Laundry Humor Quotes

People flock in, nevertheless, in search of answers to those questions only librarians are considered to be able to answer, such as "Is this the laundry?" "How do you spell surreptitious?" and, on a regular basis, "Do you have a book I remember reading once? It had a red cover and it turned out they were twins.

Well,” she said. “I’m frustrated.” “Don’t make me angry-kiss you.” “Give me the laundry.” “Tempers rising, faces flushed … This is how it happens.

Gene police! You! Out of the pool, now!

Honey, that man would do anything to keep you. Lie, steal, cheat, kill, clean up after himself, and do laundry.

You'll fold faster than Superman on laundry day

Can I ask you a question?" "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." "How many of those suits do you have? Do you like, send them to the laundry, or throw them out and put on a new one when it gets all gamey?" - Bobby talking to Saint Dane, RR

But ever since I made the decision to drop a few pounds-way less easy than it sounds, by the way-I've become obsessed with my size and in so doing I've inadvertently allowed my inner critic to have a voice. And you know what? She's a bitch. Like now when I see my underpants in the laundry, I no longer think Soft! Cotton! Sensible! Instead I hear her say Damn, girl, these panties be huge.

We got married: society's solution to loneliness, lust and laundry.

I visualize myself winning the Olympic Pentathlon, inventing a phone that can be controlled by brain waves, or doing the laundry. I do not actually DO these things, but I see myself doing them, and that is almost MORE satisfying, because I am also lying down.

Let’s see.’ She fiddles with her terminal and the room card reader. ‘You’re in 403 and 404. Have a nice day.' I hand Persephone the Forbidden Room card and keep Room Not Found for myself. She looks at me oddly.

My computer terminal whistles at me: YOU HAVE MAIL. No shit, Sherlock, I always have mail. It's an existential thing: if I don't have mail it would mean that something is very wrong with the world

I spent six hours becoming one with a shrubbery last night. There were three cloudbursts and a rain of small and very confused frogs

Dearest creature in creation, Study English pronunciation. I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse. I will keep you, Suzy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy. Tear in eye, your dress will tear. So shall I! Oh hear my prayer. Just compare heart, beard, and heard, Dies and diet, lord and word, Sword and sward, retain and Britain. (Mind the latter, how it’s written.) Now I surely will not plague you With such words as plaque and ague. But be careful how you speak: Say break and steak, but bleak and streak; Cloven, oven, how and low, Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe. Hear me say, devoid of trickery, Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles, Exiles, similes, and reviles; Scholar, vicar, and cigar, Solar, mica, war and far; One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel; Gertrude, German, wind and mind, Scene, Melpomene, mankind. Billet does not rhyme with ballet, Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet. Blood and flood are not like food, Nor is mould like should and would. Viscous, viscount, load and broad, Toward, to forward, to reward. And your pronunciation’s OK When you correctly say croquet, Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve, Friend and fiend, alive and live. Ivy, privy, famous; clamour And enamour rhyme with hammer. River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb, Doll and roll and some and home. Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour. Souls but foul, haunt but aunt, Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant, Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger, And then singer, ginger, linger, Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge, Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age. Query does not rhyme with very, Nor does fury sound like bury. Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth. Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath. Though the differences seem little, We say actual but victual. Refer does not rhyme with deafer. Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer. Mint, pint, senate and sedate; Dull, bull, and George ate late. Scenic, Arabic, Pacific, Science, conscience, scientific. Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven. We say hallowed, but allowed, People, leopard, towed, but vowed. Mark the differences, moreover, Between mover, cover, clover; Leeches, breeches, wise, precise, Chalice, but police and lice; Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label. Petal, panel, and canal, Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal. Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair, Senator, spectator, mayor. Tour, but our and succour, four. Gas, alas, and Arkansas. Sea, idea, Korea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria. Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean. Doctrine, turpentine, marine. Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion and battalion. Sally with ally, yea, ye, Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key. Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver. Heron, granary, canary. Crevice and device and aerie. Face, but preface, not efface. Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass. Large, but target, gin, give, verging, Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging. Ear, but earn and wear and tear Do not rhyme with here but ere. Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen, Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk, Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work. Pronunciation (think of Psyche!) Is a paling stout and spikey? Won’t it make you lose your wits, Writing groats and saying grits? It’s a dark abyss or tunnel: Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale, Islington and Isle of Wight, Housewife, verdict and indict. Finally, which rhymes with enough, Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough? Hiccough has the sound of cup. My advice is to give up!!!

