Koala Quotes

So, Grace, how's school?" I asked myself. Dad nodded, eyes on the baby koala now struggling in the guest's arms. "Oh, it's fine," I continued, and Dad made a mumbling noise of agreement. I added, "Nothing special, aside from the load of pandas they brought in, and the teachers abandoning us to cannibalistic savages-" I paused to see if I'd caught his attention yet, then pressed on. "The whole building caught fire, then I failed drama, and then sex, sex, sex." Dad's eyes abruptly focused, and he turned to me and frowned. "What did you say they were teaching you in school?

Does koala bear poop smell like cough drops?

I am sentimental,’ she said. ‘I could dissect a koala but not its baby. I like the words damozel, eglantine, elegant. I love when you kiss my elongated white hand.

I have no fear of losing my life - if I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it.

Pooh hater,' I muttered under my breath. 'Winnie-the-Pooh was not a koala--why am I even arguing about this with you?

Especially with four insanely angry, sword-carrying pirates bearing down on you, followed closely by an alien with a genetic malfunction that posed like Elvis Presley and looked slightly like a cross between a koala and a cuddly dog.

These people invented emojis, for god’s sake! They were texting and they thought, Yeah, this is great, but it’d be really dope to be able to send a small image of a koala bear too.*

They say koala bears have tiny brains and eat grass. I say to be good at golf you must go full koala bear, and forget about all the greens you've chewed up and focus only on this hole and this swing.

Dik, kamu tahu gak istilah Mama untuk orang yang sudah pernah merasakan patah hati?' 'Apa, Ma?' Nyokap menatap mata gue, lalu bilang, 'Dewasa.

I had no clue; you can achieve all that, with one hug. But hey, I am Kay Kay! The first super hero koala bear and I give the best hugs!

She'd fallen asleep on him like the little koala she was becoming with him.

I used to think there were two kinds of Crayola artists: Ones who color inside the lines and ones who don’t stay within the rigid boundaries set by thick black perimeters that make up a cuddly koala. But it seems that inside and outside the lines is just the main basis for comparison. You also have those who color lightly inside and fill each space according to the chosen and appropriate shade. Then you have those who scribble and slap any color anywhere. And sometimes these people have purple turkeys and shit that drives me absofreakinglutely crazy because, seriously

I golf like a Jackson Pollock painting. I splatter my shots all over the place—and then I act like I just produced a masterpiece.

He has a golf swing like a Bukowski line. It's slightly rough, but it's got a shape that knifes through time.

A cigarette is just rolled up leaves, which makes it a smokable salad burrito. That makes the golfer John Daly a health advocate.

I shimmy so much before teeing off, people are probably thinking, "Are you going to golf—or dance?” Well, why not both?

The more I considered it, the more I realized how much I have in common with these koalas. We’re both immunocompromised, lightly diseased, exhausted, and full of toxins. I’m totally a koala.

I once played golf. That day I caught five new ducks to add to my farm collection.

John Daly is from Arkansas, but now lives in Florida. I'm from Florida, but now I live in Arkansas. I am the inverse John Daly, and I think my golf game proves it.

Golf is probably a CIA psyop. Think about it. Golf is the only thing that tames the wild FloridaMan. It turns even the hilariously hostile into the docile.

I have told Mrs. Jones that I was pretty sure that stars were just like super heroes and that if she really wanted to become one, she just needed to be herself.

Every time that an animal eats a plant or another animal, the conversion of food biomass into the consumer’s biomass involves an efficiency of much less than 100 percent: typically around 10 percent. That is, it takes around 10,000 pounds of corn to grow a 1,000-pound cow. If instead you want to grow 1,000 pounds of carnivore, you have to feed it 10,000 pounds of herbivore grown on 100,000 pounds of corn. Even among herbivores and omnivores, many species, like koalas, are too finicky in their plant preferences to recommend themselves as farm animals. As a result of this fundamental inefficiency, no mammalian carnivore has ever been domesticated for food.

Zebras are piano horses. I think about that when I’m swinging a golf club, and it brings a musical cowboy element to my game that another player might not be able to buy in a vending machine.

You have to have balls to golf. That’s why The Securities and Exchange Commission doesn’t play.

The moon is a golf ball in the sky. My motto is this: If you can’t hit a hole in one, fake it in a film studio.

People watch my unique style of play, and they want to know my top three golf influences. That's easy. John Daly, practicing daily, and an orange and white cat surrounded by yellow ducklings.

