Kart Quotes

Boggle with sex addicts is up there with go-kart racing with junkies.

We weren't Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I was ok with that, I thought. We had things they didn't, too. Like electricity, and refrigerators. And Mario Kart.

Persephone smiled. "Caleb and I play Super MArio Kart every day at one, and when he cancelled on me I knew something was up." I looked at Caleb slowly.

He looked back at the mirror. "I know it's completely ridiculous, but I can't keep quiet about it any longer. Your closet looks like it was put together by a blind nun, and your brother acts like a cross between a monkey and a go-kart, and you have the social skills of a rock. But I like you, Amy. Quite—quite a bit." He paused. "So, congratulations.

You remind me more of Princess Peach.” I looked down at my shorts and tank top, and caught the ends of my multicolored brown hair courtesy of careful instruction to Ginny. “Because of my beautiful pink gown and blonde hair?” Dallas’s mouth went flat. “She’s surrounded by men, but she’s still herself, and she’s got her shit together on Mario Kart.

Did you learn to drive—by playing Mario Kart—” “I’ve never put a Mario in a cart and I never will.

An interesting fact about the goddess of knowledge is that she knows everything that anyone in this world knows, including me. Which means she knows a bunch of Mario Kart shortcuts, which is kind of awesome.

Vozač je rekao djedu koliko koštaju karte i dok je djed vrlo pažljivo prebrojavao novac - jer je svjetlo u autobusu bilo preslabo - vozač se okrenuo prema putnicima, digao desnu ruku i rekao: „How!“ i prasnuo u smijeh, i svi su prasnuli u smijeh. Tada sam se počeo bolje osjećati znajući da su prijateljski nastrojeni i ne zamjeraju nam što nismo imali vozne karte. Onda smo pošli prema stražnjem dijelu autobusa i tamo sam vidio jednu bolesnu ženu. Oko očiju joj je bilo neprirodno crnilo, a usne su joj bile jarko crvene kao od krvi. Kad smo prošli pokraj nje, stavila je ruku iznad usta i zavrištala: „Wa...huuu!“ Ali sigurno ju je ubrzo prestalo boljeti jer se počela smijati i svi ostali su se smijali. Čovjek koji je sjedio pokraj nje se također smijao i pritom se lupao po nozi. Imao je veliku sjajnu kopču na kravati pa sam znao da su oni bogati i mogu platiti liječnika ako im je potreban.

Koje god da ti karte život podijeli, u ruci uvijek imaš glavni adut: svoju slobodnu volju.

All you need to know about racing you can learn from Super Mario Kart.

Bye, Arlo! If you don't call me tonight, I'll just assume you've been murdered, shear off all my hair in mourning, and write lengthy poetry immortalizing that one time you beat me at Mario Kart.

Ne upravlja se životom kao brodom. Čovek ne može samo gledati u kompas i karte; ploviti po unapred utvrđenim rutama; uspostaviti ugodnost kao jedini postulat putovanja i očekivati da tako, osiguran od opasnosti i neprijatnih iznenađenja, od poraza i promašaja, pronađe rajsku obalu. Uzbuđenje nastaje u hodu. Samo uznemirena čula prepoznaju lepotu.

... E ku thuhene ne karte, fjalet e gjuhes se zjarrte!

Turgut, sıkıntılı olduğu zamanlar sorulara cevap vermez, bu kartlardan birini uzatırdı: Daha gelmedi Bir de kantine bak Bugün yeni fıkra yok Ben ne bileyim ulan (en çok kullanılan kart)

LJUBAV. To nikako ne mogu objasniti. Kako objasniti zašto volim prirodu u svim njenim oblicima? Ne samo sezonski, nego i ljeto i zimu i sunce i kišu i snijeg. Mogu li se dva partnera voljeti ako ne znaju svoje 'ružne strane'? Ako se neka osoba voli samo u njenom dobrom svjetlu, je li ljubav potpuna, je li prava? Je li to uopće ljubav? I tako svi ... Svi vole samo sunčano vrijeme, a kada je ružno zatvaraju se u svoja skloništa. Čovjekov iskustveni raspon temperature je 20°C. Od +10°C do +30°C. Sve više ili manje je neudobno. Pa, jesam li onda ja, koji hodam po kiši bos i uživam, lud? Jesam li lud kad vičem niz vjetar koji je toliko jak da se mogu nasloniti na njega? Kada silazim niz snježnu planinu, proklizavam i padam jer ne vidim prst pred sobom, a smijem se i istovremeno divim njenoj moći i svojoj neustrašivosti - jesam li lud? Vjerojatno jesam, ali ja samo igram iskreno, uživam u igri i takve karte dobivam.

Tanrı zar atmaz. O kainat ile kendi tasarladığı, tarifi imkansız bir oyunu oynar. Diğer oyuncuların (Herkes) gözünden bakıldığında bu, karanlık bir odada, kuralları söylemeyen ve sürekli gülümseyen bir kart dağıtıcısının dağıttığı boş kartlarla oynanan, sonsuz risklere girilen, anlaşılması imkansız ve ne olduğu bilinmeyen bir poker oyununa benzer...

Ne bojim se, da bi zbolel. Česa pa potem? Bojim se, kaj vse bi se lahko spremenilo. Bojim se spoznanja, da so temelji civilizacije, kakršno poznam, kot hišica iz kart. Bojim se izničenja, pa tudi njegovega nasprotja: tega, da bi strah minil, ne da bi nas spodbudil k spremembam.

Get sleep....get sharp!!

God Please now my future see make it clear where I should be. Open the window close the doors not my will my God but yours - Kart Hart- Fame by Karen Kingsbury

You don’t always get the waterfall shortcut in Mario Kart. That’s life.

Księgi zaś Twoje, mimo złote wargi Kart z pargaminu, i Twoje dzienniczki Z elektrycznymi okrzyki lub skargi Gasną, jak ckliwe o południu świéczki

Tum daulat ki Kya baat karte ho Maine gareeb ko aksar pur sukoon dekha hai

He had his DS balanced on his blue-jeaned knees and was poking away at it industriously with the stylus. “Score,” he said as she came up the steps. “I’m kicking butt at Mario Kart.” Clary

Kart destesini aldı. "Devam edelim mi? Altıncı elin şanslı olduğunu duymuştum." Gözlerimi devirdim. "Cehennem buz tuttuğunda belki kazanırsın." Bir kaşını kaldırdı. "Sanırım bunu ayarlayabilirim.

