Infamous Game Quotes

THE PUZZLE IS WHY SO MANY PEOPLE LIVE so badly. Not so wickedly, but so inanely. Not so cruelly, but so stupidly. There is little to admire and less to imitate in the people who are prominent in our culture. We have celebrities but not saints. Famous entertainers amuse a nation of bored insomniacs. Infamous criminals act out the aggressions of timid conformists. Petulant and spoiled athletes play games vicariously for lazy and apathetic spectators. People, aimless and bored, amuse themselves with trivia and trash. Neither the adventure of goodness nor the pursuit of righteousness gets headlines.

If you understand that life is a game, it means that you are a skilled player. You know it's time to let go. Loosen your grip, get up, get off the stage, walk away. Life is a stifling, endless, infamous match. And between the pawn and the king, in the final challenge, there's not that much difference

At that, Ascher stood up. “Hi,” she said, smiling brightly. “You don’t know me. I’m Hannah. Back off my partner before you get hurt.” “I know who you are, hot stuff,” I drawled, not standing. I set my staff down across the table. “And I already backed off your partner. You can tell from how there aren’t any splatter marks. Play nice, Ascher.” Her smile vanished at my response, and her dark eyes narrowed. She drummed her nails on the tabletop exactly once, slowly, as if contemplating a decision. A smirk touched her mouth. “So you’re the infamous Dresden.” Her eyes went past me, to Karrin. Ascher was a foot taller than she was. “And this is your bodyguard? Seriously? Aren’t they supposed to be a little bigger?” “She represents the Lollipop Guild,” I replied. “She’ll represent them right through the front and out the back of your skull if you don’t show a little respect.

The Children of God was also infamous for its signature practice of flirty fishing. Alliterative and innocent-sounding, “flirty fishing” could be the name of an iPhone game. Instead, it was a mandate that female members recruit men into the fold by seducing them with sex. “The media now refers to it as ‘prostitution for Jesus,

While I sleep, and I sleep often these days, he spends much of his time in the church downtown. The very one I never could convince him to attend. He claims he is praying. But I know he is trying to strike a bargain with our Maker. One hand of Black Jack, I know he says. Winner gets to keep the girl. I know for sure, were J. granted that game of cars with the Almighty, he’d go into it with both an ace and a jack up his sleeve.

Did Kim have more power going to the White House in her suit or when she capitalized on the release of her infamous sex tape, the one that made her the most googled woman on earth? Would anyone have cared about Kim’s fight for justice reform if she hadn’t had a sex tape? And why did everything these women did, what they wore and what they posted, all seem so reactive? As if they were adapting to and playing in someone else’s game, with someone else’s rules?

Although Mollie’s disappearance created a stir in the Digbys’ neighborhood, it did not immediately warrant unusual notice in New Orleans as a whole. Hundreds of children went missing in the city every year. Most were later found and returned to their parents. In a metropolis plagued by crime and violence, moreover, Mollie’s disappearance was just one of many unsavory events that day. On that same Thursday, a boy stabbed his friend in the head in a dispute over a ball game. A jewel thief robbed a posh Garden District home. Two toughs fought a gory knife battle on St. Claude Avenue. A drowned child was found floating in the Mississippi River. A prostitute in the Tremé neighborhood stole $30 from a customer. Someone poisoned two family dogs. And two women in a saloon bloodied one another with broken ale bottles as they fought over a lover. Because crime was so common, most incidents received little attention. If a crime occurred in a poor district, on the docks, or in one of the infamous concert saloons, or if its victim was an immigrant or black person, it seldom warranted more than a sentence or two in the “City Intelligence” columns of the dailies. 5

