught me unprepared. Next time I’ll bring cream and catnip toys.” “If there is a next time.

Firms don’t like Outcasts. They are not a “good fit.

Hello Kitty

my teeth, washed my face, and walked back down the hall to my bedroom when I bumped into Bryan. “Sorry,” he said, then glanced at my tank top, and lingered with his eyes a little longer than he should. I didn’t mind, but when he realized what he was doing, he looked up. “You like Hello Kitty?” “Uh, yeah,” I said, thrown off by his remark. “That’s really cute.” His lips quirked up. “Really?” I couldn’t tell if

No wonder we Americans are so in love with our serial killers, the epitome of freedom and power. As a nation of fast cars, fast food, and perfect teeth, we are obsessed with the ones who possess complete freedom from fear, remorse, and conscience. America enjoys the prestige of having the longest list of these creatures and has spawned some of the finest specimens in the world.

Bundy was right. All you have to do is comb your hair and wear a suit and you can be one crazy motherfucker. And get away with it.

I actually like what the pain represents. The physicality of life. The feeling that an actual soul inhabits this shell of flesh and bone. When you are in good health, you don’t feel your body. You walk around inside it, but you don’t feel it. It’s only when something is wrong that you feel anything.

Hello.” Sara’s soft, sexy voice sounded on the other end.  “Mitch?” “Yeah?” Forgoing pleasantries and getting right to the point, she said, “My kitty stopped purring.  I think it needs to be resuscitated.” 

And this T-shirt…Baby, you’re holy-shit-kinda-hot in Hello Kitty.

Yo mama is so ugly… I told her to take out the trash and we never saw her again!   Yo mama is so ugly… even Hello Kitty said goodbye!

Not Cub," I say.  "I'm not Cub.  I'm Adanna." Nico

What? You haven’t named your wahoo?” “No.” She giggles again. “ Well, maybe you should. Start calling your bat-cave She-Ra Princess of Power and you’ll jumpstart that motor of yours in record speed. Or maybe Hello Kitty? Delilah? Jaws? Any of those speak to you?

Ilmselt aitas sulandumisele kaasa ka see, et lasteaias käib Susanna, kes on nelja-aastane linalakk eesti piiga. Aga kasvatajad ei luba neil väga eesti keeles rääkida - ikka inglise keel on siin ainus ametlik keel ning selles oskab Nele öelda "hello", "thank you" ja "Hello Kitty".

Mama. He's a genius, I think, but he doesn't make sense half the time! It's because he is powerful, I think, but Papa is powerful and isn't nearly as--as strange as Nico is!" "Kitty," Mama says, "why don't you spend more time with them this week? Find out more about what's happening before you jump to conclusions? Ask questions! Consider it--consider it your first spy mission as a prospective super villain! Learn their habits and weaknesses and choose which would make the best nemesis for you. Just as Max and Trent are battling now, if you become a super villain wouldn't it be wonderful to have someone you can go up against on a regular basis? Your father still tells stories of his battles

Immediately I felt better – physically, at least. The silvery wriggles disappeared from my vision and my body seemed to firm up around me. I realized I was still draped against Shinobu like a fainting maiden and made an effort to straighten up as I remembered what I looked like right now. Heat flooded my face.   He saw, didn’t he? Shinobu saw. Everyone saw.   Why did it have to be my Hello Kitty underwear?   It seemed safer to concentrate on the humiliation than … well, anything else. Like the enormity of what I had just witnessed. The sword’s power. What it had just done to me. What it might mean for us all. There was certainly plenty of humiliation to occupy me; I was going to be embarrassed by this when I was a hundred and five. Shinobu’s gaze was aimed at me like a searchlight and I didn’t know where to look.

I loved that there were cat symbols everywhere: feline figurines in window storefronts, cat posters, and cat ads. Even the construction signs were cats- pink-and-white Hello Kitty figures hanging off barriers, to keep pedestrians from stumbling into holes in the road.