İkimiz de güldük. "Sally" dedim, "senin sevdiğim yanın ne biliyor musun? Bu kadar kolayca kandırılabilmen. Hiç kandırılamayan insanlar öylesine can sıkıcı ve ruhsuz oluyorlar ki!" "Beni hâlâ seviyor musun, Chris, sevgilim?" "Evet, Sally. Seni hâlâ seviyorum." Onu bir daha görmedim. Yaklaşık iki hafta sonra, tam onu aramam gerektiğini düşündüğüm bir sırada, Paris'ten bir kart aldım: "Buraya dün gece geldim. Yarın doğru dürüst yazarım. Kucak dolusu sevgiler." Arkadan mektup gelmedi. Bundan bir ay sonra Roma'dan bir kart daha aldım. Adres yoktu: "Bir iki güne kadar yazarım." diyordu. Bu altı yıl önceydi. Şimdi ben ona yazıyorum. Sally, bunu okuduğun zaman -eğer bir gün okuyacak olursan- lütfen bunu bir takdirname- sana verebileceğim en yürekten takdirname olarak kabul et...

Zahvalio sam publici na dolasku, izbacio par štosova, a onda rekao: - U slučaju da je netko od vas došao bez poznavanja cijele priče, spomenut ću vam savjet mog oca. On je uvijek govorio da valja predstaviti slona ukoliko se nalazi u sobi. Ako pogledate moje CT snimke, vidjet ćete da u jetri imam otprilike deset tumora. Liječnici kažu da mogu živjeti relativno zdravo još tri do šest mjeseci. To su rekli prije mjesec dana pa sad možete i sami izračunati. Na ekranu sam pokazao veliku CT snimku moje jetre. Is-pod slajda je pisalo »Slon u sobi«, a ja sam još dodao crvene strelice koje su pokazivale svaki pojedinačni tumor. Zadržao sam sliku neko vrijeme da publika može uočiti strelice i prebrojiti tumore. - U redu - rekao sam. -Tako je kako jest. Tu se ne da ništa promijeniti. Jedino što možemo je izabrati način reakcije. Ne možemo promijeniti karte koje smo dobili, već samo odlučiti kako ćemo igrati.

Miršta tik laikas. Tas prakeiktas laikas. Jis visada miršta. O mes gyvenam. Visada gyvename. Kai tu pabundi, pavasaris, o kai užmingi - ruduo, o tuo tarpu tūkstantį kart persimaino žiema ir vasara, o jeigu mes vienas kitą mylim, mes amžini ir nepaveikiami, kaip širdies plakimas, kaip lietus ir vėjas, ir tai daug.

Mnogima bi se svidjela da se nisi trudila svidjeti se svima. Znaš, ne treba meni objašnjenje za moj trud, često sam se trudila i na kraju izašla praznih ruku. Pa šta? Ne kajem se. I da mogu ne bi vratila vrijeme, čemu? Meni je dovoljno da se utopim u čaši uspomena. Da nazdravim onima koji su putovali sa mnom, a da to nisu niti znali, da im zahvalim, i da im poželim sreću na njihovom sljedećem putovanju. Kamo – a tko to od nas uopće zna? Kada jednom shvatiš da si zalutao, kao ja, bez karte i cilja, među te ledom optočene zidine od ljudi nema ti druge nego krčiti svoj vlastiti – zid. Jer, teško da ćeš se zagrijati na tim. Zidovima od ljudi.

It's one of the things I love about motorsports - you're always learning, always having to adapt. It's not like tennis, where the rackets might change a bit but everything else stays the same. If you're in motorsport, the formulas are always changing. The regulations, the tyres, the power, the type of engine. It keeps you excited.

It's one of the things I love about motorsports - you're always learning, always having to adapt and develop. It's not like tennis, where the rackets might change a bit but everything else stays the same. If you're in motorsport, the formulas are always changing. The regulations, the tyres, the power, the type of engine. It keeps you excited.

Formula One drivers were like gods to me, growing up.

The sound of that V10, a rich growl that reached right into my soul.

Archeolog, tak jak saper, myli się tylko raz. Jak coś wykopie i zapomni to narysować, sfotografować, opisać w dzienniku wykopaliskowym i jeszcze wypełnić rubryki wszystkich kart, których jest więcej niż stron w książce telefonicznej prywatnych abonentów Nowego Jorku, informacje przepadną na zawsze. Przepadnie cały kontekst. Kontekst to święta krowa archeologii...

De akármilyen gyorsan is szaladtam, az arum gyorsabb volt. Mellettem, aztán előttem jelent meg a sötét, sáros árnyék. Havon és jégen csúszva az obszidiánomért nyúltam, készen rá, hogy a hegyét beledöfjem az arumba, mindegy, hogy hol. Már várta a mozdulatot. Kart formált magának, és gyomron vágott vele. Az ütés ereje a levegőbe lökött, aztán az oldalamra zuhantam. Éles fájdalom vágott a csontjaimba. Hanyatt fordultam, kipislogtam a havat a szememből. Már értettem, miért tiltakozott Daemon olyan hevesen az ellen, hogy én is arumokra vadásszak. Éppen most nyomtak le, és a harc még el sem kezdődött. A vészjósló árnyék ismét megjelent mellettem. Már nem viselt emberi formát: amikor megszólalt a hangja gonosz mormolásként hatolt a gondolataim közé. Te nem luxsszen vagy, de azért ssspeciálisss. Miféle erőkkel bírsssz?

Bırakıp gittin beni bütün kapılardan. Bütün çöllerde tek başıma kodun beni. Şafakta arayıp öğle vakti yitirdiğim Vardığım hiçbir yerde değildin. Sensiz bir odanın sahrasını nasıl anlatsam ! Hiçbir şeyin seni andırmadığı bir pazar kalabalığını, Denizde dalga kıranda da boş boşluğunu bir günün, Seslenip de senden cevap alamadığım sessizliği.. Bırakıp gittin beni kalarak olduğun yerde hareketsiz Her yerde bırakıp gittin beni gözlerinle Düşlerin yüreğiyle bırakıp gittin beni. Yarım kalmış bir cümle gibi bırakıp gittin, Gelişigüzel bir nesne, bir "şey", bir iskemle gibi, Yazla birlikte biten bir kısa tatil, Çekmecede bir kart gibi bırakıp gittin. Senden düşen hep ben oldum en küçük kımıldanışında. Başını çevirdiğin için ağladığımı görmedin hiç Bana bakıp görmediğin için, Ben yokken içini çektiğin için. Ayağına düşen gölgene acıdın mı sen hiç ?

