Lifestyle Funny Quotes

It's a funny thing about life, once you begin to take note of the things you are grateful for, you begin to lose sight of the things that you lack.

You know, fame is a funny thing, man, especially, you know, actors, musicians, rappers, rock singers, it's kind of a lifestyle and it's easy to get caught up in it - you go to bars, you go to clubs, everyone's doing a certain thing... It's tough.

I wasn't going to have enough money to pay for a Good Lifestyle, which meant I'd feel ashamed, which meant I'd get depressed, and that was the big one because I knew what that did to me: it made it so I wouldn't get out of bed, which led to the ultimate thing—homelessness. If you can't get out of bed for long enough, people come and take your bed away.

Trojan, Durex, Lifestyles, Trojan Magnum (oh yeah, my three foot cock definitely needed those), Contempo, Vivid and Rough Rider. Seriously? There was a condom brand called Rough Rider? Why not just go with Fuck Her Hard and be done with it? I stood in the "Family Planning" aisle of the grocery store, trying to decide which condom brand was more effective. Family Planning…give me a break. How many people came to this aisle because they were planning a family? They came to this aisle to AVOID planning a family. --Carter

The sight of a tree at night full of glowing Clabbert lifestyles, while decorative, attracted too many Muggles wishing to ask why their neighbours still had their Christmas lights up in June.

Eat clean to stay fit, have a burger to stay sane.

It's funny how heterosexuals have lives and the rest of us have "lifestyles.

If life is unfair with everyone, doesn’t that make life fair

Tentacles is my term — the Tentacles are the evil tasks that invade my life. Like, for example, my American History class last week, which necessitated me writing a paper on the weapons of the Revolutionary war, which necessitated me traveling to the Metropolitan Museum to check out some of the old guns, which necessitated me getting the subway, which necessitated me being away from my cell phone and email for 45 minutes, which meant that I didn’t get to respond to a mass mail sent out by my teacher asking who needed extra credit, which meant other kids snapped up the extra credit, which meant I wasn’t going to get a 98 in the class, which meant I wasn’t anywhere close to a 98.6 average (body temperature, that’s what you needed to get), which meant I wasn’t going to get into a Good College, which meant I wasn’t going to have a Good Job, which meant I wasn’t going to have health insurance, which meant I’d have to pay tremendous amounts of money for the shrinks and drugs my brain needed, which meant I wasn’t going to have enough money to pay for a Good Lifestyle, which meant I’d feel ashamed, which meant I’d get depressed, and that was the big one because I knew what that did to me: it made it so I wouldn’t get out of bed, which led to the ultimate thing — homelessness. If you can’t get out of bed for long enough, people come and take your bed away.

Don't, but if at all, then, lie to the whole damn world - never to your own damn, silly stupid self.

I accidentally punched myself in the face, while trying to pull up the blanket & If this doesn't accurately describe my life, I don't know what does.

All humans are rogues. Cured only by death.

I swear I've good morals. It's just that bad ones befriend me. I'm a friendly person, you know. But I will talk to them. Believe you me.

Unhealthy behavior is actually common among doctors, who tend to know a lot about medicine but very little about health.

If your imaginary buddy 'up there' and his book and ism tell you to hate and kill people of another #faith and #religion, then, this non-existent f****r's mind is as little as his pecker.

Let us be absolutely truthful for once in our life. We human beings are basically assholes. As time goes by, some of us become a little better - a rascal. But most of us live and die as we were, and are. Plain-simply, assholes.

I'm a serious sort of fella. But don't tell me your pal up in the sky exists, and mine does not. Then, my middle finger gets offended! For, my buddy up there nowhere, Mr. NOT, too insists without proof, that he is. Same as your god. Is Mr. NOT nuts? If he is, are you not?

Most people just do not give a crap. Especially about you. It is not because you're crap. Mostly it is so because they are. So, you're better than them. Yeah! Now, give a crap!

Of course I love you. For real. I will sure come and personally meet you myself. Just to make sure you're well. When is your funeral?