I was ten years old. I had noticed something was weird earlier in the day but I knew from commercials that one's menstrual period was a blue liquid that you poured like laundry detergent onto maxi pads to test their absorbency. This wasn't blue so...I ignored it for a few hours. When we got home I pulled my mom aside to ask if it was weird I was bleeding in my underpants. She was very sympathetic but also a little baffled. Her eyes said "Dummy didn't you read 'How Shall I Tell My Daughter ". I HAD read it but nowhere in the pamphlet did anyone say that your period was NOT a blue liquid. At that moment two things became clear to me I was now technically a woman and I would never be a doctor.

You think Tide is better, or All?' 'Which has a prettier box?' I ask. 'I don't want a pretty box. I want a dude box.' Uh-huh,' I deadpan. 'You want a dude box of laundry detergent.' 'Yes, I do.' 'Good luck with that.

I can deal with fighting in the arena in Hell, but laundry and dishes put the fear of God in me.

If I tell you another seven hundred times, maybe one of these days you might turn your clothes right side out when you put them in the hamper, eh?

I'm never letting you do my laundry. Again." "I didn't know the red towel was in there," Prophet protested. "You did it on purpose to get out of doing laundry." "Maybe. But it worked." "Fucking impossible.

What entity aboard this ship exhibits all the personality traits of a cold-blooded killing machine, combined with the monstrous, overweening vanity and laziness of a convalescent war god lounging in their personal Valhalla while their minions prepare their armor? There's only one answer. The Persian tomcat sits underneath the alien horror, washing itself without concern.

Take it from cats If someone moves to make room for you, take up more room. If someone is looking over there, there’s something to see. If somebody sneezes, run. If someone brings a bag into your home, look inside it. If you don’t want someone to leave, sit on his suitcase. Clean between your toes. Flaunt your full figure. Hide loose change. Even though you can take care of yourself, it’s okay to let someone be nice to you. It’s fine to take a nap on the laundry. If you stand in a kitchen long enough, someone will feed you. If you’re alone in bed, use all the pillows. Just because it’s gorgeous outside doesn’t mean you have to go outside. Just because you can fit into something tight doesn’t mean that you belong in it. If you trust someone, open yourself like a cheap umbrella. If you want to be left alone, park yourself in a closet. If you want to surprise someone, lie in a bathtub and then jerk back the curtain when he sits on the toilet. If you’re not interested, don’t look interested. You don’t have to chase every bird that you see.

Look" I narrowed my eyes at Mr. Gorgeous. "I'm kind of in the middle of a nervous breakdown and after that I plan on having a very festive pity party, table for one, so unless you are here to put me out of my misery I suggest you scurry on your way.

Some people would say it's a bad idea to bring a fire-spider into a public library. Those people would probably be right, but it was better than leaving him alone in the house for nine hours straight. The one time I tried, Smudge had expressed his displeasure by burning through the screen that covered his tank, burrowing into my laundry basket, and setting two weeks' worth of clothes ablaze.

...Ever since I made the decision to drop a few pounds—way less easy than it sounds, by the way—I’ve become obsessed with my size, and in so doing I’ve inadvertently allowed my inner critic to have a voice. And you know what? She’s a bitch. Like now when I see my underpants in the laundry, I no longer think Soft! Cotton! Sensible! Instead I hear her say Damn, girl, these panties be huge.” “Your inner critic has terrible grammar.” “I know, it’s the only way I can take away some of her power over me...

The announcer, in milky tones, rolled out the commercial; it was all about some sort of washing powder that made laundry days a mere frolic in the backyard

We got back to my house to find it ransacked. It was difficult to tell because I’m not the world’s greatest housekeeper myself, but by the time I was in the kitchen I knew they had been here: I don’t normally keep the oven open. I whipped out the gun and prowled around the house, finding it empty. Amy asked what they were looking for. I dodged the question by pointing out what a pity it was they tossed the place because it was immaculate before they got here and that it was too bad she didn’t get to see it when it was clean. I went to the kitchen and ran water over my bleeding knuckles. “Look,” Amy said, from behind me. “They threw laundry all over your floor in there.” “Yeah. And they wore the clothes first, the bastards.