Man charakterisiert eine Geschichte am besten dadurch, dass man sie erzählt. Verstehen Sie? Eine Erzählung beschreiben, sich selbst oder der Welt, das macht man, indem man sie erzählt. Es ist ein Balanceakt, aber auch etwas Traumartiges. Die genaueste Karte, die sich denken lässt, wäre die Landschaft selbst, die jene verzeichnet; sie wäre daher vollkommen genau, aber auch vollkommen nutzlos. Die Erzählung ist die Karte, die die Landschaft ist. Das sollte man im Auge behalten.

Złóż głowę — śpiącą, kochaną, Ludzką — na moim ramieniu Niewiernym; w myślących dzieciach Czas trawi śpiesznym płomieniem Urodę, każdemu z nich daną Inaczej, i zżera je lękiem; Ale ja chcę do świtu w objęciach Mieć to żywe stworzenie, pełne Winy, niestałe, śmiertelne, Lecz dla mnie skończenie piękne. Bez granic jest dusza i ciało: Kochankom, kiedy w omdleniu Conocnym leża pod okiem Łagodnej planety Wenus, Jej blask śle wizje nietrwałe Wszechwładnej miłości, obrazy Nadziei wiecznie wysokiej; Sny, w abstrakcyjnej wersji Budzące i w chudej piersi Pustelnika zmysłowe ekstazy. Pewność, wierność nie trwa nawet Doby — zgaśnie przed północą Jak cichnący dzwonu głos, Znów modni maniacy wzniosą Swoją pedantyczną wrzawę I wróżba z kart nas postraszy: Trzeba spłacić każdy grosz Kosztów, długów i rachunków; Lecz skarb nocnych pocałunków Wartości rankiem nie straci. Piękność, północ, przywidzenia — Wszystko niknie; niech wiatr brzasku Nad twą głową, która śni, Zbudzi dzień tak pełen blasku, By wzrok i puls śpiewał pean Światu, który pędzi w śmierć; Znajdziesz i w pustyni dni Mannę mimowolnych mocy, Znajdziesz i w zniewadze nocy Miłość wszystkich ludzkich serc.

Eskiçağ dünyasının bilimini çok aştık. Fakat bilim tarihine ilişkin bilgilerimizde büyük boşluklar var. Bunları doldurmak olanaksız. Günümüzde bir kitaplık okuyucusunun hangi kitabı okuduğunu gösteren kart gibi o zamanki bir kart elimize geçse kim bilir ne bilgiler edinebilir? Biliyoruz ki, Berossus adında Babilli bir rahibin yazdığı üç ciltlik "Dünya Tarihi" kayıptır. Bu kitabın ilk cildinin dünyanın yaratılışından Tufan'a kadar uzanan dönemi içerdiği sanılıyor. Sözü geçen kitapta yazar, bu dönemi 432.000 yıl olarak belirttiğine göre, Tevrat kronolojisinin yüz katı bir zamanı kapsıyor demektir. Merak ederim, acaba o kitapta ne vardı?...

A moth is such a simple machine in the animal world - the go-kart to the modern car - and it takes a lot of glitches to prevent it going. It's this intriguing simplicity, the idea that you could pull it into its constituent parts and put it back together in the same rainy day, that if you pulled back the skin, you could watch the inner workings, that makes a moth such an absorbing creature to study. Moths have a universal character: there are no individuals. Each reacts to a precise condition or stimulus in a predictable and replicable way. They are pre-programmed robots, unable to learn from experience. For instance, we know they will allways react to a smell, a pheromone or a particular spectrum of light in the same way. I can mimic the scent of a flower so that a moth will direct itself towards that scent ...

Mellettem, aztán előttem jelent meg a sötét, sáros árnyék. Havon és jégen csúszva az obszidiánomért nyúltam, készen rá, hogy a hegyét beledöfjem az arumba, mindegy, hogy hol. Már várta a mozdulatot. Kart formált magának, és gyomron vágott vele. Felemelkedtem, aztán az oldalamra zuhantam. Éles fájdalom vágott a csontjaimba. Hanyatt fordultam, kipislogtam a havat a szememből. Már értettem, miért tiltakozott Daemon olyan hevesen az ellen, hogy én is arumokra vadásszak. Éppen most nyomtak le, és a harc még el sem kezdődött. A vészjósló árnyék ismét megjelent mellettem. Már nem viselt emberi formát: amikor megszólalt a hangja gonosz mormolásként hatolt a gondolataim közé. Te nem luxsszen vagy, de azért ssspeciálisss. Miféle erőkkel bírsssz? Erők? Amiket Daemon adott át, amikor megváltoztatott. Az arum most megöl, és elveszi ezeket.

Mikor még Aztán még sokáig úgy csináltunk, mintha mi se történt volna, hisz mit is tehetnénk: a reggel indul, az ég néha tényleg égkék, a gyerek reménye, jövője meg végképp mindenekfelett. Hisz valóban mennyivel jobb a jót, a szépet látni, jaj, mennyire sokkal jobb, mint nézni, ami van, a romot, a vállból kiszakadt kart, medencéből lábat, ahogy elgurul. Hisz a béke is mindig túlél kicsit, mikor már háború van – hát örültünk, éltünk, fölénézve, nem akartuk egybetenni, amit – ki vádolhat minket emiatt? De aztán elakad a víz a csapban, az utca sincs többé, csak kőporfüst, ahol addig az orvosi rendelő, és nem kenyér vagy tej, de vér se már, ami a gyerek ereiből elfolytat pótolná, és egy nap több összetákolt bárka se indul a másik part felé, ahol még addig bizton sejthettünk élhető létet, és igen, akkor készült össze mindez, mikor még úgy csináltunk, mintha.

Lisičje prokletstvo leži u tome da nije voljena. Lisica nema veliku snagu da bismo je se bojali i pokorili se, ni pak napadnu ljepotu da bismo pred njom ostajali bez daha. Kako, uostalom, voljeti nekoga tko mijenja svoja lica i svoju narav, nekoga tko je čas privrženo, čas spreman da nas proda budzašto, nekoga za koga, uostalom, nismo sigurni pripada li svijetu mrtvih ili svijetu živih? Lisica ne pripada ni zvijerima, ni nama, ljudima, niti pak božanstvima. Ona je vječiti slijepi putnik, migrantica koja s lakoćom prolazi kroz svjetove, a kada je uhvate bez putne karte, onda repom vrti kuglice, izvodi svoje jeftine majstorije. Taj trenutak divljenja koji načas dobiva ona kratkovidno (O, lisičja slabosti!) zamjenjuje za ljubav. To su njezini trenuci slave. Sve drugo je povijest straha, bjekstva pred lovčevim mecima, neprestano lajanje lovačkih pasa; povijest progona, batina, lizanja rana, poniženja, samoće i jeftine utjehe - zvečke načinjene od kokošjih kostiju.