Little people make tall claims. As being this-that avatar or messiah. Some even say they're God. Well, if they are, I'm their grand-pop.

Do not believe in a god who is as silly, and meaner than you. For, that would surely be your higher-self, and your stupid alter-ego.

If you seriously believe that your imaginary guy up in the sky told you to kill people of a differing faith and religion, your illusory pal is a dickhead. And of course and therefore, analogically speaking, so are you, shithead.

Since you're hell-bent on a sedentary lifestyle,' he said, 'I thought I'd go one step further and bring your food to you.' My stomach was already twisting with hunger, and I lowered the book into my lap. 'Thank you.' A short laugh. 'Thank you? Not "High lord and servant?" Or "Whatever it is you want, you can go shove it up your ass, Rhysand"?' He clicked his tongue. 'How disappointing.

Productivity is now sold as a lifestyle. People hustle away and grind for the sake of grinding. New calendars. New dry erase markers. New journals. But when they write in advanced journals, they write of goals and next steps— never of thoughts and secrets. When they write of goals, their goals are to have more goals. So you abandon the empty castle that is productivity and enter the little cottage of your funny heart.

We are all born idiots. Most of us never become any better. Hence, idiotically we live, die too in the same state as we were born . O' wise one, be not one of them!

I never lie to myself. If at times I'm an asshole, then, I admit to myself I've been so. This is how brutally truthful I am with myself. Only those who're assholes lie to themselves. Therefore, I am who I am - just a human. But of course, with an ass hole.

Really, you're not to blame. It is such a shame that your imaginary pal, your god is but a hateful, intolerant, misogynistic sod, akin the vilest of humans. So, per se it is not your fault. You're just a simple fellow following a distasteful simpleton. You're just being Him.

If you can count your friends - those who will miss you, perhaps shed a tear for you after you conk off - you're one lucky fellow. I guess I am lucky. Then again, who can tell? May be I will have to cut off a finger! For, who knows, in the passage of time, who turns yellow.

I told a friend of mine that my ambition was now to design my lifestyle around food. He made funny remarks about it and laughed it off. But it is what I'm sincerely aiming for.

Religious nuts believe the 'others', that is you and I, are but dogs. That we infidels do not bow to their diotic god. What if one says the dog is one's god? And all must prostrate before it. Wouldn't one be mad to so insist? So too is a fellow who says another must bow to his god.

As far as you know, and that is not near enough, this is the only life given to you. So, do not screw it up. Do your bit, without harming others. That's godly enough. Just do not dump your shit, especially the religious kind, on others. Thank you.

People who do not love dogs, know! When you've bitten dust and lying in your grave, a dog will come by and either crap or piss on you. Of course dogs may do the same on my grave too! But in doing so they'll be embracing me, but oh! they will surely be defecating on you.

By dog! I love you, and your hate spewing god. How became so both of you, dog?

Like your fancied god up there, my pal up nowhere, Mr. NOT, says if you do not prostrate and accept me as your latest and newest messiah, he will so kick your butt that you will neither be in hell nor in heaven but nowhere, like your fancied pal up there.

I often wonder, how come fundamentalists of every religion have nutcases akin themselves as their god?

A rascal at any age is a rogue. Till the time he dies of old age.

If I were not a Punjabi, I'd be a candy or jalebi.

If you say your ancestral god is true, well then, my imaginary pal up there, Mr. NOT, is too. Oh! And my Mr. NOT says it is the duty of his ism's faithful to kick the butt of every other god, and of this illusory fellow's followers, like you. NOW, is ALL THIS it okay with YOU?

Humans, left to own misguided devices, scratches the Divine in the self as one would the lice, but remember to lick well all the vices.

I love religious nuts. They make me remember I have them too. So, being a health nut, I scratch them religiously. Just as I do my butt.

Were I but perfectly normal, I would just not be.

So, am I too, like all other humans, just a rogue? Sure! Just a notch less than those rascals wearing godly robes.