I watched the cheese melt in the microwave—along with the surrounding plastic. I forgot to take it out of its package before use, just like my golf game.

I love how golf courses have water hazards. But the ponds feel empty without ducks. I'd like to start a business renting my ducks out to country clubs.

I have a golf swing like a Rosary dangling off a car's rearview mirror. I hope watching me play makes you realize Catholicism isn't for you.

When I golf, I use just enough strokes to create a masterpiece, like I'm a painter. The score I post up would look great on a museum wall.

They say those who can't do, teach. That's why today I'm pleased to announce I'm giving golfing lessons.

I golf like a Jackson Pollock painting, but that's balanced out by the fact that I paint like Jack Nicklaus golfs. My record is finishing in 63 strokes.

Many people have accused me of having a Coach Face. I may not be able to get you to improve your golf game, but I sure will have fun verbally abusing you while you play.

I told the joke, but someone else got the high five. That’s like me drinking a cup of coffee and a guy in a coma waking up. Go back to bed, buddy, your golfing days are over.

You know, if rabid koalas went around giving hugs. I gurgled a laugh at the ridiculous ways my mind kept me from going into shock or freezing up.

Even I realized that money was to politicians what the eucalyptus tree is to koala bears: food, water, shelter, and something to crap on.

I hate it when people tell me how I am doing. Why are you here I aasked. Nice to see you too he smiled. I brought you something. He handed me the small stuffed koala. I thought it might keep you company. Thanks I said embarrassed. I can't wait to introduce him to all my other stuffed animals at home.

Do you know who profits most in a gold rush? Mining suppliers—merchants. Today that includes marketers, because they're selling an idea or lifestyle. It's why golf's richest men aren't the pro players.

Bryson DeChambeau uses science in the true sense of the word to improve his golf game. He experiments and analyzes data to get better, and this separates golf fans, because those who think that's not cool use all of their brain capacity just breathing, like amoebas, but dumber.

I can golf in 17 different languages. I don’t speak any of them, but that’s balanced out by your inability to listen and understand.

Do you think,” she says, the words emerging thickly, “we might have used up all our conversation last night?” “Not possible,” says Oliver, and the way he says it, his mouth turned up in a smile, his voice full of warmth, unwinds the knot in Hadley’s stomach. “We haven’t even gotten to the really important stuff yet.” “Like what?” she asks, trying to arrange her face in a way that disguises the relief she feels. “Like what’s so great about Dickens?” “Not at all,” he says. “More like the plight of koalas. Or the fact that Venice is sinking.” He pauses, waiting for this to register, and when Hadley says nothing, he slaps his knee for emphasis. “Sinking! The whole city! Can you believe it?” She frowns in mock seriousness. “That does sound pretty important.” “It is,” Oliver insists. “And don’t even get me started on the size of our carbon footprint after this trip. Or the difference between crocodiles and alligators. Or the longest recorded flight of a chicken.” “Please tell me you don’t actually know that.” “Thirteen seconds,” he says, leaning forward to look past her and out the window. “This is a total disaster. We’re nearly to Heathrow and we haven’t even properly discussed flying chickens.

Emergency? Knighthawk sent. I’m just bored. I blinked, holding my phone and rereading that text. Bored? I sent. You’re literally spying on the entire world, Knighthawk. You can read anyone’s mail, listen to anyone’s phone calls. First, it’s not the whole world, he wrote. Only large chunks of North and Central America. Second, do you have any idea how mind-numbingly DULL most people are? I started a reply, but a flurry of messages came at me, interrupting what I was going to say. Oh! Knighthawk wrote. Look at this pretty flower! Hey. I want to know if you like me, but I can’t say that, so here’s an awkward flirtation instead. Where are you? I’m here. Where? Here. There? No, here. Oh. Look at my kid. Look at my dog. Look at me. Look at me holding my kid and dog. Hey, everyone. I took a huge koala this morning. Barf. The world is ruled by deific beings who can do stuff like melt buildings into puddles of acid, and all people can think of to do with their phones is take pictures of their pets and try to figure out how to get laid.

I played a round of golf, but I didn't get an eagle. No, that symbol of American FREEDOM flew away faster than I could say Francis Scott Key.

I got a new golf bag. I keep it full of sad harmonica tunes that I hand out like Halloween candy to all the rainy-eyed players.

I'll bet playing classical music to plants would make them grow taller. When my ducks listen to Mozart, they become more cultured and have done things like taken up golf.

