Honey Badger Quotes

The good doctor put a spoon of tea into my honey." "You're drinking tea a honey badger made," Jim said. "What did you expect?

I've come to the conclusion that, aside from Nazis, the Taliban, and possibly the honey badger, there is no one on the planet more merciless than a teenage girl once she's decided she dislikes you.

And a little duct tape on the gunshot wounds will stop the bleeding.” “You’re not a headlight on an old Chevy,” Berg told her.

I love how your Christianity only comes into play when you don’t have a rational argument for something you don’t like.

Like the honey badger, the werewolf takes what it wants.

You gave me a Ruger?" she asked. "No one has ever given me a..." She took a small step back. "Oh, my God." Charlie couldn't help but smile. "It's you," she cheered. "My giant, helpful blur!" "The name is Berg. Berg Dunn.

I know the drill.” Max nodded and flatly replied, “Go in. Kill everybody. Get Stevie out.” Charlie briefly closed her eyes, took a moment to breathe and try to relax her shoulders . When she felt she wouldn’t yell, she said, “That is not the drill.

Stevie could go from zero to hysterical in six seconds. She was the Ferrari of panic.

When her mother got something into her mind, she was like a honey badger with a vendetta - pugnacious and tenacious, but with the snarling and fur.

I’m a fuckin’ honey badger and by this claw”— she held her hand up—“ I fuckin’ rule.

Stevie! Stevie!” When her sister didn’t respond, Charlie released her and threw up her hands. “I’ve killed her. Of course I’ve killed her. I knew one day I’d kill you all.” Max finally got to her feet. “Good Lord! Get off the cross, we need the wood.” “What does that mean?

Why would there be a morgue in a sports center?” Charlie asked. “Because Soylent Green is people?

Unfortunately," she admitted. "MacKilligans aren't allowed in Siberia. There was an incident." "With the bears?" "Oh, no." She placed her head on his shoulder, snuggling close, before admitting, "Not with the bears. With everybody.

No. Let’s just get back upstairs and—” “There’s a Starbucks.” “Ooh.” Charlie stepped past the doorway. “Coffee.

You can’t give wild animals food and then take it away.” Stevie pointed a finger at Charlie and snarled through gritted teeth, “So if that means you need to bake, bitch. Bake!

She didn’t know how Charlie did this on a daily basis. Maintain order. Honestly, it would have been easier just to make a run for it or lay waste to everyone in a five-mile radius. Illegal but easier. Oh, and . . . yeah . . . morally wrong

Now can I go in and kill everybody?” Max asked. “No.” “You and your half-canine morals. It does nothing but get in the way.” “I know you’re working hard to be a sociopath, but stop it.” “Sociopath is in the eye of the—” “—forensic psychologist working for the prosecution?

This isn’t over, old man! I will hunt you down and kill you! I’m calling Will and telling him exactly where you are! I will have all the MacKilligans looking for your dumb ass! And when he cuts your heart out, I will dine on it with a good Scottish ale, you worthless son of a bitch!

Excuse me,” Max replied, indignant. “These lacerations and bruises are not because of the men who came to kill me. With my usual aplomb, I have dealt with those scumbags.”“Uh-huh. Then what did happen?” “Why do we have to discuss that? Our lives are in danger.” Charlie gazed at her sister for a few moments before guessing, “Squirrels again?”“They started it!” “It’s nice to see that nothing has really changed since we last saw each other.

Everything makes me nervous.” Stevie thought a moment. “Well . . . not everything. But man-eaters definitely make me nervous.” “But tigers are man-eaters . . . and you’re half tiger.” Stevie stared out the front window for several seconds ruminating on that bit of information before admitting, “Dear God. I’m terrified of myself.

All right now. That’s it!” the Irish priest snapped from the front of the church. “We’ll have none of that grizzly shit in this holy house of my Lord. And you, badger, find a seat somewhere else.” When Freddy didn’t move, the tiger priest warned, “Don’t make me tear that puny head from your shoulders, my good lad. Because we both know I will, now don’t we?