Just like you silly bums, I have a personal sky god. I bow to him, as you do to your airy-fairy sod. He prefers I call him Mr. NOT.

Remember, you are as dispensable as the most indispensable king of kings, the mighty lord of silly worldly men.

A world that confuses luxury with success, has absolutely zero understanding of the human condition. That's why they idolize rich and filthy celebrities with private jets and rolls royce, as some sort of demigods. If this is your idea of success, then you guys are more disgustingly primitive than the wildlife in the amazon. At least, wild animals don't pretend to be civilized. Riches maketh filth, filth pursue riches. To live a life of luxury, or to dream of a life of luxury, doesn't make us ambitious, it only exposes the moron that we are. A species that has not realized simplicity as the way of life, will never in a million years have a society without disease and disparity. I won't mince my words, and tell you straight. Wanna be a decent human being? Stay away from luxury. Because luxury is a violation of human rights, human health, and above all, human character. It's funny really! Some people can't afford two wholesome meals a day, while others live with a private airport in their backyard. Some parents work their butt off to keep the clothes on their children's back, while others shower their kids with lamborghinis and teslas. If this doesn't open your eyes, perhaps you should try lobotomy. I'm sure you can find some unlicensed surgeon somewhere who'd do it for you if you offer them a trip to the bahamas, or better yet, a trip to space in your own spaceship.

Yoga: once an exotic rite for mystics, now a suburban hobby in church halls and gymnasiums. Stretches, belly breaths and chants. Ancient (and awkward) poses with odd animal names, enjoyed by Lycra-clad mothers and post-matcha tea hipsters alike.

Reviewed by Vincent Dublado for Readers' Favorite Another Time in a Vacuum by Roland Burisch is a witty fantasy adventure of anachronistic proportions. Meet Monty, a timetraveling historian who travels back to 1673. Imagine the thrill of excitement that greets him as he meets one of history’s most important diarists, Samuel Pepys. He musters the courage to tell Pepys that he has important information, but the eminent diarist is suspicious that he could be an extortionist. Monty tells Pepys that he is from the future and that he is familiar with the contents of Pepys’s diaries. Monty introduces the diarist to his mobile phone to lend authenticity to his claim. Monty remembers that Sir Isaac Newton is alive in the same period, with which Pepys concurs, unless Newton is beheaded for heresy. But Monty tells him that Newton will go down in history for his work. This fills Pepys with disbelief. Monty brings the two men into the present, and these two historical figures will witness the contemporary period with awe and bewilderment, an adventure that they will fill with many questions. Another Time in a Vacuum is a fascinating time-travel adventure that is intelligent, witty, and at times, sad. While this novel takes the idea of time travel as an essential element in the storyline, it is more about a comparative look at the lifestyle and norms of the past with the present. It is inevitable that the two famous men will not understand Monty initially. But Roland Burisch equips his plot with confidence in the intelligence of Pepys and Newton. They eventually understand why Monty exists in their time without many ramifications about the historical timeline getting altered. Burisch wisely hinges on the mechanics of dialogue and the interaction of the trio for the plot. It is also one of the reasons why this novel works because you like the quirks of the characters. They are wise, funny, and fish out of water. It sounds like a story that you will enjoy reading. It is.

Reviewed by Vincent Dublado for Readers' Favorite Another Time in a Vacuum by Roland Burisch is a witty fantasy adventure of anachronistic proportions. Meet Monty, a timetraveling historian who travels back to 1673. Imagine the thrill of excitement that greets him as he meets one of history’s most important diarists, Samuel Pepys. He musters the courage to tell Pepys that he has important information, but the eminent diarist is suspicious that he could be an extortionist. Monty tells Pepys that he is from the future and that he is familiar with the contents of Pepys’s diaries. Monty introduces the diarist to his mobile phone to lend authenticity to his claim. Monty remembers that Sir Isaac Newton is alive in the same period, with which Pepys concurs, unless Newton has been beheaded for heresy. But Monty tells him that Newton will go down in history for his work. This fills Pepys with disbelief. Monty brings the two men into the present, and these two historical figures will witness the contemporary period with awe and bewilderment, an adventure that they will fill with many questions. Another Time in a Vacuum is a fascinating time-travel adventure that is intelligent, witty, and at times, sad. While this novel takes the idea of time travel as an essential element in the storyline, it is more about a comparative look at the lifestyle and norms of the past with the present. It is inevitable that the two famous men will not understand Monty initially. But Roland Burisch equips his plot with confidence in the intelligence of Pepys and Newton. They eventually understand why Monty exists in their time without many ramifications about the historical timeline getting altered. Burisch wisely hinges on the mechanics of dialogue and the interaction of the trio for the plot. It is also one of the reasons why this novel works because you like the quirks of the characters. They are wise, funny, and fish out of water. It sounds like a story that you will enjoy reading. It is.