Their mouths crashed together. Tongues tangled. He kissed her as if he wanted to consume her, devour her alive. Fierce kisses, hard kisses, desperate, wanting kisses. He tasted like chocolate and smelled like sin. "Sam..." She pulled away. "I can't breathe." "Neither can I." Her wrapped his arms around her and drew her in for another hungry kiss. Hot, hard, and wet, melting her to the side of the Jeep. His tongue worked past her lips to plunge into her mouth, every stroke tugging at things low and deep in her belly. Her hands moved to his chest, sliding over his pecs and the ripple of abs beneath his shirt. Harman was perfect but Sam was real, his body hard from his fight training, muscles thick from use. He hissed out a breath when her fingers grazed the top of his belt, his infamous self-control giving way to her curious hands. "What are we doing?" he murmured as he drew her earlobe into his mouth, his five-o'clock shadow rough against her sensitive skin. "I don't know, but don't stop." "No chance of that." He shifted against her, his arousal as evident from his ragged breaths as the growing hardness pressed against her hips. When he thrust a thick thigh between her legs, she rocked against him, reckless and wanton in her need for release. She was dying, burning, her body on fire. She'd never felt anything like the toxic combination of anger and lust that pounded through her veins. It made her head spin, drove logic away.

Months later, Time magazine would run its now infamous article bragging about how it had been done. Without irony or shame, the magazine reported that “[t]here was a conspiracy unfolding behind the scenes” creating “an extraordinary shadow effort” by a “well-funded cabal of powerful people” to oppose Trump.112 Corporate CEOs, organized labor, left-wing activists, and Democrats all worked together in secret to secure a Biden victory. For Trump, these groups represented a powerful Washington and Democratic establishment that saw an unremarkable career politician like Biden as merely a vessel for protecting their self-interests. Accordingly, when Trump was asked whom he blames for the rigging of the 2020 election, he quickly responded, “Least of all Biden.” Time would, of course, disingenuously frame this effort as an attempt to “oppose Trump’s assault on democracy,” even as Time reporter Molly Ball noted this shadow campaign “touched every aspect of the election. They got states to change voting systems and laws and helped secure hundreds of millions in public and private funding.” The funding enabled the country’s sudden rush to mail-in balloting, which Ball described as “a revolution in how people vote.”113 The funding from Democratic donors to public election administrators was revolutionary. The Democrats’ network of nonprofit activist groups embedded into the nation’s electoral structure through generous grants from Democratic donors. They helped accomplish the Democrats’ vote-by-mail strategy from the inside of the election process. It was as if the Dallas Cowboys were paying the National Football League’s referee staff and conducting all of their support operations. No one would feel confident in games won by the Cowboys in such a scenario. Ball also reported that this shadowy cabal “successfully pressured social media companies to take a harder line against disinformation and used data-driven strategies to fight viral smears.” And yet, Time magazine made this characterization months after it was revealed that the New York Post’s reporting on Hunter Biden’s corrupt deal-making with Chinese and other foreign officials—deals that alleged direct involvement from Joe Biden, resulting in the reporting’s being overtly censored by social media—was substantially true. Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey would eventually tell Congress that censoring the New York Post and locking it out of its Twitter account over the story was “a mistake.” And the Hunter Biden story was hardly the only egregious mistake, to say nothing of the media’s willful dishonesty, in the 2020 election. Republicans read the Time article with horror and as an admission of guilt. It confirmed many voters’ suspicions that the election wasn’t entirely fair. Trump knew the article helped his case, calling it “the only good article I’ve read in Time magazine in a long time—that was actually just a piece of the truth because it was much deeper than that.

(it’s hard to make the strategic decisions required of the game if you get easily upset or angry).

Internal game is the game that goes on inside your head—the thoughts and beliefs that affect your behavior and ultimately how others respond to you.

Because my game is tight and I think I’m the shit,” you’re not going to get that girl.

You’ll run into girls who respond to “Guess” with something like, “I don’t want to play games and guess.” This translates to, “I want you to answer in a way I desire.” Not only do these types of girls want their needs met first, but in the way they dictate.

If you have zero phone game experience and the first number you get is a girl you want to impregnate, I guarantee you’ll bomb spectacularly.

The purpose of middle game is to get her inside a bedroom while gaming her in a way that lowers her resistance to having sex. Even though middle game is optional, since you can go straight from meet to bedroom on the same night, it’s important for it to be your strength because a large percentage of quality girls aren’t open to one-night stands.

The strawberry game is an example of kokology, a Japanese pseudo-science that is supposed to tell you things you didn’t know about yourself by answering situational questions.

Human instinct is to neutralize tension by apologizing or making nice, but you’ll do the opposite. Fill the situation with even more tension to show that you’re immune to her games.