It popped up on my Outlook calendar, flagged in red like an inflamed pimple full of infected bureaucratic pus... I've been trying desperately to get it shifted, but no, it is stuck like a king-sized dildo in a guinea pig.

Opportunity isn't at the end of the rainbow. It's in the deli section when no ones looking.

So my life has come to this: all I ever make is laundry. Awake or asleep, I'm always shuffling round some shopping mall, raking through knitwear carousels that whirl into infinity, searching, with the fever or teething gums, for the ultimate cardigan. Is it any wonder the wardrobe's bursting, the linen basket overflowing like an archive of disproved hypotheses? The grey bras, the shrinking T-shirts, that embarrassed puddle of lycra, my favourite dress -- now ruined dress -- my lost remembered, perfect dress: all laundry, in the end. More laundry.

Yeah, like not doing her laundry,” I said, remembering how Michael’s clothes had been scattered everywhere the first time I’d seen his room. “Maybe she had a gateway to Hell in her laundry room,” Michael said. “That doesn’t make it easy.”.

Six-pack? Was it possible to have an eight-pack? I think he had one. Smooth skin stretched over tightly rolled muscles. I bet I could've done a week's worth of laundry on his stomach. Probably would be a heck of a lot more fun that way to wash clothes.

The apartment is a laboratory in which we conduct experiments, perform research on each other. We discover Henry hates it when I absentmindedly click my spoon against my teeth while reading the paper at breakfast. We agree that it is okay for me to listen to Joni Mitchell and it is okay for Henry to listen to the Shaggs as long as the other person isn't around. We figure out that Henry should do all the cooking and I should be in charge of laundry and neither of us is willing to vacuum so we hire a cleaning service.

I thought leaving home would be a liberation. I thought university would be a dance party. I thought I would live in a room vined with fairy lights; hang arabesque tapestries up on the wall. I thought scattered beneath my bed would be a combination of Kafka, coffee grounds, and a lover’s old boxer shorts. I thought I would spend my evenings drinking cheap red wine and talking about the Middle East. I thought on weekends we might go to Cassavetes marathons at the independent cinema. I thought I would know all the good Korean places in town. I thought I would know a person who was into healing crystals and another person who could teach me how to sew. I thought I might get into yoga. I thought going for frozen yogurt was something you would just do. I thought there would be red cups at parties. And I thought I would be different. I thought it would be like coming home, circling back to my essential and inevitable self. I imagined myself more relaxed—less hung up on things. I thought I would find it easy to speak to strangers. I thought I would be funny, even, make people laugh with my warm, wry, and only slightly self-deprecating sense of humor. I thought I would develop the easy confidence of a head girl, the light patter of an artist. I imagined myself dancing in a smoky nightclub, spinning slackly while my arms floated like laundry loose on the breeze. I imagined others watching me, thinking, Wow, she is so free.

