Knucklehead Quotes

You are evidence of your mother's strength, especially if you are a rebellious knucklehead and regardless she has always maintained her sanity.

I like the mountains because they make me feel small,' Jeff says. 'They help me sort out what's important in life.

She was having an attack of knuckleheaded anxiety. Those attacks last a long time.

Creating lines that went straight into the interior [of a space station] was a recipe for disaster. Some knucklehead in an X-wing was bound to come along and drop an energy torpedo into your main power plant, and everyone knows how that ends.

His beard was nonexistent, except for a carefully trimmed goatee that met his mustache on both sides of his mouth. The overall effect was decidedly villainous. He needed a black horse and a barbarian horde to lead. That or a crew of cutthroats, a ship with blood-red sails, and some knucklehead heroine to lust after. “Look, I’ve had a bad day. How about you just walk away from my Jeep?” The volhv smiled wider, flashing even white teeth. If he started stroking his beard, I’d have to kill him on principle.“He raised his hand to his goatee. That does it. “Yeah. And what’s with the beard and the horse mane? You look like Rent-a-Villain.

Ah, Colorado: the one place in America where people wake up earlier on weekends than workdays.

You have to drive! You think I trust that big blue knucklehead to get us there?

Everyone's a knucklehead at one point or another.

It's a tough lesson: There is no summit that comes before you expect it.

Most unintelligent or foolish people do not regard themselves as that; they regard themselves as not-that-intelligent or not-that-wise.

I just love all this,' Walt says. 'The sights, the smells, making the effort and pushing yourself and getting something that's really hard to get. I'll fly on a plane and people will look out the window at thirty thousand feet and say, 'Isn't this view good enough for you?' And I say no, it's not good enough. I didn't earn it. In the mountains, I earn it.

This book isn’t about telling you to stop buying lattes. Instead, it’s about being able to actually spend more on the things you love by not spending money on all the knucklehead things you don’t care about. Look, it’s easy to want the best of everything: We want to go out all the time, live in a great apartment, buy new clothes, drive a new car, and travel any time we want. The truth is, you have to prioritize. My friend Jim once called to tell me that he’d gotten a raise at work. On the same day, he moved into a smaller apartment. Why? Because he doesn’t care very much about where he lives, but he loves spending money on camping and biking. That’s called conscious spending. (Learn

When in doubt - make'em laugh.

The towering lie of the criminal justice system—that we can reliably determine the truth, that we can know “beyond a reasonable doubt” who is guilty and who is not—is built on this whopper of an admission: after a thousand years or so of refining the process, judges and lawyers are no more able to say what is true than a dozen knuckleheads selected at random off the street.

A prisoner named Denis Martinez, for example, explained what getting an education and learning to read deeply into subjects gave him in terms of perspective: “It’s given me a new set of glasses. Before I wasn’t able to see the things I see now. I was a nineteen-year old knucklehead going around and thinking I knew it all. The more I learned the more I could sense how wrong I was and how many things I didn’t know.” Inspired by his reading of René Descartes, Martinez reflected, “There are two ways to be in prison—physically and/or mentally. Being in prison mentally is to live in ignorance, closed-mindedness, and pessimism. You can confine me for as long as you want, but my mind will always be free.” The title of a painting this prisoner made is revealing: Cogito Ergo Sum Liber—I Think Therefore I Am Free. (Now, there’s a bumper sticker/T-shirt slogan for the modern Enlightenment thinker.)

She was coming over to my place and instead of us hanging with my knucklehead boys—me smoking, her bored out of her skull—we were seeing movies. Driving out to different places to eat. Even caught a play at the Crossroads and I took her picture with some bigwig black playwrights, pictures where she’s smiling so much you’d think her wide-ass mouth was going to unhinge. We were a couple again. Visiting each other’s family on the weekends. Eating breakfast at diners hours before anybody else was up, rummaging through the New Brunswick library together, the one Carnegie built with his guilt money. A nice rhythm we had going.