I left Patrick coloring in his room and darted to the living room, but then I stopped short. Because William and Sean weren’t alone. “Bryan,” I said on a gasp, drawing three sets of eyes to me. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were wide and surprised as he took in my appearance, trailing over my high heels, bare legs, and form-fitting silk dress. Self-consciously, I glanced at myself again, tugging on the hem. Bryan’s voice was distracted; as though he were talking to himself, he began, “Holy sh—” “You look great.” William stepped in front of his teammate and gave me a warm, if sedate, smile. I frowned at William, then at Bryan—or what I could see of him behind William—then at Sean, who was inspecting my ceiling. My frown deepened. “What’s going on?” “Oh,” Sean chirped, imbuing his tone with forced lightness, “I just thought since you were going out, Patrick, Bryan, and I could have a men’s night in. You know, go through the latest Dolce & Gabbana catalogue, play a friendly game of Mario Kart, teach Patrick how to hook in a scrum. The usual.

Do you have any ritual things you do before a race?” My dad did. He always had to wear black boxer shorts and socks. Before every race, he would also have a plain egg omelet for breakfast. I never did learn why. “Yep.” I wait, but he doesn’t expand. “Well…are you gonna tell me what it is?” Arms on the table, he leans forward. “Okay.” He lets out a breath. “I have to eat a bar of Galaxy chocolate before each race.” “Really?” I smile. “Why?” Eyes on me, he rests back in his seat, keeping his hands on the table. “After we first moved to England, I don’t know if it was the pressure or being in a different country or what, but I wasn’t winning races. I was coming in fourth at best. I was panicking because Dad had given up so much by moving us to England, and I was getting frustrated because I knew I was capable of more. “Anyway, on this particular day, I was hungry because I’d forgotten to eat, and my dad was all, ‘You will lose this race on an empty stomach.’ So, he went off to get me something to eat. Anyway, he came back, telling me there was only this shitty vending machine. Then, he held out a bar of Galaxy chocolate, and I was like, ‘What the hell is that? I’m not eating that. It’s women’s chocolate. Men don’t eat Galaxy. They eat Yorkie.’ You remember the adverts?” “I do.” I laugh, loving the way he’s telling the story. He’s so animated with his eyes all lit up. “So, my dad got pissed off and said, ‘Well, they haven’t got any men’s chocolate, so eat the bloody women’s chocolate, and shut the hell up!’” I snort out a laugh. “So, what did you do?” “Sulked for about a minute, and then I ate the fucking bar of Galaxy, and it was the best chocolate I’d ever tasted—not that I admitted that to my dad at the time. Then, I got in my kart and won my first ever race in England.” He smiles fondly, and I can see the memory in his eyes. “And since then, before every race, my dad buys me a bar of Galaxy from a vending machine, and I eat it. It’s my one weird thing.” “But what if there isn’t any Galaxy chocolate in a vending machine? Or worse, there isn’t a vending machine?” He leans forward, a sexy-arse smile on his face. “There’s always a vending machine, Andressa, and there’s always a bar of Galaxy in it.” “Ah.” The power of being Carrick Ryan.

WHEN YOU CROW UP IN KANSAS WEARING VERY LARGE SHORTS, thinking not very much of yourself, thinking mainly of your knees, looking mainly at your knees, your face a frisbee that cant fly, your teeth buck, your eyebrows rectangles, your forehead more than half of your face, your shirts shapeless, your shape shapeless, your Kansas shapeless, your lust absent, your legs bowed, your arches flat, your chest flat, your ears your only curves, your ears never pierced, your denim never dazzled, your sneakers white, your socks white, your teeth turquoise with rubber bands, your cheese orange, your milk whole, your bread wonder, your luxury a tuna casserole, your pale a neon pale, your fantasy to race a Mario Kart over the desert and into the final oasis, your earthly oasis a salted pretzel, your solitude total, your urges not even visible to you on the clearest days at the farthest horizons, your blank magnificent, your inertia wild and authentic, your nothing your preference, and then into it somebody walks, a Joan, this sudden hero can really take control. You’re susceptible first to idolatry, then to study, to apprenticeship, and finally to a kind of patient love that makes fun of itself and believes in itself without limit. Imagine being a pudding cup of a person and encountering a confident, elegant, powerful scholar who knows what to do with her shoulders. Imagine encountering you.

Nun, es ist so wie ich gesagt habe. Wenn man sich die Frage stellt, öffnet sich eine Art Tor. Der Geist des Menschen beziehungsweise die Seele, oder wie immer Sie es nennen wollen, wird die Antwort ergründen wollen. Die Frage wird im Leben dieses Menschen so lange im Vordergrund stehen, bis er die Antwort gefunden hat" [...] "Warum bin ich hier?" [...] Aber für diejenigen, die sich mit der Frage auf einer bestimmten Ebene auseinandersetzen und die Antwort wirklich wissen wollen, wird es schwer, die Frage zu ignorieren." [...] "Wie erwähnt, erzeugt die Frage den Wunsch, nach Antworten zu suchen. Sobald jemand die Antwort kennt, entsteht eine ebenso starke Kraft. Sobald ein Mensch weiß, warum er hier ist, warum er existiert, welchen Grund es dafür gibt, dass er am Leben ist, wird er den Wunsch haben, dem Sinn und Zweck seiner Existenz gerecht zu werden. Es ist so, als erkenne man auf einer Karte, wo ein Schatz versteckt ist. Sobald man die Markierung entdeckt, fällt es schwer, sie zu ignorieren und nicht nach dem Schatz zu suchen. [...] Sobald jemand weiß, warum er hier ist, wird es härter und und emotional schwieriger für ihn sein, diese persönliche Bestimmung nicht zu verwirklichen".

Menschen, die sich die Frage auf der Karte nicht gestellt haben und nichts unternommen haben, um ihren ZDE zu erfüllen ..." [...] "diese Menschen haben Angst vor dem Tod

You don’t see adult gamers being accused of an inability to discern when one is a human driving a real car and when one is a yellow dinosaur driving a Mario Kart, but romance readers hear about their unrealistic expectations of men almost constantly.

