Hoho Quotes

He is quiet for a minute, then turns his head to look at me. "Where were you when I was twelve?" "Well, I was nine." I cut my eyes over to him. "And probably locked in the back of a Ho-Ho truck, eating my way to freedom. Yeah, that really happened.

Look, calling somebody in a wheelchair handicapable doesn`t all of a sudden give them the power to climb stairs or the ability to grab Ho-Hos off the top shelf.

These are the end products of the Masterminds of Safety and Ethics, bulked up on cheese that contains no cheese, chips fried in oil that isn’t really oil, overcooked gray disks of what might once upon a time have been meat, a steady diet of Ho-Hos and muffins, butterless popcorn, sugarless soda, flavorless light beer. A docile, uncomprehending herd, led slowly to a dumb, lingering, and joyless slaughter.

I learned a lot that night—like how incredibly mind blowing ho-hos and wine coolers were together, how that you could discover the answers to life’s most difficult questions by watching Buffy, but most of all, that no matter what was going on in life—a best friend could make it all seem bearable.

Is there anything sweet? Cake? Cookies? A motherfucking HoHo?

IV THE HO-HO WIZARD

Ho,ho! İlya sen şairmişsin be!" "Evet,hayat konusunda şairim,çünkü hayat bir şiirdir.Onu insanlar mahvediyor.

On Claud, though, the look is very cool.) For example, today she was wearing a neon green tank top under a white oversized man’s shirt and fuschia pink stirrup pants. The shirt was rolled at the sleeves and belted with a colorful woven belt. Claud finished the outfit with dangly ceramic-bead earrings she’d made herself in pottery class. She’s super artistic. She paints, sketches, draws, sculpts. You name it! Besides art and cool clothing, Claudia loves junk food. Her parents disapprove of Ho-Ho’s and Twinkies and stuff like that, so she hides them all over her room. You never know when you’re going to pick up a pillow and find a bag of potato chips or something behind it. The other thing she stashes away are her Nancy Drew books. Her parents don’t approve of those, either. They don’t think the mysteries are “intellectual” enough. Claudia couldn’t care less if the books are “intellectual.” One thing Claud is not interested in is school work. Although she can’t spell for anything, she’s definitely not dumb. She just doesn’t like school. And, unfortunately, her grades show it. She’s the complete

The van stops on the coast road. Ho-ho, Cornelius says. Cornelius? Please. Let's just get to the fucking island. Patience a small while. Cornelius kills the engine. He climbs from the van. The wind comes harder now from the sea. He gestures for John to follow; he does. They walk the scalp of a hill together, descending. You're not to be afraid, John. They approach a great fall-away to the sea; far below, it flashes its green teeth, the ever-welcoming sea. Right, Cornelius says. He steps up to the edge; the fall is sheer - it's a great distance to fall and to a certain ending there. Come on, John. He steps with Cornelius to the edge of the sheer fall; the wind pulses hard against them. Lean into it, Cornelius says. Like so. He does and he is held there. Fucking hell. . . Be fierce, John. The wind comes hard and Cornelius leans in closer again to its great force; he is held there. Cornelius? Now, John. John tips his toes up close to the edge and closer again to the sheer fall and closer. Cornelius? Go on. He leans over the edge and the wind holds him perfectly there. Do you see, John? Maybe. Do you see the trick of it, John? I think so. No fear.

Hoho, this will be quite the spectacle.

Plotseling viel er een stilte in de tuin. Het orkest had zichzelf tot zwijgen gebracht, gesprekken verstomden en de zwemmers staakten hun gespetter en geplons. Voor het eerst sinds hij op het feest was hoorde Menno vogels zingen. Aller ogen richtten zich op een indrukwekkend schepsel dat, begeleid door de sponsor Arend Moezaam en Saïd de villa uit kwam schrijden waarin ze zich tot dan had opgehouden. Dat moest Orpheline zijn, dacht Menno. Ze was een rijzige vrouw met een theatrale uitstraling. Haar glanzend zwarte haar hing tot op haar billen. Ze droeg een paarsblauwe jurk die vlak boven haar blote voeten eindigde. Ze had een krachtige, aristocratisch-gebogen neus en haar grote donkere ogen waren evenals haar fraai gevormde lippen paarsblauw opgemaakt. Aan haar tot de oksel blote lichtbruine armen schitterden zilveren armbanden. De lage uitsnijding van haar jurk liet een stevig borstenpaar vermoeden. Meno hield zijn adem in. Wat een schoonheid! Maar zo groot.