Some men are dedicated to golf like I'm addicted to cheese. We have real problems, but somehow only the alcoholics get to claim a disease.

People ask me if I like golfing, and I look at them and reply, "Does The Pope wipe his ass with tuna fish sandwiches?" That response is NOT sponsored by Subway.

Was there anything cuter than an Australian accent? A baby koala, maybe.

I'd fight a bear for you, you know? Not a grizzly, or brown bear … or a koala … But like a Care Bear? I'd fight one of those sonsabitches for you. ;)

Sorry,” she mumbled as she crashed into his back and clung to his shoulders like a Sophie-koala.

Golf is the only sport where you can't tell how good a player might be by glancing at their physical form. I've seen some real slobs shoot scores so low the number is almost their age.

They suggested that if you really want to hold a koala but can't, just get a furry pillowcase and fill it with lightly used cat litter. Or tie a bunch of sedated raccoons together. Or maybe hold a dead koala.

I want to tell him that when we were in the camps waiting for a boat we spoke about what we imagined Australia would be like. Kangaroos, koalas, wide open spaces. Then, when we arrived, we were locked up and the images we had shrank smaller and smaller until Australia became tiny patches of sky beyond the barbed wire.

I was allowed exclusive access to Project Looking Glass' future-viewing telescope, and there's good news and bad news. The good is the game of golf manages to live on after you starve to death, and the bad is you'll never get to realize just how meaningless you are to the sport.

Golfers flexing on other golfers for having Androids will never not be inadvertently hilarious. iPhones are also owned by Janitors, the job that's at the bottom of the perceived status pile, and I'd rather golf with a man who spends his time cleaning than a dirty pseudo snob.

There's a thought process that says if you don't use every club in your golf bag every round, you're doing your game a disservice. Bryson DeChambeau could use every club in a golf bag from the 1800s and still make you look like a beginner.

I love cola-flavored soda—especially if it's authentically brown colored and manufactured by the government. It reminds me that Soviet Russia never produced any great golfers, and that is the only mistake made by the game over the centuries.

Everything had happened so fast, I was not sure I had really understood all of the events. My owner Mala said I was not supposed to understand, since I was just a toy. And her mom, Mrs. Jones, said I was not the sharpest pencil in the box! What ever that meant…

I use Fiction to face Reality And write sweet Stories to avoid the bitter ones.

Keep it weird. They'll get it later.

I play golf like a machine. That machine is a tractor.

I created an Excel spreadsheet full of golf terms like eagle and birdie. I’m surprised one under isn’t called duck, because isn’t that what you do when you go under, duck?

Hidden Valley is a golf course in Springfield. Hidden Valley is also the name of a brand of ranch dressing, and that’s more suited to my game.

My golf swing is like a James Cagney smile. It curves with sincerity, but it's also slightly sinister.

Liam says Niall looks like a koala 42.)

Hey, Dennis. What did the koalas say when their keepers shaved them?” Dennis awaited my response with baited dog breath. “Eucalyptus. Get it? You-Calipped-us!

Evil little bastard. They can give you a nasty scratch. The koalas, I mean, not your kids!

If one more person tells me how big this country is, I’m going to go kick a koala.

Inflation hurts us all. Today I'm seeing inflation at the grocery store, the leisure sector, and even on my golf scorecard. Yes, The Central Bank is to blame for my horrendous game.

In fact koalas spend so little time thinking, their brains actually appear to have shrunk over the last few centuries; the koala is the only known animal whose brain only fills half of its skull.

It is tempting to look upon England as a sort of musical Australia, an island culture inhabited by, and sustaining, its own insular fauna – musical kangaroos, koalas, and platypuses. That, however, would be very much to exaggerate England's musical isolation or independence. It is also a considerable exaggeration to view the English preference for thirds as something altogether alien or opposed to continental practice, as if only in remote geographical corners (and behind closed doors, among consenting adults) could harmonies unsanctioned by Pythagoras or the Musica enchiriadis be furtively enjoyed.

Girl, how small is your brain?” I heard a familiar voice coming from behind. That was Wonder Woman. “Sorry, was I thinking out loud?” I apologized. “No, but I am Wonder Woman! I can read minds, you know”, she answered with pride. I have to admit, I was really impressed, I did not know my minds could write.

Mrs. Jones had always distanced herself from me and I figured that note had the answer: Mrs. Jones was a secret agent! And I was not planning to share that information with anybody. After all, that was the definition of a secret. Even I knew that!

