Keg Stand Quotes

I turn around and see Taylor heading toward us. Over her shoulder I spot a guy's legs flailing in the air. Keg stand. Jealous.

And he’d figured out that the fun was often not the thing itself—the party, the keg stand, the naked running into the duck pond—but the endless talking about it after, the reliving and describing, and laughing about it in front of people who wished they’d been there. Used to be he was one of the kids listening, one of the kids who missed everything, but now, since college, since Kate, he was in the stories.

Let me guess,” Eli said, his voice that low, even timbre, as always. “Drinking from kegs also falls under outdoor activity.” I just looked at him, standing there in jeans and the same blue hoodie he’d had on the first time I met him. Maybe it was the embarrassment, which had been bad enough before I had an audience, but I was instantly annoyed. I said, “Are we outside?” He glanced round, as if needing to confirm this. “Nope.” “Then no.” I turned my attention back to the keg.

We are silver houses of noble and ancient blood, allied with rebels, criminals, servants and thieves. Abilities or not, our ways of life stand in direct opposition. Our goals are not the same. The council chamber is a powder keg. If I'm lucky it will explode. Blow apart any threat of marriage. Destroy the cage they want to put me back in.

You went to a party, did a keg stand, and got so drunk you forgot half the night. Congrats on this amazing milestone in your life." He squeezed my leg. "What are you gonna do next?" "Uh, Disneyland?

She sees me approaching and ushers me over, apparently with the belief I can help her cause. “What’s going on, Gran?” I ask. “These young men here seem to think I’m not cut out for a keg stand,” she huffs indignantly. “Wally, what do you think? Do you think it’s my age?

Because it’s a lit fuse, love – you light it yourself, and you stand around the powder keg afterward, grinning from ear to ear.

So there was Daniel Boulud in my busted kitchen, drinking Milwaukee’s Best from a red Solo cup and whipping up scrambled eggs with truffles for a bunch of wasted college kids. Did one of the most celebrated chefs in the world do a keg stand on my pool table? I’ll never tell.

Is that coffee?” Hunt busied himself with pouring three cups, passing one to Quinlan first. “A drop of coffee in a cup of milk, just as you like it.” “Asshole.” She swiped the mug. “I don’t know how you drink it straight.” “Because I’m a grown-up.” Hunt passed the second mug to Ithan, whose large hands engulfed the white ceramic cup that said I Survived Class of 15032 Senior Week and All I Got Was This Stupid Mug! Ithan peered at it, his mouth twitching. “I remember this mug.” Hunt fell silent as Bryce let out a breathy laugh. “I’m surprised you do, given how drunk you were. Even though you were a sweet baby frosh.” Ithan chuckled, a hint of the handsome, cocky male Hunt had heard about. “You and Danika had me doing keg stands at ten in the morning. How was I supposed to stay sober?” The wolf sipped from his coffee. “My last memory from that day is of you and Danika passed out drunk on a couch you’d moved right into the middle of the quad.” “And why was that your last memory?” Bryce asked sweetly. “Because I was passed out next to you,” Ithan said, grinning now.

She was unhappy. I’d made her unhappy. Making Jennifer unhappy was officially the worst feeling in the world, right up there with disappointing my brother Billy and seeing my sister cry. So I blurted, “Have you ever done a cookiestand?” She shook her head, sniffing, turning away from me to grab two cups. “What’s that?” Her voice was rough. “It’s like a keg stand, but with cookies.” Jenn’s movements stilled. She blinked. A new frown formed, but this one was thoughtful, not miserable. “You mean where those people do a handstand and drink beer?” “That’s right. But with cookies.” “That sounds awful.” “At least you don’t get crumbs on your shirt.” I bit into the third cookie. “Yes, but,” Jenn shook her head, a hesitant smile claiming her luscious lips, “then they’d go up your nose.” “That’s the best part. You can save them for later.

My experience with sex goes as far as a one-night stand with Jared Matthews, and it lasted about a whole thirty-seven seconds. It hurt, and it was quite embarrassing. More for him—not me. He was drunk, and I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. I allowed him to kiss me, or shall I say slobber on me, which was closer to the truth of what he was doing. When it finally came down to the sex part of it, it stunk. Both literally and figuratively. He farted the entire time. Once he was done, he told me keg beer gave him horrible gas.

And behind them a little bull of a man came walking. He wore a mine cap with a carbide lamp atop. Thick his chest was, and a fleece of black hairs came curling out of his shirt. He took off his cap and his head was as clean as a shaven jaw. I thought how I would tell Uncle Jolly and Grandma about him. I spoke the words aloud to know their sound. “A fella not five feet high came along, and I skeered him proper. A low standing fella. Oh, he was a little keg of a man, round and thick, and double jinted. A mountycat he thought I was, fixing to spring.

You were going to betray me!” Sullivan roared, slamming his fist on the table. Lauren bared her teeth. “You were going to betray me!” I jumped up onto my chair and climbed onto the dinner table, standing in the heart of the powder keg. “Ladies! Gentlemen! You’re both right! You were all about to betray each other. Congratulations and welcome to Las Vegas. If I could have the floor for a moment?

Roll out the welcome mat, Isaiah had written as his only comment on the forwarded email from the Asteri’s imperial secretary announcing the new positions. “They’re not bad,” Hunt said, staring blankly at the revelers now gathering around a Fae male doing a keg stand in the corner. “That’s the problem.” Bryce’s brows bunched as she scanned the email. “Ephraim—he currently shares Rodinia with Jakob. Yeah, he seems decent enough. But he’s going to northern Pangera. Who … Oh. Who the Hel is Celestina?” Hunt frowned. “She’s stayed out of the spotlight. She oversees Nena—population, like, fifty. She has one legion under her command. One. She doesn’t even have a triarii. The legion is literally controlled by the Asteri—all watchdogs for the Northern Rift. She’s a figurehead.” “Big promotion, then.” Hunt grunted. “Everything I’ve heard about her sounds unusually nice.” “No chance it’s true?” “Where Archangels are concerned? No.” He crossed his arms. Fury said from the couch, “For what it’s worth, Athalar, I haven’t heard anything bad, either.” Juniper asked, “So this is promising, right?” Hunt shook his head. This wasn’t a conversation to have in public, but he said, “I can’t figure out why the Asteri would appoint her here, when she’s only handled a small territory until now. She must be their puppet.

One such was the Drunken Knight, Ser Willam Stafford, a short, stout, big-bellied man who always appeared so intoxicated that it was a wonder he could stand, let alone fight. The commons named him “the Keg o’ Ale,” and sang “Hail, Hail, Keg o’ Ale” whenever he took the field.

This may not be my business, but the way you and Ashton keep staring at each other like you want to take a bite is going to eventually tip your cousin off. He’s a trusting person, but I don’t think he’s stupid.” I jerked my gaze off of Ashton and Sawyer’s retreating forms, and turned to see Lana still standing there, frowning at me with her hands on her hips. What did she know? “You’re right---it isn’t your business,” I snapped, and started toward the keg. I needed another drink.

rise above and stand out from those who merely get by. Not hard work as in showing up to the same job on time for twenty-seven years, which is a fine thing and absolutely an achievement (if you can find an employer that will keep you for nearly three decades without outsourcing you). I mean the kind of hard work that leaves you alone at night while your college peers are doing keg stands and your grown-up friends are taking a well-earned breather. I mean the kind of hard work that most people just won’t do.