It was that ocean heat that caused the First Pulse to pulse, and later brought on the second one. People sometimes say no one saw it coming, but no, wrong: they did. Paleoclimatologists looked at the modern situation and saw CO2 levels screaming up from 280 to 450 parts per million in less than three hundred years, faster than had ever happened in the Earth’s entire previous five billion years (can we say “Anthropocene,” class?), and they searched the geological record for the best analogs to this unprecedented event, and they said, Whoa. They said, Holy shit. People! they said. Sea level rise! During the Eemian period, they said, which we’ve been looking at, the world saw a temperature rise only half as big as the one we’ve just created, and rapid dramatic sea level rise followed immediately. They put it in bumper sticker terms: massive sea level rise sure to follow our unprecedented release of CO2! They published their papers, and shouted and waved their arms, and a few canny and deeply thoughtful sci-fi writers wrote up lurid accounts of such an eventuality, and the rest of civilization went on torching the planet like a Burning Man pyromasterpiece. Really. That’s how much those knuckleheads cared about their grandchildren, and that’s how much they believed their scientists, even though every time they felt a slight cold coming on they ran to the nearest scientist (i.e. doctor) to seek aid.

But I knew the truth. It was a story I would see played out over and over again in the next few years. It wasn’t about any so-called principles—it was about chaos. But it was chaos that developed in a predictable pattern: the far-right knuckleheads would refuse to back the House leadership no matter what, but because they were “insurgents” they never had the responsibility of trying to actually fix things themselves. So they got to “burn it all down” and screw up the legislative process, which of course allowed them to continue to complain loudly about how Washington’s spending problem never got solved. That kept their favorite straw man alive to take more hits. And every time they punched him, they got another invitation to go on Fox News or talk radio, or they got another check from their friends in outside groups like DeMint’s outfit. It was their own little private stimulus plan.

Basically, I think life is way more knuckleheaded than people make it out to be. It’s making spaghetti, and then it’s sitting with someone and having spaghetti. That’s basically all life is.

Here are the rules for five-star babysitting of the Craig’s List high order: 1) Be firm, but willing to compromise; a half-hour of G.I Joe or Pokemon after bedtime in exchange for a couple hours of peace and quiet is more priceless than Van Gogh. Compromise. If you give them something they want, they’ll end up tucked in before the boyfriend sends you a sext message. 2) If compromise isn’t an option, go for Valium—or at least Xanax. Most moms have it in the medicine cabinet. And if you mix it with milk, you’ll still be good for happy hour. 3) When all else fails, go for broke: cry. Crying, for a nineyear- old, is tantamount to getting whacked with a wooden spoon until cookies give you PTSD. But the biggest rule, the one that breaking will definitely earn you a pink slip; the one you’d have to be a supreme knucklehead or complete noob to break—the one thing in all of the sitting profession that is the golden rule is: do not lose the kid. That’s kind of the big one.

He eased back, swiping his thumb over her bottom lip before putting more space between them. “Was that an IFAK?” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. Grinning, he shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. She was going to mess up her hair in the field today. He wondered if she knew that. He had the sudden idea that she might not care. She came across so proper but there was a wildness in his little captain. A wildness he’d gotten a tiny taste of just then. A wildness that he wanted to taste again. He laughed then because he needed to do something to subdue the arousal wafting through his blood like a hit of the purest alcohol. “Get out of the way, knucklehead,” he said, more gently than he felt.

I am pretty sure that some level of my brain was still working, because apparently it reminded me to breathe. But all the higher mental functions seemed to be completely shut down; little fragments of thought scuttled past but none of them seemed able to pull themselves together into anything I could actually think or say. I felt another breath come in and then go out and I was dimly aware that a certain amount of time had passed and that the silence was getting uncomfortably long—but I really couldn’t bring together enough of the scurrying pieces of thought to make up a real sentence. Slowly, painfully, the wheels turned, and finally single words came back to me—bastard … kill … detective—and at last, with that third word, a picture floated up out of the scampering neurons and rose to the top of my swirling nonthoughts—a glowering, knuckleheaded portrait of a human ape with a low brow and a mean smile, and at last I had one entire syllable that made sense. “Hood,” I said. “He called you?

Rex had me feeling cactus fruit. Stuck me pretty good. I’m fine, though.” Ronda shook her head. “For such a nice guy, he can be a real knucklehead.

Now, in case any of you knuckleheads were having any funny ideas about the new member of the household, your mother and I have one thing to say,” John continued. “As far as you all are concerned, Megan is not a girl.” Doug cackled and Megan sank down in her seat. She stared at a knot in the center of the wood floor. “Then what is she?” Caleb asked innocently, making Doug and a couple of the others laugh. “Caleb,” Regina said softly, scoldingly. “What your father is trying to say is, while Megan is living with us, you guys are to treat her like a sister. You all are brothers and sister, got it?” Megan was dying to look at Evan. Instead her eyes darted right and landed on Ian, who was blowing gum bubbles. Then she managed a glance at Sean, who was looking at his watch. Finally, with the effort of ten men, Megan managed to find Evan. He was staring straight ahead, his heels tapping an unsteady beat on the floor.

if we were clever we would have pushed her into the East River, but we weren‘t clever at all, just two more knuckleheads in a nation of constant dullards, fucking up perpetually;

The knucklehead would probably complain a lot, a thought that made Darius smirk to himself.