He was thinking of Max MacKilligan as his girlfriend? The crazy female who’d decimated an entire team of well-trained mercenaries with her badger teammates? Or who didn’t seem too concerned that he’d almost eaten a child? That woman he was thinking of as his girlfriend?

Stevie clearly didn’t have control over her issues. She panicked easy. She cried easy. She exploded into rage real easy. And when she did all three at the same time . . .

Little bitty thing? Dude, you didn’t see her go straight-up psycho. She’s like a hella honey badger.

Your family is coming here?” a voice from the doorway eagerly asked. Livy snarled. “Kyle—” “Honey badgers? Honey badgers are coming to stay with us?

A dragon. Glorious in his power, terrifying in his anger, and magnificent even in repose. “If you’d asked me before our truce, I would’ve said an ill-mannered boar,” I said instead. “Since we’re being nice, I’ll upgrade you to a honey badger.” “The most fearless animal in the world. I’ll take it.” I blinked at how well he took it. Most people would not appreciate being compared to a honey badger.

Dear God, Max! What happened to your face?” Berg hysterically asked. She shrugged, the quills in her face wiggling when she did. “A porcupine attacked me. Flung its quills at me.” She glanced around, seemingly not bothered by the many—many—quills hanging from her face like some weird, horrifying mask.

Stevie can learn anything from a book. And when it comes to psychiatry, she’s read them all. So she wields guilt like a master swordsman. And Max isn’t nearly as much of a psychopath as the social worker said because otherwise, she wouldn’t feel any guilt at all. At least that’s what I tell myself. All the time.

I’ll dismember you while you’re still breathing. And, in case you’re concerned, because it seems like you’d be concerned—you’re clearly very caring—I won’t miss a lick of sleep or have any PTSD over it. Your screams will mean nothing to me, because I won’t give a fuck. Why? Because I’m a cunt. I’m a raving, raging cunt.

Am learning every day that there are more threads to me That I have been rising and changing, rediscovering who I am becoming who I want to be putting the broken pieces back together and becoming an arrow continuing to rise into the light.

Ric placed his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in the palms of his hand. "So, let me sum up - we've got one vote for total annihilation and one vote for forcing them to join the hockey team. Am I correct?" "Yes," both females replied.

How hard is it to keep an eye on one woman? I take six months. And you take six months. That was our agreement.”“Why is she still our responsibility?” “Because she’s our sister and we love her and if we don’t watch out for her, she will get involved with the wrong people , and destroy the world. Is that what you want?” “You always ask me that question, and you’re always disappointed with my answer.” Charlie sighed . “Well, we need to find her.” “I know.”“She’s in as much danger as we are.”“I know.” “They sent trained military after us.”“I know.” “And I know this car is stolen.”“Of course it’s stolen.

In her opinion, hard asses were people who said mean things simply to be mean. They seemed to get a kick out of breaking people down and, if they felt like it after, building them back up. Kiki, however, just told people the honest truth if they asked.

She needed a break.” “A break? She needed a break? What does that mean?” “You know what that means, Charlie.” “I do?” Charlie thought a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on! Again?”“You know how she is. But hey! At least she’s still in Switzerland. We’ll get there in no time.” “But it’s a mental hospital! Not a resort!”“To her, all mental hospitals are resorts. Besides, it could be worse,” Max said happily. “This could all be so much worse!” Charlie shook her head . “Dude, I seriously don’t know how.

All this money, but scientists still have to beg for funds in the search to end cancer.

Who’d make that shit up? Well,” she reasoned, “maybe Stephen King. But then it would involve murderous clowns or haunted hotels or . . . the end of the world. Have you read The Stand?” “Is this how Manson worked?” “Manson who?

