Jet Ski Quotes

What the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. Whether I’m online or not, my mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

Once I was a scuba diver in a sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

And they have a problem with Dresden, I take it?" Murphy asked. "Wanna kill him or something. I don't know," Thomas said, nodding. "They tried it on Jet Skis earlier today." "Roger Moore Bond villains?" Murphy asked, her tone derisive. "Seriously?" "Be silent, mortal cow," snarled one of the Sidhe. Murphy tracked her eyes calmly over to that one, and she nodded once, as if memorizing something. "Yeah, okay. You.

In my box of sound bites there are no jackhammers, no snowmobiles, no Jet Skis, no children wailing. Music but no Muzak. It's my box. Put what you want in yours.

Next to fat babies, midgets are my favorite things to hold. I love them so much, and I want to help them to do adult things like drive cars, Jet-Ski, and lip-synch. I’m in awe of their little limbs, their large craniums, and their medicine-ball asses. I love the little baby steps they take while shifting their weight from side to side, and the fact that when you knock one over accidentally, he flails like a turtle on its back that can’t get up right away.

media aren’t just channels of information. They supply the stuff of thought, but they also shape the process of thought. And what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. Whether I’m online or not, my mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

Life is about not knowing and then doing something anyway. All of life is like this. It never changes. Even when you’re happy. Even when you’re farting fairy dust. Even when you win the lottery and buy a small fleet of Jet Skis, you still won’t know what the hell you’re doing. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t ever be afraid of that.

Life is about not knowing and then doing something anyway. All of life is like this. It never changes. Even when you’re happy. Even when you’re farting fairy dust. Even when you win the lottery and buy a small fleet of Jet Skis, you still won’t know what the hell you’re doing. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t ever be afraid of that. The

I paddled over to Walker's Jet Ski. The lanyard with the key was still attached to the life vest he'd left on the handlebars. I unclipped the lanyard, attached it to my own vest, and threw his to him. "Is it me," Walker asked Lily, "or is your delightful cousin stealing my ride?" "I'm not stealing it," I corrected. "I'm taking it home. Nor our lake house - yours.

So should I just conjure a boat?” I asked her now. She shrugged. “I’m not the one with magic. Just get over however you think is best.” “I could swim,” I suggested. “Ooh! Or maybe magic up like, a sweet Jet Ski?” I held my hands out in front of me as if I were clutching the handlebars of said sweet Jet Sky. Aislinn watched me for a moment before saying, “Is this what you always do when you’re nervous?” My hands fell back to my sides. “Pretty much.” I turned back to the water. “See, the thing is, I’m pretty sure I could make a boat. But then if I do, do I give it a motor? Or a sail? Or am I expected to row myself all the way-“ “Please be quiet until you think of something.” The words themselves weren’t particularly threatening, but Aislinn had a way of looking at you that made you feel like she was mere seconds away from kicking you in the face.

One day I went out on a Jet Ski and lost control. It was dragging me all around the ocean. Eventually I felt somebody pull me out of the water and bring me back to shore. When I got the sand out of my eyes and got acclimated, I realized that Paul McCartney had saved me!

The truth is that I work much harder than I play, because I enjoy the work more. My attitude towards my career is whistle while you work. Every 18 hour day on a set is fun for me. Every all nighter in the studio is a joy. Every 4:30 wake up call is a blessing. I have places I like to go while on vacation, but the first thing I pack isnt my swimsuit, its always my computer. I know after the first day of jet skiing or hanging in the spa, im going to be ready to go back to work.

As McLuhan suggested, media aren’t just channels of information. They supply the stuff of thought, but they also shape the process of thought. And what the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. Whether I’m online or not, my mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

I know I look different than everyone else, but that's okay. Because in the end, we all want the same things: cupcakes, friends, and a jet ski.

When I daydream about having money, it’s not about jewelry and Jacuzzis and Jet Skis. I dream about having that unseen cushion, that margin of error I can just take for granted.

Our esteemed genius, Tommy Cooper, has come up with a compound that he thinks is a super lubricant. he's going to test it on our jet skis." "Let's see, isn't Tommy Head of Research and...?" Before she could finish the question, Chan suggested, "Disaster?" Salvador chimed in with, "Disregard?" EB followed with, "Debacle?" "Development," growled Butler, ignoring the others.

You’re just going to leave me here?” I shout after her. “I’m not leaving you here, Emma. You’re keeping yourself here.” She leaves me with those crazy words, and then she’s gone. I am paralyzed on the beach in my school clothes. I can’t help but feel that I’m in huge trouble. But why should I? She was babysitting me, not the other way around, right? It’s not like I can chase her down and follow her. Her fins have already gone a distance I can’t cover with my puny human legs. Besides, these are my favorite jeans; the salt water would be unforgiving. Except…There is that shiny new jet ski sitting there. I could close the distance between us, put my foot in the water, and find her. She would sense me, come back to see why I was in the water. Wouldn’t she? Of course she would. Then I could talk her into staying here, not leaving me alone to drive myself crazy. I could manipulate her into feeling sorry for me. Unless she’s the complete sociopath I think she is.