There are more restrictive rules for girls than for dogs, cats or cows. Everyone knows these common boundaries, ‘boundations’. These restrictions often continue through college and even till the day girls get married. Curfew hours range from 6 p.m. to 10.30 p.m. For Abhisha, 20, studying commerce, the curfew hour is still 6 p.m. or 6.30 p.m. She says wistfully, ‘I have a lot of dreams, like sometimes to hang out with my friends, but my mother and father allow nahin karte , they don’t allow it. Because they think it is not safe for women. I feel they won’t allow me sleepovers, so I never ask, I feel anxious that they might refuse. Hesitation hoti hai , there is hesitation.’ Once she hesitatingly asked her father permission to go somewhere and he did not allow her. She did not talk to her father for a year, but she did not defy him or fight back. She says, ‘Now I have let it go. It was something small. But it affected me a lot.

A whisper is sometimes louder than a thunderstorm. Between the lips of the Haseki Sultan rest the storms that sway an empire.

Choti moti Baton se wo Gila Nai karte, Jinhe Sikandar bana hota Hai wo Airon Gairon se Lada Nai karte.

- Il y a bien des signes partout, non ? Le moteur d'un petit avion résonne au-dessus de nos têtes. Carter lève le doigt : - Comme là, en ce moment. On regarde le ciel ensemble. Une bannière avec un message flotte derrière le petit appareil. Carter se met à pester : - Les cons, ils ont tout gâché. Normalement, ça devait dire La réponse est dans le ciel : Kendall aime Carter. Je savais que le mec n'avait rien compris ! À la place, il y a écrit : La dépense est dans le miel. Ken Doll aime le karting.

I barely touched it! This thing's a f***ing rocket-powered g-kart.

I barely touched it! This thing's a f***ing rocket-powered go-kart.

Don’t scare me like that again. You can’t get out of our Mario Kart rematch that easily.

Do you know how to drive a car?!” Jackson gave me a look like I was so lame. “I play Mario Kart.

If I can get first place in Mario Kart, then I’m PRETTY SURE I’ll be fine driving to school.

Fine. Call me when you get home?” “So clingy. We need to find you a significant other. Or a cat.” “I do like cats. I’d also like you to call me.” “Oh, look, there’s my dad,” said Arlo with some exaggeration. She waved at an oncoming car as it slowed to a stop bedside them. Bye, Cel. Thanks for walking me from school.” “Bye, Arlo! If you don't call me tonight, I'll just assume you've been murdered, shear off all my hair in mourning, and write lengthy poetry immortalizing that one time you beat me at Mario Kart.

Agar ap apni mehbooba se mohobat karte hain Aur apki mehbooba ap se mohobat karti hai. To kuch log apke saath khare honge aur kuch log apke khilaf. Agar ap ne aur apki mehbooba ne sabar se kaam liya aur sirf sabar lete rahe to ap apni mohobat ko paa lenge aur jo kuch apke khilaf honge wo apke samne haar jayenge aur wo majbor ho jayenge k ab ye log humare saath kya karege. Lehaza uske baad bhi apne kuch nahi karna bas ek dusre ko khush rakhna hai aur yahi ek sabar ja fun seekhna hai.k kon apka apna hai aur kon nahi.

Agar ap kisi se mohobat karte hain aur apki mehbooba ap se mohobat karti hai To kuch log apke saath khare honge aur kuch logon apke khilaf. Agar ap ne aur ap ki mehbooba ne sabar se kaam liya aur sirf sabar se hi kaam liya. To ap apni mohobat ko paa lenge. Aur jo log apke khilaf honge wo apke samne haar jayenge aur majbor ho jayenge

Pehle log 'yaad' keliye photo khichaaya karte the.. Aaj kal FB pe upload karne ke liye 'yaad se' kheechate hai ;)

Maqsad/Purpose of life ?; "Buss Kuch mazhabi junooni apni marzi karte hai aur naam dete hai ussey khuda ki marzi ka.." "Maksad toh Acche Amal aur Nequi Karna hai, jo harr mazhub(religion) seekhaata hai..

air will remunerate you with heaps of focuses. The more you remain noticeable all around when coasting, the more focuses will go into the bank. Likewise,

With this new information, you now do some research to show Gary what is possible. You find a similar go-kart business in another city and notice they have a great website, complete with great photos and racing videos. It has the opening hours and booking details listed, and a section on how to book parties and corporate events. They even have a racing club member section with race day events and the fastest track lap records. The whole website looks very fun and exciting, but it is also expertly designed to help create new sales and attract new customers. You can clearly see how something similar would be very effective for Gary’s business. With this in mind, you share your plan with Gary to demonstrate all the great things about his own business that can be shared online to improve his sales. On the website, he can show his race track, explain why they are a great place to come to and have some fun, and how easy it can be to book a race night. This way, Gary starts to see the website not just as a "thing," but as a valuable part of his business.

Şimdi biz neyiz biliyor musun? Akıp giden zamana göz kırpan yorgun yıldızlar gibiyiz. Birbirine uzanamayan Boşlukta iki yalnız yıldız gibi Acı çekiyor ve kendimize gömülüyoruz Bir zaman sonra batık bir aşktan geriye kalan iki enkaz olacağız yalnızca Kendi denizlerimizde sessiz sedasız boğulacağız Ne kalacak bizden? bir mektup, bir kart, birkaç satır ve benim şu kırık dökük şiirim Sessizce alacak yerini nesnelerin dünyasında Ne kalacak geriye savrulmuş günlerimizden Bizden diyorum, ikimizden Ne kalacak? Şimdi biz neyiz biliyor musun? Yıkıntılar arasında yakınlarını arayan öksüz savaş çocukları gibiyiz. Umut ve korkunun hiçbir anlam taşımadığı bir dünyada bir şey bulduğunda neyi, ne yapacağını bilemeyen çocuklar gibi. Artık hiçbir duygusunu anlayamayan çocuklar gibi Ve elbet biz de bu aşkta büyüyecek Her şeyi bir başka aşka erteleyeceğiz

I have a home again. It’s not Ilmari’s bungalow. It’s the man sharing it with me. The sweet, twenty-two-year-old man who plays hockey and loves Mario Kart and can never answer a single text message. The man who always puts the oven on the wrong setting even though you tell him three times. The man who needs a haircut and fucks me like a god. The man who makes me laugh and listens when I speak and holds me when I cry. The man who’s been showing me every day since the day we met how he intends to put me first. Ryan Langley. My Ryan. My home.