You owe it to yourself to get rejected, not only to learn the limits of your game but to find out firsthand what works and what doesn’t.

I got into the game to have more sex, but I’ve stayed in it because it gives me the power to get what I want.

The optimal text game is to remain logistical and to get straight to the point of asking her out. Refrain from sending jokes, stories, or emoticons.

A big part of having tight text game comes down to your reply times, and the last thing you want is to appear eager.

Not until after you bang her can you focus on other things, such as a relationship, regular sex, threesomes, anal, and so on. You want to get sex out of the way as quickly as possible so you can get past all the silly games and bullshit women often play before it happens.

When I go on a date, the only things I remind myself to do are the arm-in-arm move, the fake palm read move, the single arm move, and the strawberry game.

Build your game to the point where you wouldn’t even consider sloppy seconds because you have other options on the table. The exception is if she’s a doorknob and everyone is getting a turn for fun.

One good thing about mothers is that you know they like sex. Even though she may be easy, she’ll make it seem as if she’s looking for something serious and that she’s tired of “boys” who play games.

I begged and pleaded and nagged, and eventually my mother gave in and allowed me to travel to away games. Back then I was jubilant; now I’m indignant. What did she think she was doing? Didn’t she ever read the papers or watch TV? Hadn’t she heard of hooligans? Was she really unaware of what Football Specials, the infamous trains that carried fans all over the country, were like? I could have been killed.

The planning of torture becomes an exciting game, and not a single one of them seems to connect it to the fact that a man's life hangs in the balance.

In order to lead, you must continue to learn. A big reason kids think they know it all and their parents are wrong is that kids are studying and growing every day and most parents have been out of the growth game since they left school. As time goes on, children begin to know more than their parents, and that infamous I know everything attitude begins to form in our teenage and adult sons. For example, if Dad no longer hunts, it’ll only be a matter of time before his hunting son stops listening to him about how to hunt. The son views his father as trying to impart wisdom that he is no longer qualified to impart, and as he gets older he begins to intuit the hypocrisy, and respect is lost.

At the club, nicknames stuck like dog hair to merino wool. A wiry, anxious weekend player called Phil who’d once missed a crucial putt when he was distracted by the call of a skein of Canada geese overhead was thereafter known to all as ‘Quack’. Carl Marchwell, who was infamous for telling all of his playing companions in great detail about his week and lacked the skill of self-editing, hadn’t been called ‘Carl’ by anybody at the club for years; he was always ‘Jackanory’. Ian Welcombe, who liked to bet big money on foursome matches but had never, to anybody’s knowledge, actually won, was ‘The Bank’. Jill, Ian’s wife – one of the few female members of the club who actually seemed to enjoy the game – was not ‘Jill’ but ‘Mrs Bank’. Recently I’d overheard people talking about somebody called ‘Jam Jar’ but I was yet to find out who that was.

We do not sow. We are Ironborn. We’re not subjects. We’re not slaves. We do not plow the field or toil in the mine. We take what is ours.”—Balon Greyjoy First settling on the Iron Islands in the days of the First Men, the proud denizens of this rocky archipelago refer to themselves as “Ironborn.” Isolated from the peoples and cultures of the mainland, the Ironborn ruled as kings for centuries, worshipping their own unique deity, the Drowned God, and cultivating a lifestyle that celebrates pillaging. Their infamous fleet of longships was unmatched and feared throughout the world, and at the height of their power, the Ironborn controlled most of the western coast and the entirety of what are now the Riverlands.

I had help in deciding, my friend. I asked myself, What would Ender Wiggin, the man who saved humanity from the Buggers, what would he have done if suddenly, at the last minute, he had been told, This is no game, this is real. I asked myself, What if at the moment before he killed the boy Stilson or the boy Madrid in his infamous First and Second Killings, some adult had intervened and ordered him to stop. Would he have done it, knowing that the adult did not have the power to protect him later, when his enemy attacked him again? Knowing that it might well be this time or never? If the adults at Command School had said to him, We think there’s a chance the Buggers might not mean to destroy humanity, so don’t kill them all, do you think Ender Wiggin would have obeyed? No. He would have done – he always did – exactly what was necessary to obliterate a danger and make sure it did not survive to pose a threat in the future. That is the person I consulted with. That is the person whose wisdom I will follow now.