A sloping, earthy passage inside the barrel travels upwards a little way until a cosy, round, low-ceilinged room is revealed, reminiscent of a badger’s set. The room is decorated in the cheerful, bee-like colours of yellow and black, emphasised by the use of highly polished, honey-coloured wood for the tables and the round doors that lead to the boys’ and girls’ dormitories (furnished with comfortable wooden bedsteads, all covered in patchwork quilts). A colourful profusion of plants and flowers seem to relish the atmosphere of the Hufflepuff common room: various cacti stand on wooden circular shelves (curved to fit the walls), many of them waving and dancing at passers-by, while copper-bottomed plant holders dangling amid the ceiling cause tendrils of ferns and ivies to brush your hair as you pass under them. A portrait over the wooden mantelpiece (carved all over with decorative dancing badgers) shows Helga Hufflepuff, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School, toasting her students with a tiny, two-handled golden cup.

Charlie suddenly walked back out of the kitchen, a bag of unopened flour in her hands. “Do you all realize—” “Uh-oh,” Stevie said softly, her head dropping. “—that the only reason we’re all here is because of my father?” She pointed at Coop. “You had to cancel the rest of your world tour because of my father.” She pointed at Berg. “You were shot and stabbed because of my father.” “I’m not sure we can blame him specifically—” She pointed at Livy. “You got in a fight with your cousin because of my father.” Pointed at Vic. “Strangers in your apartment because of my father.” She gestured between her and Max and Stevie. “Recent attempts on our lives, most likely because of our idiot father.” “We don’t know,” Stevie interrupted, “that Daddy had anything to do with any of this.” Her sisters suddenly turned to her and stared. For a really long time. Until Stevie finally admitted, “It was probably him, but we don’t know it was him. That’s all I’m saying.” Making a sound of disgust, Charlie turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen. “Where did she find the flour?” Livy asked Vic. “We have flour?

When they do, I reach up, laying my hand on his cheek. Our kisses turn heated. My legs squeeze Honey Badger’s sides, causing him to trot ahead next to Wayra. When Trey notices, he has to rein in our spix, breaking our kiss. We both look over at Wayra, who is smirking at us. He nods his head in greeting to Trey. “Sir.” Trey nods back. “Wayra.”“Did you need something, sir?” Wayra asks with amusement in his tone. “No. I have everything I need,” he replies. “Carry on.” Trey pulls us back behind Wayra once more. Bartol, Amy A. (2015-03-31). Sea of Stars (The Kricket Series Book 2) (pp. 241-242). 47North. Kindle Edition.

Hi!” Zé jumped a little, surprised by the female voice beside him. “I’m Mandy.” She held out her hand. “And you’re Zezé Vargas.” He looked at her but didn’t say anything. “I see.” She lowered her hand. “A little paranoid, are we? Understandable, I guess, considering your line of work.” “Do I know you?” “No. That’s why I introduced myself. Remember? I’m Mandy.” “Why are you talking to me?” She smiled. “I have an offer for you.” “You have an offer for a man you don’t know? So you’re a prostitute?” That smile disappeared and those eyes went from brown to a bright and dangerous blue. “Do I look like a prostitute to you?” “Well—” Zé blew out a long sigh. “I don’t know how to answer that without getting punched in the face, soooo .

You need a safe word.” Her eyes lit up. Honest to fucking God, lit up as I suggested that. “Can it be utterly ridiculous?” she asked, biting her bottom lip. “No,” I growled. “Can it be cock-munching-honey-badger?” “No.” “Super-dicks-unite?” “No.” “Hail-Saint-Lord-of-spanking?” “How many times do you want to end up being punished?” I demanded as her eyes danced with amusement. “As