And I bet he was the kind of guy who took hate fucking to a whole new level. A level I wouldn’t have minded Mario Karting my way to and parking up to let him put his Luigi in my Peach.

Tumhari Muskaan se Sudhar jati hai tabiyat meri, Batao na tum ishq karte ho ya ilaaj.

Minns cider sin barndom som kart?

—Abuela, ¿cómo puede haber gente tan mala?  Ese Kart está loco. —Lo peor es que seguramente no esté loco. Mira, el mal es algo que está dentro del corazón del ser humano. —Sí, pero no todos vamos matando gente por ahí. —Eso es cierto, pero lo que es seguro  es que todos necesitamos que Dios cambie nuestro corazón; sin su ayuda no podemos hacer nada.

—Die letzte Karte spielt der Tod. —¿La última carta la juega la Muerte?

Unless your game is a just-for-fun simulation such as Super Mario Kart or Beetle Adventure Racing!, vehicle simulation is the most technologically oriented of games, so the core mechanics of the game are almost entirely about physics.

My fantasy’s interrupted by some uppity-ass eight-year-old who thinks it would be funny to try to run me off the track by driving right into my kart from behind. I regain control of my vehicle, slow down and let him pass me. I then suddenly speed up after a few feet of meandering and ram straight into him from the right-hand side, making him drive into the tires. Whiplash, bitch! He screams at me all red-faced as I pass him. Not saying anything, just screaming. Prick.

Die letzte Karte spielt der Tod. La última carta la juega la Muerte.

boggles the mind. Whether

race kart can do simply boggles the mind. Whether

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Den historia jag nu ska försöka berätta utspelar sig i Stockholmsförorten Tyresö sommaren 2011. Det var en sällsamt varm och solig sommar, blåbären hade redan mognat i skogen när det varslades död. Först om det fruktansvärda i Norge, alla unga liv som släcktes, vettlöst. Sedan från huset i Camden Town, en kropp så liten och späd att den knappt gick att urskilja under det vita lakanet på båren. Mina tårar torkade inte av sig själva. Och så ... det andra. Medan blåbären fortfarande var sura kart i skogarna som omgav våra hem, med bläcket i studentmössorna färskt – alla dem vi ägnat tre, sex, nio, tolv år åt att gömma oss för som nu skrev BFF och Vi ses snart igen i våra mössor, var det champagnen som talade? – inträffade ett par försvinnanden. Det började med chihuahuan Honey som försvann från Farmarstigen under våren och resulterade i en outsinlig ström av lappar och, så småningom, en artikel i lokaltidningen. För varje vecka som gick skruvades tonläget i lapparna upp. Man hade en uppdatering, Honey hade tidigare samma vecka setts i närområdet. Honey levde! Till sist var Zeb och jag övertygade om att alltsammans var en konstinstallation av något slag, för lapparna bara fortsatte och fortsatte, ett alldeles eget narrativ växte fram i de kopierade lapparna med pixliga foton på en liten förskrämd hund. Fanns hon ens? Jag började skriva på en novell som aldrig blev klar om en ensam kvinna och hennes försvunna hund, som eventuellt aldrig funnits utanför kvinnans fantasi. Sedan hittade jag Elsie Johanssons roman Kvinnan som mötte en hund i mammas bokhylla och lät alltsammans bero. Alla berättelser jag försökt skriva, som fallit i glömska när jag hittat existerande verk som lyckats förmedla det jag ville skriva om med en lyskraft som jag saknat. Saknar. Skuggbiblioteken, var det trots allt där jag hörde hemma? Vem är jag att göra anspråk på den här historien? Ett par veckor efter sista Honeylappen hände något som fick alla att sluta tänka på den försvunna hunden. Lina försvann, och med henne något som aldrig skulle komma tillbaka." (Ur Orkidépojken, släpps i augusti 2017)

I wanted to debate this further but I held back—mostly because he was driving as if we were in a go-kart and he’d eaten a special mushroom giving him infinite lives.

Baatein hain kuch jo ankahi reh gayi hain, Tumhari humari yaadon ki gehraiyon mein, Iss dil ki aarzoo abhi adhuri reh gayi hai, Rukna tum vahin jahan mila karte the hum, Kyunki raaste mein humari parchaiyaan reh gayi hain, Tumhare bina zindgi kaisi hogi kuch pta nahi, Abhi jeene mein kuch kamiyaan reh gayi hain!

I love you, I love you very very much naina mein aankhein band karti hun to tumhain dekhti hun aankhe kholti hun to tumhain dekhna chahti hun tum paas nahi hote to tumhain chaarun taraf mehsoos karti hun har pal har ghadi har waqt merre naina tumhi ko doondate hain isse pyar kaho paagalpan ya mere dil ki dhadkan mere liye ek hi baat hai pyar to bahut log karte hain lekin mere jaisa pyar koi nahi kar sakta kyonki kisi ke paas tum jo nahi ho mein tumhain bhool nahi sakti mein tumhain bhoolna hi nahi chahti tum mere ho, mein tumhain zindagi bhar pyar karungi marte dam tak pyar karungi aur us k baad bhi...

Er nickt und nimmt nur ganz sachte den heftigen Regen wahr, der seine Stirn hinunter läuft, über seine Wange, das Kinn – es kümmert ihn nicht. Alles was er ist, fühlt und sieht, ist Loreen. Regentropfen laufen in Rinnsalen ihr Gesicht hinunter, benetzen ihre Haut wie eine komplizierte Karte, die er am liebsten studieren möchte. (Slash)

Sex is a lot like Mario Kart. You go really fast, you throw some bananas, Wario is there.