Elizabeth comes up behind Talis. If Talis is unGoth, then Elizabeth is Ballerina Goth. She likes hearts and skulls and black pen-ink tattoos, pink tulle, and Hello Kitty. When the woman who invented Hello Kitty was asked why Hello Kitty was so popular, she said, “Because she has no mouth.” Elizabeth’s mouth is small. Her lips are chapped.

We can pass out small pistols, which will lovingly fit into the palms of their hands. It’s a compromise position because their little fingers aren’t developed enough to fully grip high-powered automatic weapons. It would also make them familiar with the gun manufacturers’ products and open up a whole new market. They can be sold in wild colors that blink, make siren noises, and say things like the gun goes boom, B…O…O…M, to help them learn to read. How about Hello Kitty revolvers or Teletubbies automatics? Maybe they can implant little guns, for the unborn, while they’re in utero.

I was a friend to her family of a distanced long verse.

Inside, there was a small plush Hello Kitty holding an apple in one hand and a book in the other. She was a teacher.

Or for quiet, blissful adventures, read a book...

Janganlah pernah menilai seseorang dari penampilannya, karena setiap penampilan bisa saja menipu dan bermuka dua. Terkadang orang yang melihat penampilan yang seadanya tampak berbeda langsung mengira tak punya apa-apa, padahal tidak tahu tampangnya saja seperti bandit hatinya hello kitty

After a few months of giving each other space so we could each do our own soul searching, I got a text from him asking if I'd like to smoke weed and go to a Hello Kitty art exhibit. How can you NOT reconcile with someone in that environment?

In my humble, probably wrong, select-all-delete opinion, we womenfolk today are faced with a decision: Salem or Barbie. We can either rip off the internal trapdoor that your Alanis Plath of Arc has been suffocating under or cement over it and instead luxuriate in a Hello Kitty porny Instagram-filtered cell where the validation is better than heroin and the thoughts are shorter than Mickey Rooney. (HEY-YO!)

The next morning, I consider stopping by Meredith's, but I chicken out and walk to breakfast by myself. At least I know where the cafeteria is (Day Two: Life Skills Seminars). I double-check for my meal card and pop open my Hello Kitty umbrella. It's drizzling. The weather doesn't give a crap that it's my first day of school.

They revoked that after you made a Hello Kitty gender-bend cosplay costume.

My EX5 is spray-painted a teal green, and my seats are upholstered with Hello Kitty on the pillion cover. That's my girl and I'm not ashamed of her. ... They say it takes a real man to like Hello Kitty, and I'm a real man.

When you find your path, and you find your one, there’s no reason for drama. When you’re ready to accept it into your life, happiness is right there waiting for you.

She was a skinny sixth grader with long brown hair and this look to her, cold-blooded. Carrying around at all times a Hello Kitty backpack that she looked ready to bludgeon you with, then tote around your head inside.

The weapon she had used to end her young life fell from her stiff hand. It​ was​ Hello Kitty branded.

She was a skinny sixth grader with long brown hair and this look to her, cold-blooded. Carrying around at all times a Hello Kitty backpack that she looked ready to bludgeon you with, then tote around your head inside. Getting to the bottom of all that was going to take some time.

Because nothing shouts I’m an adult with serious emotional baggage better than Hello motherfucking Kitty.

Adriel’s beautiful, gray eyes widen with her grin, and I snort. “I can’t say that I have.” She lifts ‘Optimus Bunny Boo’, a rabbit-legged Bratz doll wearing the head of one of my old Transformers. As she shifts around, her Hello Kitty panties flash at me, swelling up my throat. My face burns hot, and even though my stomach turns in embarrassment, I wish I had the courage to ask her to spread her legs wider so I can see…

Hello Kitty.

Oh my god." Isabel's eyes flared when I spilled the beans to her. She wore pink Hello Kitty lounge pants, a black T-shirt, and nibbled the chocolate from a Dove bar. "You did what?