The snowmobiles were out in force on Iron Lake, zipping about the ice like ants frenzying on a frosted cake. In summer it was motorboats and Jet Skis and sailboats. No matter what the season the lake had little peace.

I had the most beautiful, famous woman in the world as my girlfriend; I was on the number one TV show in America; I was making a lot of money shooting a movie that could only be a number one box-office smash. I revved that Jet Ski hard,

I feel like a millionaire on the back of an armored jet-ski my samurai girlfriend who loves me is charging at a cartel speedboat to win a game of chicken. Isn’t this the day’s best part? You don’t even have to remember to enjoy it. It enjoys you into itself.

Their true wealth is invisible to them because it comes in the form of what they’re missing: that constant hum of anxiety that sucks the energy from the rest of us. If their refrigerator craps out, they can fix it. If they fall down the stairs, their insurance will cover the hospital bill. If the breadwinner loses his job, he’ll have his pick of landing spots. When I daydream about having money, it’s not about jewelry and Jacuzzis and Jet Skis. I dream about having that unseen cushion, that margin of error I can just take for granted.

Not just the industrial farming but the sprawl, the sprawl, the sprawl. Low-density development is the worst. And SUVs everywhere, snowmobiles everywhere, Jet Skis everywhere, ATVs everywhere, two-acre lawns everywhere. The goddamned green monospecific chemical-drenched lawns.

When the Archives file out of the room, Galen turns to Emma. She’s ready for him. She holds up her shushing finger. “Don’t even,” she says. “I was going to tell you, but I just didn’t have a chance.” “Tell me now,” he says. “Since it seems I’m the last to know.” He isn’t the last to know, of course. But he’d really hoped she would come to him with it. Before now. Before it became an issue for other people. She raises a hesitant brow. “Please,” he grates out. She sighs in a gust. “I still don’t think it’s important at the moment, but when Rayna took off for the Arena, I hoped on one of the jet skis and tried to follow. But,” she amends, “I did not intend to get in the water. I swear I didn’t. It’s just that Goliath wanted to play, and he tipped over the”-she must sense all his patience oozing out-“anyway, so I come across this Syrena, Jasa, and she’s been caught in a net and two men are pulling her aboard. So me and Goliath helped her.” “Where are the fishermen now?” “Um. Unless Rachel did something drastic, they’re probably at home telling their kids crazy stories about mermaids.” Galen feels a sense of control slipping, but of what he’s not sure. For centuries, the Syrena have remained unnoticed by humans. Now within the span of a week, they’ve allowed themselves to be captured twice. He hopes this does not become a pattern. Toraf must have mistaken his long pause for brooding. “Don’t be too hard on her, Galen,” he says. “I told you, Emma helped her and then went straight home.” “Stay out of this,” Galen says pleasantly. “I knew you told him.” Emma crosses her arms at Toraf. “You really are a snitch.” “You had enough to worry about. And so did I.” Toraf shrugs, unperturbed. “It’s over now.” Nalia pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is where I ground you for life,” she tells Emma. “All three hundred years of it.

What the Net seems to be doing is chipping away my capacity for concentration and contemplation. Whether I’m online or not, my mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski.

In 2014, the American media exploded with news of ISIS beheadings in Syria—six thousand miles away from the United States. Meanwhile, the beheading capital of the world is just to our south, a stone’s throw from American homes, businesses, and ranches. When the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria first began posting videotaped beheadings online, it was as if no one had ever heard of such barbarity. In fact, decapitation porn was an innovation of the Mexican drug cartels.45 One “ISIS” video circulating in 2014 showed a man being beheaded with a chain saw. Then it turned out the video wasn’t an ISIS beheading, at all: It was a Mexican video from 2010.46 After American David Hartley was shot and killed by Mexican drug cartel members while jet skiing with his wife at a lake on the Mexican border, the lead investigator on the case was murdered and his head delivered in a suitcase to a nearby military installation.47 In 2013, there was a huge outcry over Facebook’s video-sharing policy when an extremely graphic video of a man beheading a woman appeared on the site. That, too, was a product of Mexico.48 Where is the 24-7 coverage for these champion beheaders? If it seems like you never hear about all the dismemberments in Mexico, you’d be right. In a search of all transcripts in the Nexis archive in the first eight months of ISIS’s existence as a jihadist group, “beheading” was used in the same sentence as “ISIS” or “ISIL” 1,629 times. During that same time period, it was used in the same sentence as “Mexico” or “Mexican” twice. Indeed, in the previous five years Mexican beheadings were mentioned only sixty-six times.49 If a tree falls and beheads a woman in Mexico, does anyone hear it?

Vincent winces like he’s expecting the worst, but then Jabari steps aside, presenting me with a sweep of his arm like he’s one of the showgirls on The Price Is Right and I’m a brand-new Jet Ski that some poor bastard is going to have to pay exorbitant taxes on.

A man once traveled down Niagara Falls on a jet ski…. he did not survive.

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