And Italians aren’t as sneaky, rude, mean and lazy as we Moldovans are. They aren’t such knuckledragging knuckleheads. They even dress differently. Their clothes are just like their country. Happy and festive! The people are beautiful. They all sing Italy’s praises, because there’s what to sing about. Not like Moldova, which asks you for love, but is less of a motherland than a step-motherland!

Right. A nice guy with something going for him and not any of these knuckleheads running around here with drama and what not

The more these assclowns can convince people they are so smart and no one can understand it like they can, the more they can get paid and the more they become irreplaceable. That is total rubbish. A swap is simply a bet. The difference is the bet pays not a set price, but the amount you are right or wrong.

You can, Mo. If that’s what you want. You’re not obligated to make any decision on anyone else’s behalf but your own. Not Messiah’s, not mine, not Raven’s. This is your body. If you decide to keep this baby, I’ll be here for you through every single hard day. I’ll come to every appointment, spoil you through every pain, because you’re my daughter and I love you. I’ma hold you down even when a knucklehead-ass boy breaks your heart. You’re not alone.

This fuckin’ knucklehead…was gonna be the death of him. Was there even a slightly malicious bone in Gray? Of course, that was the whole reason Darius got attached. Not to mention he risked having a stroke whenever the kid worried him, and he hadn’t decided if it was worth it yet.

A rush of contentment flowed through him as the knucklehead’s arms circled his waist, and Darius pressed his lips to the top of Gray’s head. Not for the first time, he vowed to himself that Gray would be okay. It was going to take time and a lot of painful work, but Gray was gonna come out stronger.

It took everything not to rush out the words. “Of fucking course you can,” he settled for saying, and he leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to Gray’s forehead. “I’ll be there, knucklehead. Every step of the way.

Spend extravagantly on the things you love and cut costs mercilessly on the things you don’t. This book isn’t about telling you to stop buying lattes. Instead, it’s about being able to actually spend more on the things you love by not spending money on all the knucklehead

I’m marrying the girl I promised to marry when we were five years old, and she said yes between the swings and the slide. Frankie, you’re my best friend, my lover, my champion, and my heart. Everything I am, is yours, Beautiful. Well, except for the part that keeps these knuckleheads in touch with their deeper feelings.

You too dumb to be up there?” The taunting got so bad that I started acting out. If kids don’t get positive attention, they reach for the negative kind. And I was no different. The last straw was in third grade when a female teacher bent in front of me and, like a knucklehead, I smacked her behind. That was the end for me

it’s always a good time and a bad time to speak the truth.

Brass and the DAs are the true villains in a cop’s life. The knuckleheads are just the product they trade in.

Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about your sexy playthings. They remind me of my ‘boy toy,’ and I’m deliberately steering clear of Roane for a while. That idiot had the nerve to argue my designs for our bedroom.” Caitlyn scowled as she reached for her ample purse. She pulled out three bottles of nail polish. “How about we hang out and do girl stuff? Pretty Pink, Barely Blue, or Primal Purple?” “Primal Purple.” Though she wondered if the polish would cover her beast’s nails later tonight. Kelly felt the need to change with every breath she took. It wouldn’t be much longer until she let it out. At the thought, her beast purred its approval. “Once you changed, did you finally settle into your own skin?” Caitlyn nodded. “I was scared at first, but after you embrace that part of yourself, you’ll feel better than you ever have. You can’t deny who you are, no matter how much you might want to. And trust me, after you claim those knuckleheads who’ve been mooning over you for years, you’ll wonder what held you back so long.” -Caitlyn & Kelly

I’ve never quite understood why the knuckleheads of the planet so outnumber the rest of us.

KNUCKLEHEAD Hey, KNUCKLEHEAD. Quit worrying about tomorrow. Turn around. Look at the path you’ve taken. Look how God has taken care of you. Look what he has done for you to get you to where you are. It wasn’t by your effort. It was his. Quit trying to rely on yourself. Look at your wonderful wife and brilliant kids. Do you really think you could’ve pulled that off by yourself? Sometimes when you’re in a good mood and everything is going well, you praise God. But when you’re worried about finances or the Red Sea, you revert to your old ways. You think, “What can I do to make it better?” Nothing. You can do nothing. Let God do it, KNUCKLEHEAD.