The starting point for this line of thinking is usually an infamous Newsweek cover story published in 1986. The article, titled “The Marriage Crunch,” contained the dubious claim that a single, college-educated woman over 40 was “more likely to be killed by a terrorist” than to find a husband.

Drinking games were also part of the gig experience including a live favourite which would follow later in the band’s career, the infamous “Wheel of Misfortune,” a huge wheel to which punters were strapped to and spun after being fed a bucket of booze through a hose. This often resulted in the victim being left in an unconscious stupor or forced them to let go a multi-coloured fountain of puke. Snakebite [beer mixed with cider] was the supposed content of the bucket but many would shudder to think what foul potions were also added to the receptacle.

A leaf and you! A leaf from tree, in Autumn fell, It had a story to tell, As it swayed in the lap of air, Nobody noticed the act unfair, For it alone fell, The rest clung to the branches and didn’t experience hell, Which they all would someday, Few early, few later, few did yesterday and the leaf that just fell, experienced it today, It did not shout, it did not scream or yell, As it thought of moments, few lived in agony and few lived so well, Finally it rested on the surface of the bare ground, And every natural force leapt on it like a famished hound, To consume it in their own ways, For death has a game that it with all plays, So time kissed it, life forsook it, gravity constricted it; and finally it was lost, there was nothing left of it, Just a memory of a falling leaf that everyone consumed bit by bit, bit by bit, Surprising that time sometimes moans its departure, Because it had reared it in its lap with love and composure, Alas time the greatest force of all, is the most cursed of all, For in the end it loses everything to its own existential virtues, and kills us all, Then it lies there moaning the loss, Whenever a beautiful corner of life that it loved it does happen to pass, Just like the leaf that fell and was forever lost, There on the branch a moment of time hangs still seeking the past, For it loved the leaf, but it had duty to perform as well, So it mournfully stood there as the leaf fell, It buried it too, And then it hurried too, For it had new leaves to tend, A new leaf to break and bend, To keep gravity happy, who blames time for all crimes, But it is someone else who in shadows creates these moments of depraved times, And lays the blame on time, the eternal subject of everyone's hate, But time has a companion who shares this blame, we all know it as fate, However, the real force lies in the shadows always plotting to bend and break a leaf, And blame it all on time, the eternal and infamous thief, Who actually steals nothing, because it is always losing a part of it, Whenever present becomes past, it loses its own precious bit, It always has been so, and maybe it will always be so, until time has nothing to spare any more, Then the Universe shall fall apart because then it shall not be needed anymore, And a new order shall rise, a new leaf shall emerge and grow, Then time shall rule every place high and low, Then my darling Irma, I will love you again, and again, Because then my love, a moment of love, shall be a lifelong gain, Where every kiss shall be remembered and felt again and again, And you shall not hurt me, and I shall not have the power to cause you any pain, Because now time will be judging us all in the present, A gift that indeed is the precious moment in the present, So my love Irma, love me now, but love me true, Before another leaf falls and as long as the sky is still happy and blue!