It contained the hoho, which was like a haha only deeper. A haha is a concealed ditch and wall designed to allow landowners to look out across rolling vistas without getting cattle and inconvenient poor people wandering across the lawns. Under Bloody Stupid’s errant pencil it was dug fifty feet deep and had claimed three gardeners already.

Do I overstate the case? Go to Wisconsin. Spend an hour in an airport or a food court in the Midwest; watch the pale, doughy masses of pasty-faced, Pringle-fattened, morbidly obese teenagers. Then tell me I’m worried about nothing. These are the end products of the Masterminds of Safety and Ethics, bulked up on cheese that contains no cheese, chips fried in oil that isn’t really oil, overcooked gray disks of what might once upon a time have been meat, a steady diet of Ho-Hos and muffins, butterless popcorn, sugarless soda, flavorless light beer. A docile, uncomprehending herd, led slowly to a dumb, lingering, and joyless slaughter.

Ah,’ he intoned. ‘Good. Are you all here? Then perhaps you would step this way, gentlemen.’ ‘Er,’ said the head thief, ‘the note mentioned lunch?’ ‘Yes?’ said Wonse. ‘With a dragon?’ ‘Good grief, you don’t think it would eat you, do you?’ said Wonse. ‘What an idea!’ ‘Never crossed me mind,’ said the head thief, relief blowing from his ears like steam. ‘The very idea. Haha.’ ‘Haha,’ said the chief merchant. ‘Hoho,’ said the head assassin. ‘The very idea.’ ‘No, I expect you’re all far too stringy,’ said Wonse. ‘Haha.’ ‘Haha.’ ‘Ahaha.’ ‘Hoho.’ The temperature lowered by several degrees.

At the Hoho’s Family Restaurant, Beverly treats herself to peanut butter pancakes and world news.

Lecia tells me that Harold allegedly propositioned some cowboy in the men’s room, and the guy had beaten the shit out of him. Which prompted Mother to draw—from her beaded bag—the pearl-handled revolver so small it could pass for a cigarette lighter. She held the cowboys at bay through the parking lot while she wrangled the pulp-faced Harold into her car. Once home, Mother poured herself a glass of milk and opened a tranquilizing package of ho-hos. Then she proceeded to tear Harold a new asshole—verbally speaking. He was bloody-nosed already, and stout as a prize pig, blubbering Mother was his soul mate till he corked off on the kitchen floor. Mother had sat on the counter stool, sipping at the milk and ratcheting up her pissed-off with every whisper sweep of the clock till it came to her Harold needed a piece of her mind. She’d pelted him with a pastry, then kicked him not very hard, she’d told Lecia, and mostly in his big fat ass. Then she got her pistol out again and fired it over Harold’s head, and he’d screamed himself awake. Somewhere in there, he’d pissed his pants. She couldn’t shift him off the kitchen floor, so she called to Tex, who hauled Harold to detox. She shot at him? I say. That’s exactly what I said. You shot at him? Lecia says. So embarrassing.

Fisher has always hated clowns. From childhood, he’d found them smug and unfunny, and it makes perfect sense that he’s always disliked this movement, because “Jupiter” is, essentially, the soundtrack to a massive clown orgy. Oh ho-ho, say the violins, aren’t you a naughty jester! What, chirp the clarinets, you want to put that pie where?

I don’t even mind wearing matching pyjamas and shit. I’ll do it for her…as long as she lets me take ’em off later. I’ll be her Santa, and she can be my ho-ho-