Lucifer had been ranting his endless laundry list of complaints for forty-five minutes now, and Louhi still didn’t know exactly what she was supposed to apologize for. There was something about her plant having eaten his cape while he had been waiting, as for the rest… She wished she could read an immortal’s thoughts, but their brains were constructs, simulations… Which actually explained a lot.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Romeo stiffened. “What!” he yelled. “I hope no one’s naked, ‘cause I’m coming in!” Braeden hollered. A few seconds later, the door opened and he stepped inside. One of his hands covered his eyes. “Is it safe?” he asked. I giggled. “Is that a no for tacos?” Romeo shook his head and rolled his eyes. “We’re dressed, man.” Braeden dropped the hand over his eyes and he zeroed in on me. It took everything in me not to shrink back from embarrassment. He came across the carpeting and held out my glasses. “Here,” he said. “I figured you might need these.” Ah, that explained why everything still looked so blurry. I slid them on and smiled as my sight adjusted back to normal. I noticed Braeden was soaking wet. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “You have to be freezing!” I rushed around the room, pulling out clothes and socks and tossing them at Braeden’s feet. “Here! Put this stuff on.” “She’s giving away your clothes, man,” Braeden said to Romeo. “Chicks.” He sighed. Braeden shook his head. “You’re dripping on the carpet!” I reminded him. He laughed and went in the bathroom to get dressed. “Just leave your clothes with ours. I’ll wash them for you,” I yelled through the door. He laughed. “Laundry service? Damn! I’m moving in.” Romeo shook his head. I yawned. This entire day was catching up to me. Romeo frowned. “I’ll make everyone leave…” He began. “No!” I exclaimed. “This is your victory party! Go enjoy it. I’ll stay here.” He seemed torn on what to do. Braeden came out wearing Romeo’s clothes (they fit him pretty well) and ran his eyes over me in concern. “You okay?” I nodded. “Did you jump in the pool to get my glasses?” He nodded. “Actually, he jumped in the pool right after I did. In case I needed help towing you out.” Romeo corrected. I glanced at Braeden for confirmation. He shrugged. “What kind of brother would I be if I let you drown?” Without thought, I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. He seemed a little taken aback by my display of affection, but after a minute, he hugged me back. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Anytime, tutor girl.” His voice was soft and his arms tightened around me just slightly. For all his witty humor, sarcastic one-liners, and jokes, Braeden was a really good guy. “We need to teach you to swim.” He observed. I shuddered. “I know how to swim.” “Well, you sank to the bottom like an anchor,” he grumbled.

I liked it when things went together like that. Not just timing things like the chop/ flick/ knock-stopping, but space things, too. Like all the man-made products that fit into other man-made products that were not made by the same men or for the same reasons. Like how the sucking wand of my parents’ vacuum held seven D batteries stacked nub to divot, and my Artgum eraser, before I’d worn it down, sat flush in any slot of the ice-cube tray, and the ice-cube tray sat flush on the rack in the toaster oven, the oven itself between the wall and the sink-edge. I liked how the rubber stopper in the laundry-room washtub was good for corking certain Erlenmeyer flasks and that 5 mg. Ritalins could be stored in the screw-hollows on the handles of umbrellas. (page 29-30)

I liked it when things went together like that. Not just timing things like the chop/ flick/ knock-stopping, but space things, too. Like all the man-made products that fit into other man-made products that were not made by the same men or for the same reasons. Like how the sucking wand of my parents’ vacuum held seven D batteries stacked nub to divot, and my Artgum eraser, before I’d worn it down, sat flush in any slot of the ice-cube tray, and the ice-cube tray sat flush on the rack in the toaster oven, the oven itself between the wall and the sink-edge. I liked how the rubber stopper in the laundry-room washtub was good for corking certain Erlenmeyer flasks and that 5 mg. Ritalins could be stored in the screw-hollows on the handles of umbrellas. The Instructions (pp. 29-30)

Do you think she's going to hang out your dirty laundry for all to see?" "How can you say she has sense after what she pulled today? Bah! You don't know what you're talking about." "What Willow did today was nothing more than an act of rebellion, a way to let off steam and let you know, in the only way she knew how, that your treatment of her is entirely unacceptable." "Woman, what you need is a man, then maybe you wouldn't be putting your nose in everybody's business." "Why,Mr. Vaughn, are you applying for the job?" Miriam asked, with an ill-humored smile. "Hell,no!" "Then I suggest you leave my personal life out of this. My life is in perfect order, which is more than can be said for yours!" Owen grunted and took a pull on his pipe. Well aware of his bold perusal, Miriam attacked her darning as if it were infinitely more engaging than any conversation with the man across the room from her. Owen wasn't a handsome man by any standards with his bearlike build and ruddy complexion. And heaven knew he wasn't very likeable either. Thus, Miriam was at a complete loss to explain her powerful attraction to him. Good heavens, she thought, I haven't felt so giddy since that time on my eighteenth birthday when Hiriam pulled me behind Aunt Harriet's coachhouse and we... The landlady's face reddened.