Bannon thrived on the chaos he created and did everything he could to make it spread. When he finally made his way through the crowd to the back of the town house, he put on a headset to join the broadcast of the Breitbart radio show already in progress. It was his way of bringing tens of thousands of listeners into the inner sanctum of the “Breitbart Embassy,” as the town house was ironically known, and thereby conscripting them into a larger project. Bannon was inordinately proud of the movement he saw growing around him, boasting constantly of its egalitarian nature. What to an outsider could look like a cast of extras from the Island of Misfit Toys was, in Bannon’s eyes, a proudly populist and “unclubbable” plebiscite rising up in defiant protest against the “globalists” and “gatekeepers” who had taken control of both parties. Just how Phil Robertson of Duck Dynasty figured into a plan to overthrow the global power structure wasn’t clear, even to many of Bannon’s friends. But, then, Bannon derived a visceral thrill anytime he could deliver a fuck-you to the establishment. The thousands of frustrated listeners calling in to his radio show, and the millions more who flocked to Breitbart News, had left him no doubt that an army of the angry and dispossessed was eager to join him in lobbing a bomb at the country’s leaders. As guests left the party, a doorman handed out a gift that Bannon had chosen for the occasion: a silver hip flask with “Breitbart” imprinted above an image of a honey badger, the Breitbart mascot. — Bannon’s cult-leader magnetism was a powerful draw for oddballs and freaks, and the attraction ran both ways. As he moved further from the cosmopolitan orbits of Goldman Sachs and Hollywood, there was no longer any need for him to suppress his right-wing impulses. Giving full vent to his views on subjects like immigration and Islam isolated him among a radical fringe that most of political Washington regarded as teeming with racist conspiracy theorists. But far from being bothered, Bannon welcomed their disdain, taking it as proof of his authentic conviction. It fed his grandiose sense of purpose to imagine that he was amassing an army of ragged, pitchfork-wielding outsiders to storm the barricades and, in Andrew Breitbart’s favorite formulation, “take back the country.” If Bannon was bothered by the incendiary views held by some of those lining up with him, he didn’t show it. His habit always was to welcome all comers. To all outward appearances, Bannon, wild-eyed and scruffy, a Falstaff in flip-flops, was someone whom the political world could safely ignore. But his appearance, and the company he kept, masked an analytic capability that was undiminished and as applicable to politics as it had been to the finances of corrupt Hollywood movie studios. Somehow, Bannon, who would happily fall into league with the most agitated conservative zealot, was able to see clearly that conservatives had failed to stop Bill Clinton in the 1990s because they had indulged this very zealotry to a point where their credibility with the media and mainstream voters was shot. Trapped in their own bubble, speaking only to one another, they had believed that they were winning, when in reality they had already lost.

controls us. Diabetes is the Honey Badger….it just does not care!  It is like putting the reins on an untamed horse.  Sometimes, pulling on the reins will work, sometimes the horse will buck the other way.  As parents, because we love our children, we try everything to keep Diabetes under control (see # 3 above). The only control we have is consistency, timing and SWAG’ing!

would not propose to her—no. Neither of us wanted a marriage, and I suspected Belle was harder to tame than a honey badger on crack.

Stevie stared out the front window for several seconds ruminating on that bit of information before admitting, “Dear God. I’m terrified of myself.

You stray-dog this Berg! You stray-dog this!

He didn’t know any of that, which meant Max had to protect him. Her mother hadn’t taught her that. Her big sister had. Charlie, whether she meant to or not, had that “good-guy look,” too. She cared about others. She didn’t want “innocents” caught in the cross fire of any fight and, if they were caught, she wanted to make sure they didn’t end up getting killed. It was one of the main reasons she was such an awesome shooter. The last thing Charlie ever wanted to do was to accidentally kill someone who didn’t deserve it. Although Max’s desire to protect innocents wasn’t as intense as Charlie’s or Stevie’s, she still felt a sense of responsibility. Especially to a fellow shifter. Max could have easily dug her way out of this hangar in seconds and disappeared into the surrounding territory, out of real danger. But if she did that, she couldn’t bring the cat with her. So she would stay. And she would help.

Max had been actively recruited by the CIA for years before she was even eighteen, but Charlie had put the kibosh on that. Unsure of what her big sister had done to discourage that interest—the CIA was not an organization that was usually put off by an easily stressed eighteen-year-old who loathed her father and had been fired from Dairy Queen once because she’d put a mouthy patron in a headlock—Max came to realize that organizations like the CIA, the FBI, or the military weren’t for her. They were too regimented. Too cautious. You had to take orders. Max hated taking orders from anyone but Charlie.

She needed loyal friends more than she needed another dick attached to some idiot man. She could get dick anywhere, but someone who always had your back? That was like gold.

This is going to be big.” When Coop’s head tipped to the side like a confused schnauzer, he added, “The hotel room of some big-time penis was just violently invaded.” “It’s pianist.

hate me, too . . . because I’m always right. I understand how painful that must be for others who aren’t always right.