We stalked carefully through the park in best paramilitary fashion, the lost patrol on its mission into the land of the B movie. To Deborah’s credit, she was very careful. She moved stealthily from one piece of cover to the next, frequently looking right to Chutsky and then left at me. It was getting harder to see her, since the sun had now definitely set, but at least that meant it was harder for them to see us, too—whoever them might turn out to be. We leapfrogged through the first part of the park like this, past the ancient souvenir stand, and then I came up to the first of the rides, an old merry-go-round. It had fallen off its spindle and lay there leaning to one side. It was battered and faded and somebody had chopped the heads off the horses and spray-painted the whole thing in Day-Glo green and orange, and it was one of the saddest things I had ever seen. I circled around it carefully, holding my gun ready, and peering behind everything large enough to hide a cannibal. At the far side of the merry-go-round I looked to my right. In the growing darkness I could barely make out Debs. She had moved up into the shadow of one of the large posts that held up the cable car line that ran from one side of the park to the other. I couldn’t see Chutsky at all; where he should have been there was a row of crumbling playhouses that fringed a go-kart track. I hoped he was there, being watchful and dangerous. If anything did jump out and yell boo at us, I wanted him ready with his assault rifle. But there was no sign of him, and even as I watched, Deborah began to move forward again, deeper into the dark park. A warm, light wind blew over me and I smelled the Miami night: a distant tang of salt on the edge of rotting vegetation and automobile exhaust. But even as I inhaled the familiar smell, I felt the hairs go up on the back of my neck and a soft whisper came up at me from the lowest dungeon of Castle Dexter, and a rustle of leather wings rattled softly on the ramparts. It was a very clear notice that something was not right here and this would be a great time to be somewhere else; I froze there by the headless horses, looking for whatever had set off the Passenger’s alarm. I saw and heard nothing. Deborah had vanished into the darkness and nothing moved anywhere, except a plastic shopping bag blowing by in the gentle wind. My stomach turned over, and for once it was not from hunger. My

Ein kleines Dorf, das in keiner halbwegs vernünftigen Karte auch nur verzeichnet war.

Irshad Malik, the Kashmiri militant now in London (who Firdous had wanted me to bring back to India when I was at R&AW), once said to me about PoK: ‘Uss taraf kya hai? Pakistan mein kya hai? Aap kyon fiqar karte hain? Inko jaane dijiye, paar dekhne dijiye, udhar kuchh bhi nahin hain.’ He said that Srinagar airport—and he obviously hadn’t been to Srinagar airport in at least twenty-four years—was better than any Pakistani airport. Hotels in Kashmir are as good as any in the world. ‘They have nothing there,’ he said. You should publicise these facts, he said to me: ‘Aapko toh film banani chahiye.

The Blue Shell is the cruel tax of gaming, the welfare queen of kart racing. God damn you kids today. We used to have to win a race to win it.

The next day we sat in Geir’s bedroom and wrote a love letter to Anne Lisbet. His parents’ house was identical to ours, it had exactly the same rooms, facing in exactly the same directions, but it was still unendingly different, because for them functionality reigned supreme, chairs were above all else comfortable to sit in, not attractive to look at, and the vacuumed, almost mathematically scrupulous, cleanliness that characterized our rooms was utterly absent in their house, with tables and the floor strewn with whatever they happened to be using at that moment. In a way, their lifestyle was integrated into the house. I suppose ours was, too, it was just that ours was different. For Geir’s father, sole control of his tools was unthinkable, quite the contrary, part of the point of how he brought up Geir and Gro was to involve them as much as possible in whatever he was doing. They had a workbench downstairs, where they hammered and planed, glued and sanded, and if we felt like making a soap-box cart, for example, or a go-kart, as we called it, he was our first port of call. Their garden wasn’t beautiful or symmetrical as ours had become after all the hours Dad had spent in it, but more haphazard, created on the functionality principle whereby the compost heap occupied a large space, despite its unappealing exterior, and likewise the stark, rather weed-like potato plants growing in a big patch behind the house where we had a ruler-straight lawn and curved beds of rhododendrons.

Suna hai... Wo aaj kal Hume bara yaad karte hai... Ab unhe humse mohobbat hai ya koi kaam... Ye toh khuda hi jaane...

A wing on a Formula One car operates like the wing on an aero-plane except in reverse. So whereas the aircraft wing generates life, the wing on a car does the opposite, pushing the car down to the surface.

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„Die auf der Autozulassung angegebene Adresse ist falsch.“ „Ernsthaft? Das haben sie so schnell herausgefunden?“ „Nee. Hab eine Stecknadel in die Luft geworfen und geschaut, wo sie auf der Karte landet.

Matura, taj čarobni trenutak s finom odjećom, darovima, čestitkama, svjedodžbama, za mene je završio i prije no što su me prozvali. Moja postignuća nisu značila ništa. Detaljne karte, iscrtane tintom u tri boje, učenje i slovkanje riječi od deset slogova, učenje napamet čitavog komada Silovanje Lukrecije – sve to nije značilo ništa. Donleavy nas je razotkrio. Mi smo bili sluškinje i poljoprivrednici, zanatlije i pralje, i bilo je apsurdno i drsko težiti tomu da postanemo nešto više. U tom sam trenutku poželjela da su Gabriel Prosser i Nat Turner ubili sve bijelce na spavanju, a da su Abrahama Lincolna ubili prije potpisivanja Proglasa o emancipaciji, da je Harriet Tubman ubio onaj udarac u glavu, a Kolumbo da se utopio u Santa Mariji. Bilo je grozno biti crn i nemati kontrolu nad svojim životom. Bilo je okrutno biti mlad i već izvježban da mirno sjediš i slušaš na račun boje svoje kože, bez mogućnosti da se braniš. Svi bismo trebali biti mrtvi. Pomislila sam kako bih nas sve željela vidjeti mrtve, poslagane jedne na druge. Piramida od mesa s bijelcima na dnu, kao bazom, zatim Indijanci sa svojim glupim sjekirama, šatorima i paktovima, crnci sa svojim krpama, receptima i vrećama za pamuk i duhovnim pjesmama na usnama. Nizozemska djeca bi se trebala spotaknuti u svojim klompama i slomiti vrat. Francuzi bi se trebali ugušiti novcem od prodaje Louisiane (1803.), a dudovi svilci pojesti sve Kineze s njihovim glupim pletenicama. Kao vrsta, bili smo odvratni. Svi mi.

Q tries to demonstrate how it works, but seeing as it requires the lightest of touches to operate it and he has a pair of spam mountains for hands, his attempt doesn’t go very well, so Bond takes over and is immediately able to drive it perfectly, like my kids playing Mario Kart.

Born in 2006 in Burton-on-Trent, England, Jack has always held a passion for motorsport. Initially with an interest in aviation, Jack switched his wings to four wheels after sitting in a rental kart aged 7. His passion grew the more time he spent in the karting environment and over the course of his career he has moved up through Rotax Junior, Rotax Max and now Junior Saloon Cars.