The city is an agoric-annealing participatory democracy with a limited liability constitution. Its current executive agency is a weakly godlike intelligence that chooses to associate with human-equivalent intelligences: This agency is colloquially known as “Hello Kitty,” “Beautiful Cat,” or “Aineko,” and may manifest itself in a variety of physical avatars if corporeal interaction is desired. (Prior to the arrival of “Hello Kitty,” the city used a variety of human-designed expert systems that provided suboptimal performance.) The city’s mission statement is to provide a mediatory environment for human-equivalent intelligences and to preserve same in the face of external aggression. Citizens are encouraged to participate in the ongoing political processes of determining such responses. Citizens also have a duty to serve on a jury if called (including senatorial service), and to defend the city.

The residents blamed the "Gahmen", naturally. Since the explosion of social media, those "Gahmen" guys have been blamed for everything from HDB flat prices to the price of oil, climate change, the shortage of Hello Kitty dolls and kids not clearing their trays away at hawker centres.

She then slapped a Hello Kitty bandage over the cotton

One entire wall was taken up by Hello Kitty merchandising. HK was interspersed throughout the whole room, but one entire wall had only Hello Kitty-branded objects. Backpacks, dresses, hats, ears, lunchboxes, decorative flowers, dog leashes, cat leashes, surface-to-air missiles, elder signs, sex toys, poker visors, hash pipes, soccer balls, blue balls, chainsaws, black books of diabolical import – you name it, it was branded with Hello Kitty or one of the associated characters. I saw what must have been a homemade green sculpture of Cthulhu that someone had replaced the Old One’s ugly mug with the mouthless cuteness of Hello Kitty. He and I stared at each other for one long and foreboding moment. The stars were indeed right.

Were you spying on someone?” Darren asks, finally sitting in the chair next to me and pointing at the open compact on the table. “What? Oh, no.” I laugh, snapping it shut and pulling it and the journal closer to me. “It’s nothing.” “You’re awfully secretive with your diary.” He says the word diary with a childish tone to it, as if the cover of mine has a picture of Hello Kitty emblazoned on it. “What are you hiding?” He reaches for it but I’m faster. “It’s just this project for my friend,” I say, hoping he’ll leave it at that yet knowing he has the power to make me say anything he wants. He stares at me and waves his hand for me to continue. “My best friend, Morgan, gave this to me at the airport when she dropped me off. She had me write a list of goals for the summer, and she also cooked up assignments for me to do.” He raises an eyebrow. “She added schoolwork to your schoolwork?” I laugh his joke away. “It’s sweet. They’re just silly things mostly, like writing a haiku, getting on a vessel of the public transportation system and getting off at a random stop to explore--which is the one I was working on when I saw you the second time, by the way.” “I guess I should thank this Morgan girl.” “But I didn’t even talk to you then. It was just a wave and POOF. Gone.” “Even so. It was a memorable wave.

One day one of the elevators was out of order because of a technical hitch. It gave rise to a line stretching as far as the eye could see. Having to wait their turn does not bring out the best in our residents: there’s a great deal of pushing, shoving, ankle bashing, and cursing. Bakker: “Goddamned crap elevator!” Not exactly a good title for the latest Hello Kitty book. There were shocked, indignant glares and some oohing and tsk-tsking.

She looks like she just saw a ghost, a unicorn, and Hello Kitty having a three-way in a clown car and they didn’t invite her.

Van was a type-two sysadmin, over six feet tall, long ponytail, bobbing Adam’s apple. Over his toast-rack chest, his tee said CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON and featured a row of polyhedral RPG dice. Felix was a type-one admin, with an extra seventy or eighty pounds all around the middle, and a neat but full beard that he wore over his extra chins. His tee said HELLO CTHULHU and featured a cute, mouthless, Hello Kitty–style Cthulhu.