I see.” Charlie brushed nonexistent lint off her jeans. “Because a honey badger family is not nearly as important as a pack or pride or a teddy bear picnic.” “I don’t think bears call themselves . . . that.

heads. So, depending on the bullet, it may not actually rip through the skull and get to the brain.” “And we have quite a few cousins that, if a bullet did hit them in the brain, we’re still not sure it would actually do any damage because they are that stupid.” Charlie glanced at Max. “Right?” “Absolutely. I hit one of my cousins with a bat once . . . it did nothing. It was wood. It broke . . . on his head.” “And Max took a really strong swing—” “Okay!” Van Holtz barked, holding up his hand. “Please stop. I can’t listen to this anymore. What I’m telling you is that we are certain your great-uncle was murdered. That’s all you need to know.

mustelids—the mammal group that includes weasels, ferrets, badgers, honey badgers, and wolverines.

Waste of a perfectly good body dump, if you ask me,” the actress complained.

Now, as for the people you work with: You like them, but they’re very different from you. Throughout life, you’ll find yourself in this position. Each new job will introduce a brand-new and vastly different culture to you. It’s unavoidable. I worked at an early dot-com, and the culture was pure Angry Nerds with Delusions of Grandeur. In some ways, I fit right in. But I also felt like a slow-moving herd animal among honey badgers. Pushing through that feeling was crucial; it was a dream job, and if I’d let my mournful lowing get in the way of what I actually created there, it would’ve been a damn shame. Likewise, when you become a parent? You are often forced to hang out with the parents of your kids’ friends. For a while, I was seriously avoidant about this, but once I finally gave in and threw myself into befriending other parents, I realized what I was missing. I love those friends! They’re great! If I turned my back on that crowd just because every last one of our interests and values weren’t in line, my life would be far less colorful and rewarding than it is. The bigger point: Groups can’t fulfill your every need. Your spouse can’t single-handedly bring you happiness. Your best female friend can’t save you from being alone. Your group of college friends won’t feel perfectly right for you when you’re in a certain mood. There will always be discrepancies between you and your friends where priorities and lifestyle are concerned. So don’t let it prevent you from forging new connections.

A porcupine attacked me. Flung its quills at me.

Who flipped out when they ate a whole muffin or counted every calorie, not for health reasons but because, God forbid, they should gain a pound in a world of “thigh gaps” and giant asses that had to be medically enhanced because those women didn’t eat enough to get an ass like that on their own.

Taking the dog his mother had given her triplets had been a bad idea.

Ready for your first taste of vessense, honey badger?” She narrowed her eyes. “Sure am, cowpie.” I cleared my throat to hide my laugh.

You leaving Aurimere was pretty noble,” Kami elaborated. “I mean, nuts, but noble. It wasn’t fair to Ash, you wouldn’t be used to punish anyone—not that I think that was Lillian’s motivation—and you’re out. You don’t just turn her down; you leave home to make your point. Not to mention all the attempts to save Sorry-in-the-Vale single-handedly. You’re like a honey badger.” “I’m like a what?” Jared started to laugh. “No, I’m not. That’s ridiculous.” “Honey badgers are badass,” Kami argued. “The honey badger is the most hardcore of all the animals. They break into beehives and they get stung all over. Not because they have to. Just because they think bees are super tasty. Also they have been known to bite the heads off puff adders, collapse from the venom, and wake up from their comas going ‘Hey there, delicious snake.’ That’s how honey badgers roll.” “ ‘Honey badger’ is not a badass name,” Jared pointed out. “ ‘Death ray badger’ is a badass name.” Kami hit him on the shoulder without even thinking about it