Jedan zapis Leonida Šejke: SAZVEŽĐE MALIH PREDMETA Postoje i takvi predmeti, sasvim beznačajni, za koje počinjemo da osećamo bezrazložnu ljubav. Možda ona potiče od oseta ugodnosti koji imamo kada ih držimo u ruci. Navikli smo da ih nosimo po džepovima, a za to su pogodni, jer im veličina ne prelazi više od tri santimetra. Nosimo ih u džepu, slušajući nežno zveckanje, čekajući tu radost da kao minijaturna lavina pokuljaju, poispadaju iz džepova, pomešani s mnoštvom hartijica, koje su uostalom trebale da budu odavno bačene, a nisu jedino zbog naše inercije. Onda, pomešani još sa mrvama, vunastim gromoljicama, slamkama i ostalim đubretom, poispadaju ili mi sami izvrnemo džepove; i tako je sada na stolu "nemoguća gomila". Zatim, počinjemo selekciju, razvrstavanje, izdvajamo, pre svega, hartijice u stranu, a to su bioskopske, tramvajske karte, plave ili ružičaste, cedulje, računi, komadići novina, hartijice srebrnaste, providne, šarene… Sve to zgužvamo i odbacimo bez sentimentalnosti. Onda, iz gomile izdvajamo ono đubre, tako da ostanu samo čvrsti, određeni komadi, da može svakom da se nadene ime, da svaki ima jedan, doduše tihi, ali zato vrlo harmoničan zvuk. Jednom rečju, potrebno je da bude takvih vrsta komadâ, da bih imao želju da ih prebrojavam. Kad je sve gotovo, vraćam celu hrpu natrag u džep; priznajem da to sada ima neki drugi miris, ali ja zaboravljam na sve, mislim o sklopovima saća, paučinâ, mravinjakâ, a ne mislim na poreklo tih beznačajnosti, mada sam počeo nesvesno da se vezujem za njih i nisam verovao da će tako dugo ostati zaglavljeni u mom džepu. Bio sam ravnodušan, bio sam u stanju svakog časa da ih se otarasim, ali sada je prošlo već toliko vremena, na njima se nataložilo više slojeva moga duha, oni su postali deo mene, svi ti komadići, parčići ogledala, gvozdene alke, šrafovi, jedna kaplja od bakelita, i jedna od stakla, toliko blistava da se čini da je u njoj čitav kosmos sadržan, nekoliko drvenih kupastih komada, crvenih i žutih, bez ikakve oznake, nekoliko vrsta puževa, jedan krst, kuka sa nekog katanca, prema kojoj sam osećao izuzetnu ljubav, i, najzad, jedan ključ sa glavom trolista. Svi ovi mali predmeti predstavljaju jedno blistavo sazvežđe, koje lebdi na nebu u neposrednoj blizini, tako da lako rukom mogu da dohvatim bilo koji komadić, uprkos njegove silne vibracije, koja se opaža kao intenzivno zujanje pčela, ako se sazvežđe zatvori u kutiju, pa onda probuši otvor za osluškivanje, i koje nama prestaje kad se kutija otvori, mada vibracije i dalje traju. Možda će jednog dana sve to biti upotrebljeno za ukras nekoj varvarskoj nevesti, ali za sada ja ih držim u rukama, kao što bi se držala gomilica šljunka – razbacujem ga po podu, pa ga opet skupljam; onog koji se otkotrlja negde pod orman ne tražim više, a neke namerno spustim u slivnik i tako, komad po komad, polako, moja se kolekcija smanjuje, mada uvek postoji mogućnost da se nešto tako pronađe, bilo u sobi, bilo na ulici ili na velikim peščanim plažama; ali sve to ne može da traje u beskonačnost, moramo se, voljno ili nevoljno, uvek ograničiti na određen broj, pa tako, kad sve nestane, dakle, kad se izgubi, ja ne mogu zbog toga osetiti nikakav gubitak, jer to je bila sasvim bezrazložna ljubav. Ali bilo gde da zapadnu, to verujem, bilo gde da se izgube, otkotrljaju, pošto nose jedan zajednički otisak, recimo otisak moji prstiju ili, kao što već rekoh, otisak moga duha, moraće jednoga dana, možda posle mnogo vekova, da se opet nađu na okupu, posle mnogih kruženja, jer svemir je višestruko zakrivljen, da se susretnu. I ne samo to, možda će da se upišu jedan u drugi i tako sastave jedno lice, davno nestalo, davno zaboravljeno, da sastave moje sopstveno lice, tako da se sastavci, spone i ne opažaju, tako da to bude jedno lice, celo i bez ikakvih sumnji, sasvim potpuno.

He cheated,” Plato mused, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s what he does, that scummy Mario Kart item spammer.” “You’re just jealous of my turtle swagger,” Basil replied.

Dear Casey, Thanks heaps for writing again. It’s really cool to get letters from you in the mail, and it’s awesome to hear what you’ve been doing. Maybe next year, we can both go to the same camp together. That’d be fun, don’t you think! Mike and I have been keeping busy. Riding motorbikes on his property is the best thing ever! You said you like go-karting, so I think you’d love motorbike riding too.

Farfar had the Wii already fired up when I stepped out of the bathroom from my shower, the menu music from Mario Kart blaring from the living room TV. Koopa---the cat, not the character---was curled up on Farfar's lap in his spot at the end of the couch. One hand held his beer on top of his stomach, the other ran through Koopa's gray fur, both of their eyes closed in bliss. I sank into the other end of the couch and grabbed my controller. "All cleaned up and ready for your whooping?" he asked, pronouncing it, like always, with long OOs, like the crane. He raised his beer to his lips with his eyes still closed. This was probably number two already. "Not tonight, old man. I'm in the zone, and you're looking tired." His eyes were open then, a smirk on his face, and he produced his special blue remote---the best Lillajul gifts I'd ever gotten him---from the cushion beside him. "Do you need to ease in with Mushroom Gorge, or are you ready to play for real?" "I'm ready for any course you want," I said, smirking back. He just chuckled---without the jollity he gave the guys outside C of C, I noticed---went straight to Rainbow Road, and promptly destroyed me. Afterward, sinking back into the couch with a third beer and a number of victories under his belt, he let out a long sigh. "You did good today, Gubben." I smiled. "I'm picking a new character.

Okay, Gubben, this time you have to pick your least-favorite character with your least-favorite vehicle." I picked Peach, to which he raised his eyebrows. "You hate Peach, Gubben? Seems a little...misogynistic." "What are you talking about? Princess Peach is a horrible representation of women---how many times does she wait for Mario to save her?" I realized I sounded a little like Lou. You know, if Lou's rants ever extended into classic Nintendo characters. Farfar picked Toad. "Seems a little... mycogynistic, doesn't it?" He just chuckled. "Stupid mushrooms." I picked the Super Blooper for Peach, Farfar picked the Booster Seat for Toad, and we spent the next hour laughing and yelling disparaging things at the screen.