Hackworth took a bite of his sandwich, correctly anticipating that the meat would be gristly and that he would have plenty of time to think about his situation while his molars subdued it. He did have plenty of time, as it turned out; but as frequently happened to him in these situations, he could not bring his mind to bear on the subject at hand. All he could think about was the taste of the sauce. If the manifest of ingredients on the bottle had been legible, it would have read something like this: Water, blackstrap molasses, imported habanero peppers, salt, garlic, ginger, tomato puree, axle grease, real hickory smoke, snuff, butts of clove cigarettes, Guinness Stout fermentation dregs, uranium mill tailings, muffler cores, monosodium glutamate, nitrates, nitrites, nitrotes and nitrutes, nutrites, natrotes, powdered pork nose hairs, dynamite, activated charcoal, match-heads, used pipe cleaners, tar, nicotine, singlemalt whiskey, smoked beef lymph nodes, autumn leaves, red fuming nitric acid, bituminous coal, fallout, printer's ink, laundry starch, drain deaner, blue chrysotile asbestos, carrageenan, BHA, BHT, and natural flavorings.

Did it have a name, this project?” “Yes. The books and posters are called MAGIC CIRCLE OF SAFETY, but she said I’d find it in the stacks under a very strange reference—KGB.2.YA—what’s so funny? Bob? Are you choking? Bob? Bob? Do you need help?” Kiss Good-Bye 2 Your Ass: I love the Laundry sense of humor.

Mom made me watch this boring documentary where this kid my age - twelve, if it matters to you - is hand-scrubbing clothes against a block of wood for hours, which, ugh, brutal. And you wanna know how you determined the clothes were clean enough? When your arm fell off.

Finish is a laundry powder. I feel guilty when I finish a book.

Never underestimate the audacity of the small minded and slightly crapulous. A rather bleezed young neighbour decided to have a grammar battle with me. It lasted all of two seconds. I said something slightly amicable, and he responded with, “You sure that's how you use that word?” I put down my laundry basket and turned to him slowly and deliberately. “Do you really want to have this discussion with me, son, or do you want to go home and rethink your life?” He grumbled and vanished.

You fix bathrooms, you do laundry, you give orgasms, what can’t you do?” I tease, going back into the kitchen to make us lunch. “I can’t take you to any family reunions,” he counters as he comes into the kitchen himself. “Jesse.” My jaw drops at what he just said. “Sorry, just a little orphan humor.

True story: I’m too lazy to even wash my socks. I buy seven or eight pairs and wear them all once, and then I shake them out, sort them by how bad they smell, and wear them again. Then I finally stuff them into the laundry bag and send them off to be washed. Rinse and repeat, ad nauseam. Every so often a sock goes missing, so its partner ends up among the mismatched. I didn’t start wearing them in pairs until after Shen Wei moved in.

Being mentally cluttered is the new normal… until you die without ever really knowing who you are, what fulfills you and how you can live a meaning life. Instead of experiencing stillness, we risk living in a washing machine of other people’s dirty laundry.

Real physical perfection isn't something a guy like me gets to see up close and personal very often, and it's something to marvel at - then run away from, before it hypnotizes you like a snake staring into the eyes of something small, furry, and edible.

William waved his hand, telling her, “Your turn. Let’s hear a sexual fantasy.” She thought for a moment. Eyes going dreamy, setting off all kinds of warning bells inside his head, she said, “I picture a strong, gorgeous man. He’s dressed, but not for long. He strips. I watch.” William’s mouth went dry. The warning bells? Forgotten. “And then?” She purred with pure, sexual carnality, nearly unmanning him. “He strips me, too, and...does a load of laundry, washing our dirty clothes. Oh, yeah. Oh, baby.

My introduction to the Roman Catholic world was a full immersion baptism in the heady milieu of an Irish—American wedding. The man I was dating, who later became my husband, had invited me to attend the wedding ceremony of a high—school classmate, consisting of a weekend of dinners, parties and, of course, church. It was one of our first dates, a fact that now seems rich with God’s good humor.

There's enough irony in my situation that a skilled blacksmith could turn it into a katana.

MUSLIM WOMEN are commanding audiences, cracking jokes, and forging careers as stand-up comics and entertainers. From viral videos to one-woman shows, we deploy humor to enlighten and illuminate, but more importantly, we use humor to experience joy. We laugh till we cry, till we pee, till we forget. We belly laugh to give ourselves the strength to smash the patriarchy, find a date, do the laundry, write a book, get out of bed. In a world that tries to laugh at us, Muslim women have turned the tables and weaponized an art form: Humor is our not-so-secret weapon, joy is our punchline.