[On Socrates] My decision to prove reincarnation to the sophomoric cavemen of Athens, quite possibly, was the best decision I made for both myself and humanity. Another dominant behavioral trait is displayed by my efforts to perform selfish acts selflessly, which is significantly unique because the majority of people perform selfless acts selfishly. In the former modus operandi the virtue is preserved through the honesty of being selfish, but in the latter the virtue is corrupted by the dishonesty since the intent is disguised to appear virtuous. Therefore, people are the most evil when performing selfish acts selfishly, and would therefore be the most benevolent when performing selfless acts selflessly. To performs acts selfishly for the mere sake of acting, is irresponsible and destructive and to perform acts selflessly for the sake of acting, is reckless and self-destructive. The interesting dynamic of this newest revelation is how Aristotle knew, innately, to seek out Plato upon his father's death. Once Socrates reunited with Plato, as Aristotle, they proved metaphysics; except the trial of Socrates was so traumatizing they made the decision not to make it known. Instead they channeled the knowledge constructively ("selfishly"- because self-preservation is ultimately selfish) which was done selflessly by cultivating it through education. They were so successful, that the King of Macedonia (my father's previous employer) made a formal request ordering me to tutor his son, Alexander. That's interesting because I have memory of Alexander the Great. He was a passionate boy with incredible sex drive that was equal to that of a honey badger's virulence. He allowed his power to intoxicate him and I was the only one he trusted, and when I made the attempt to slow him down by reminding of of the all powerful mighty God, something happened that caused his death and some Athenian imbecile (probably out of guilt) tried to hang me up on a cross for being a traitor. I got the hell of out doge like a bat of hell the minute that fool said something about me not "honoring" the "gods" - I may have even said something to the effect of 'I am God.' Although, the quote that did survive was when I refused to allow Athens to commit the same crime twice prior to fleeing the city to seek sanctuary at a family's estate.

Inside the White House, some aides nicknamed Barr “the Honey Badger,” a reference to a viral video in which a fearless badger climbs a tree to kill a snake, gets bitten by the snake, passes out, and then starts eating the slithering creature. “It was always going to be Barr’s show,” one Trump legal adviser said. “Even if we wanted to be a puppeteer, why would we risk it? Emmet was not going to let stupid decisions be made at the end of this game. We were not going to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

Good Lord! Get off the cross, we need the wood.

We live in an age where competition, domination and one-upmanship are portrayed as the crucial elements for survival. Where power and influence both subtle and glaring, are thought primarily necessary for one’s deepest fulfillment and gratification. But the ant and the caterpillar, like the Honey guide and the Badger or the Hermit crab and the Sea anemone, are beacons for a different kind of community. A community where relating and relationship, synergy and symbiosis and being there for one another, are regarded above everything else.

The heavy wooden doors of the Mages Guild hadn't been closed in nearly twenty years, since a crisis involving the accidental summoning of five honey badgers and one angry, rampaging moose—even now, they stood open and welcoming.

Bannon basically agreed. When the embarrassed Lynch reporter asked for time off, he refused to allow it, allergic to any hint of concession. “I told him, ‘No. In fact, you’re going to write a story every day this week.’” Bannon shrugged. “We’re honey badgers,” he explained. “We don’t give a shit.

Do you ever stop to consider how seldom your significant other uses your name in daily life? For us it was always some term of endearment, like “honey” or “babe”, or even the more extravagant “sugar badger” or “manly mouse”. The only time that changed was during arguments when the strangeness of being called by your name left no doubt that you were in trouble.

Honey badgers are badass,” Kami argued. “The honey badger is the most hardcore of all the animals. They break into beehives and they get stung all over. Not because they have to. Just because they think bees are super tasty. Also they have been known to bite the heads off puff adders, collapse from the venom, and wake up from their comas going ‘Hey there, delicious snake.’ That’s how honey badgers roll.

Another, Falshed knew, called itself a mountain weasel. Yet another sported a very long tail. There was not, as he had always imagined, just one sort of weasel in the world, but a great many varieties, who fetched up in places like this, an international crossroads. The same could be said of badgers. In his travels through Eggyok the chief had met stink badgers, ferret badgers, hog badgers and honey badgers, all slightly different. When it came to martens there were over a dozen, from stone martens to fisher martens to yellow-throated martens. There were even thirteen species of otter! Yet, so far as he knew, there was only one type of stoat. What did that tell him? That stoats were special? Or that stoats were inferior