The world will constantly try to tell you that it's possible to divide every single human quality or skill or characteristic into those that are "male" and those that are "female." But I don't know. I might win a fight against your mother. It wouldn't exactly be "gorilla vs. bear," you know? More "gorilla vs. koala. But she would destroy me in a footrace, no matter the distance. And she's way funnier than I am. And she gets people. She's someone everyone trusts. I can easily think of a hundred people who would follow her blindly into war. I can barely get people to follow me on Twitter. In terms of brains, though, it's harder to measure for sure. I mean, on the one hand she's definitely smarter than I am, everyone knows that. But on the other hand: I got her to marry me. So I still feel like I have one up on her.

I watch people play golf in silence. Even after they hit I remain quiet, because my commentary won't help the ball roll into the hole, but it will saturate the air with unwanted pressure. Spoken words are like direct energy weapons, and I don't deploy them at an unarmed target.

Separation anxiety was the very first label Joy heard applied to her oldest child, the first of many labels she’d hear over the years, but Joy had felt no sense of foreboding when she heard that first one. She’d felt foolish pride: my child can’t bear to be separated from me! That’s how much she loves me. Amy used to cling to her like a koala, her face pressed against Joy’s collarbone.

Field biologists studying large and charismatic animals wanted to know if their own species had genetic problems. I listened carefully to stories of koalas in Australia, giant pandas in China, black-footed ferrets in the Midwest, elephants, rhinos, and leopards in Africa, and orangutans in Asia--all threatened or endangered species attended by packs of worried field biologists. If cheetahs paid a price for their brush with extinction, did these species suffer the same?

As I write this, I am still waiting for Steve to walk through the door. His sarong still hangs on the bed. His toothbrush is in the bathroom. Reality is sinking in more and more. Bindi and I have a lot of heart-to-heart talks. These seem to help her, just like when she was younger and lost a special koala named Wilson. Wilson died of renal failure and is buried in our backyard. I felt thankful that over the years, I had set the foundation of faith with Bindi. “As hard as it is to understand, there was a reason for all of this,” I told her. “One day it will be clear.” Robert is like a pitiful puppy, and he still waits patiently for his daddy to come home from heaven. I hadn’t been prepared for how devastated Robert would be. Some nights he sits in the bathtub and cries. “I want my daddy,” he says, over and over. It absolutely tears my heart out.

We’d purchased conservation land over a period of many years, and we were attempting to restore the native bush. We began planting eucalypts not long after we bought the property. First we planted dozens, then hundreds, and finally thousands. Steve worked into the night planting trees. If the rain didn’t come immediately, he would dutifully water each and every seedling. We had high hopes that one day the land would offer refuge to everything from koalas to phascogales. “It will take a lifetime to establish these trees,” he said. “But one day they will be big, they will have hollows, and there will be a place where animals can live again.” Even in its raw, cattle-ravaged state, the land was heaven. The rufous bettongs were out in force every night, and the white-winged choughs flew down to keep an eye on us whenever we worked. We had pieced together land parcels for a total of six hundred and fifty acres. This was the property Lyn and Bob were taking over in 1999.

The first human footprint on a sandy Australian beach was immediately washed away by the waves. Yet when the invaders advanced inland, they left behind a different footprint, one that would never be expunged. As they pushed on, they encountered a strange universe of unknown creatures that included a 200-kilogram, two-metre kangaroo, and a marsupial lion, as massive as a modern tiger, that was the continent’s largest predator. Koalas far too big to be cuddly and cute rustled in the trees and flightless birds twice the size of ostriches sprinted on the plains. Dragon-like lizards and snakes five metres long slithered through the undergrowth. The giant diprotodon, a two-and-a-half-ton wombat, roamed the forests. Except for the birds and reptiles, all these animals were marsupials – like kangaroos, they gave birth to tiny, helpless, fetus-like young which they then nurtured with milk in abdominal pouches. Marsupial mammals were almost unknown in Africa and Asia, but in Australia they reigned supreme. Within a few thousand years, virtually all of these giants vanished. Of the twenty-four Australian animal species weighing fifty kilograms or more, twenty-three became extinct.2 A large number of smaller species also disappeared. Food chains throughout the entire Australian ecosystem were broken and rearranged. It was the most important transformation of the Australian ecosystem for millions of years. Was it all the fault of Homo sapiens? Guilty