Yo mama is so ugly… they had to feed her with a Frisbee! Yo mama is so ugly… when she watches TV the channels change themselves! Yo mama is so ugly… she looks like she has been bobbing for apples in hot grease! Yo mama is so ugly… they passed a law saying she could only do online shopping! Yo mama is so ugly… she looked in the mirror and her reflection committed suicide! Yo mama is so ugly… even homeless people won’t take her money! Yo mama is so ugly… she’s the reason blind dates were invented! Yo mama is so ugly… even a pit-bull wouldn’t bite her! Yo mama is so ugly… she scares the paint off the wall! Yo mama is so ugly… she scares roaches away! Yo mama is so ugly… she looked out the window and got arrested! Yo mama is so ugly… she had to get a prescription mirror! Yo mama is so ugly… bullets refuse to kill her! Yo mama is so ugly… for Halloween she trick-or-treats on the phone! Yo mama is so ugly… when she plays Mortal Kombat, Scorpion says, “Stay over there!” Yo mama is so ugly… I told her to take out the trash and we never saw her again! Yo mama is so ugly… even Hello Kitty said goodbye! Yo mama is so ugly… even Rice Krispies won't talk to her! Yo mama is so ugly… that your father takes her to work with him so that he doesn't have to kiss her goodbye. Yo mama is so ugly… she made the Devil go to church! Yo mama is so ugly… she made an onion cry. Yo mama is so ugly… when she walks down the street in September, people say “Wow, is it Halloween already?” Yo mama is so ugly… she is the reason that Sonic the Hedgehog runs! Yo mama is so ugly… The NHL banned her for life. Yo mama is so ugly… she scared the crap out of a toilet! Yo mama is so ugly… she turned Medusa to stone! Yo mama is so ugly… her pillow cries at night! Yo mama is so ugly… she tried to take a bath and the water jumped out! Yo mama is so ugly… she gets 364 extra days to dress up for Halloween. Yo mama is so ugly… people put pictures of her on their car to prevent theft! Yo mama is so ugly… her mother had to be drunk to breast feed her! Yo mama is so ugly… instead of putting the bungee cord around her ankle, they put it around her neck. Yo mama is so ugly… when they took her to the beautician it took 24 hours for a quote! Yo mama is so ugly… they didn't give her a costume when she tried out for Star Wars. Yo mama is so ugly… just after she was born, her mother said, “What a treasure!” And her father said, “Yes, let's go bury it!” Yo mama is so ugly… her mom had to tie a steak around her neck to get the dogs to play with her. Yo mama is so ugly… when she joined an ugly contest, they said, “Sorry, no professionals.” Yo mama is so ugly… they had to feed her with a slingshot! Yo mama is so ugly… that she scares blind people! Yo mama is so ugly… when she walks into a bank they turn off the surveillance cameras. Yo mama is so ugly… she got beat up by her imaginary friends! Yo mama is so ugly… the government moved Halloween to her birthday.

Kitty’s been running around with her friends, and she’s deigned to help me out at the cake walk for an hour when Peter walks in with his little brother, Owen. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is playing. Kitty goes over to say hello, while I busy myself looking at my phone as she’s showing them the cakes. I’ve got my head down, pretend-texting, when Peter comes up beside me. “Which cake is yours? The coconut one?” My head snaps up. “I would never buy a grocery-store cake for this.” “I was joking, Covey. Yours is the caramel one. I can tell by the way you frosted it so fancy.

You go to hell, man. You go to hell and you die.

Without a word, I leaned down to collect my things. We carried pencil boxes back then. Mine was pink with Hello Kitty characters and full of sharpened yellow #2s. I grabbed one, stood up, and jammed it into the side of her head. The pencil splintered and part of it lodged in her neck. Syd started screaming and the other kids understandably lost it. Meanwhile, I was in a daze. The pressure was gone. But, unlike every other time I’d done something bad, my physical attack on Syd had resulted in something different, a sort of euphoria. I walked away from the scene blissfully at ease. For weeks I’d been engaging in all manner of subversive behavior to make the pressure disappear and none of it had worked. But now—with that one violent act—all traces of pressure were eradicated. Not just gone but replaced by a deep sense of peace. It was like I’d discovered a fast track to tranquility, one that was equal parts efficacy and madness. None of it made sense, but I didn’t care. I wandered around in a stupor for a while. Then I went home and calmly told my mom what had happened.