In his paper, Dr Davis referred to the infamous 1980 Cash-Landrum UFO case, covered earlier in this book, where the Landrum family reported a massive diamond-shaped UFO hovering over their car in the road near Dayton, Texas. As well as the trio reporting terrible burns from what experts declared was ionising radiation, one of the weirdest claims in the Cash-Landrum sighting was that they said they saw 23 helicopters, including massive CH-47 Chinooks, closely following the object. The US military denied any of its choppers were in the air nearby that night, and 23 of them in one place does sound implausible. Dr Davis’s paper gave an explanation – that the helicopters were ‘mimicry techniques employed for the manipulation of human consciousness to induce the various manifestations of “absurd” interactions or scenery associated with the UFO encounter. This in combination with the mimicry of man-made aircrafts’ (helicopters) aggregate features were prominent in the Cash-Landrum UFO case’. There is no explanation for how Dr Davis reached this conclusion. No known science describes the capacity to manipulate human consciousness to induce hallucinations as described. Modern science would say it was science fiction. However, an answer may lie in extraordinary PowerPoint slides we know now were prepared for a briefing of senior officials at the US Department of Defence, detailed online by The Mind Sublime. The individual behind that site told me he found the intriguing PowerPoint slides in early August 2018 while he was trawling through former US Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defence Christopher Mellon’s personal website.4 (This was shortly after The New York Times had revealed the existence of the previously secret Pentagon UAP investigation program.) The Mind Sublime researcher screenshotted his discovery to prove the slides came from Mellon’s website, and, importantly, because the document was stated to be a PowerPoint for a briefing of the Deputy Secretary of the Department of Defence. Perhaps it was these slides that prompted Senator Harry Reid to ask the Department of Defence for Special Access Program protection for the investigation – because what the slides said was momentous. If the unredacted slides accurately reflect the Defence Department’s knowledge of the UAP phenomenon, they are explosive. They reveal how the Pentagon’s UAP investigation unit advised the Defence Department not only that the mysterious craft were a ‘game changer’ but that the US military was powerless against them.5 One of the slides, headed ‘AATIP Preliminary Assessments’, shows that Elizondo’s Advanced Aerospace Threat Identification Program privately advised the Defence Department that ‘Preliminary evidence indicates that the United States is incapable of defending itself towards some of those technologies . . . The nature of these technologies and the fact that the United States has no countermeasures is considered Highly Sensitive’.6 The document, prepared for the Deputy Secretary of the Department of Defence, pushed for further investigation ‘in order to determine the full scope of the threat and their capabilities to be either exploited or defeated’.

Well, he was a bit intimidating." "A bit?"  Juliet laughed.  "We're talking about a man who conceals a rapier in his walking stick, who appears to be as omniscient as God, who faithfully practices his dueling skills every week, and who loves nothing more than to move and manipulate those around him as he might the pieces in a game of chess.  Add to that the fact he is one of the most powerful — and dangerous — men in England, and I fear that intimidating doesn't even begin to describe him!  But he loves and is very protective of his family, I'll give him that.  If you could have seen him when he found out that Gareth had taken up pugilism for a living . . ." Humming to herald her imminent arrival, Nerissa reappeared, all smiles. "Well, well, I see that you two Yankee Doodles have found something to talk about!" "Yes, your infamous brother," Juliet said wryly. "Lucien?  He wasn't unkind to you, was he, Amy?" Amy nearly laughed.  "I don't understand why everyone thinks he's such a monster!" The other two exchanged knowing glances.  "You will," they chorused.

I rule not like Nitocris over beasts of burden, as are the effeminate nations of the East, nor like Semiramis, over tradesmen and traffickers, nor like the man-woman, Nero, over slaves and eunuchs-such is the precious knowledge foreigners introduce among us-but I rule over Britons, little versed, indeed in craft and diplomacy, but born and trained to the game of war; men who in the cause of liberty stake down their lives, the lives of their wives and children, their lands and property. Queen of such a race I implore your aid for freedom, for victory over enemies infamous for the wantonness of the wrongs they inflict, for their perversions of justice, for their insatiable greed; a people that revel in unmanly pleasures, whose affections are more to be dreaded and abhored than their emnity. Never let a foreigner bear rule over me or over my countrymen; never let slavery reign in the island!

Swallow your cock, slut,” he demands. I moan around him, the words so vile, demeaning, and entirely too attractive for the submissive doll I’ve become. “Take your punishment.” After bringing himself to the edge, almost losing at his own game, he pulls out of my mouth, gazing down at the teary, wet mess beneath him with fire in his eyes. He slaps his cock against my cheek before pushing it back between my lips. He repeats this process, pulling out, slapping me, then throat fucking me again. Toying with himself. Toying with me. “Aero,” I whine, craving my own release as he rubs the piercing across my lips, a drop of cum leaking onto my tongue. “Please.” “Please what?” he asks, cocking a brow. “Give me what I need,” I cry. His infamous smirk pulls at his lips before he leans down closer to me. His arm wraps back around behind me, his fingers slipping beneath my shorts until he brushes against my arousal, slipping a finger deep inside. “Oh yeah, you’re ready,” he says, eyes darkening with his own hunger. “God, you’re so amazing, Bri. My dirty little doll. Let’s make you filthy, yeah?