Learning never ends. Wisdom rarely descends. Such is life. Akin being married, without a wife. Then we die. Most a fool, a rare one wise.

Life is easy. Just stay un-dead.

Of what use is my going to church every day and still come home and remain the same? Of what use is my attending the mosques and the next day I enter the mall with knives and start slaughtering people in the name of religion. God is a God of variety. He was not stupid creating all of us different with our uniqueness. His creating us different shows the level of His creativity. He didn't make you white to hate black or vice versa. He made it so that we can cherish and love each other irrespective of our differences just as He loved us with all our flaws and our short comings. Can we forgive those who have offended us? Yes and some will say no but never forget that you are not worthy but God still forgives you even till the last hour of your life. If God can love us against all our atrocities why can't we learn to love one another. Take a look around you, you can only see sad faces. Was that really God's intention for us on earth? Absolutely not. But we have remoulded God's creativity to suit our taste and lifestyles and now we are reaping the fruit of our labour. You should not expect to reap love when you sowed the seed of hatred. What a man sows that he reaps. We sowed on weapons of war and we are yielding war in return. We have sowed on weapons of destruction so why are we asking for peace. If you ask me....I will say let's go back to our source. He has never lost any battle. I am a living witness.

On a supra human level, yeah, I got That Which Is. Yet on a simple human level, rare are times when either my left or my right foot is not in some kind of shit.

Believe you me, I love all - just not people.

I love you as I do all - not at all.

What I’m trying to say is, an ostomy bag can save your life.’ They all nod, getting that. ‘But I might keep mine because it saves my lifestyle. It’s my choice. Not just a last resort – it’s not forced on me. It’s actually desirable!

AARP’s retirement calculator; it can be found on AARP.org. (As of this writing, the link to the calculator isn’t on the home page; you’ll need to click on “Work & Retirement,” then on “Retirement Planning” to locate it.) The calculator will ask your age, your salary, your savings, and some questions about Social Security and the sort of lifestyle you imagine your older self having before giving you an estimate of how much money you’ll need at retirement and how much you’re likely to have if you continue to earn and save at your current levels. Another source of information is dinkytown.net. This website has a funny name, but if you like calculators, you’re going to be quite pleased.

Smile, you're alive.

If your believed in and imagined god or beloved self-proclaimed messiah behaves like a scoundrel, in all probability, my pal up in the sky says, you too are one such mongrel.

If your believed-in god is patently more stupid than you, and you're yet following this buffoon; you're as silly, and an idiot too.

Religious nuts of the world, unite! I too will fly my kite. Let us set up a meet between your imaginary pal in the sky with my friend up there nowhere, Mr. NOT. We will let them slug it out. Whoever survives, will be our GOD! Long live the brotherhood of the nuts and naught!

The only relatives who remain friends with you throughout life, are most probably but acquaintances, and not your relatives from any side.

Those who advocate killing people of another religion or faith by labeling the latter as infidels are dick-heads; that too a bit too little.

Mom wasn’t a weak person, or a wisp of a domineered housewife who hid in the background. Far from it. She was a vivacious, funny, and smart woman who loudly voiced her opinions, and would’ve been a suffragette had she lived in the twenties. She was gorgeous, with shoulder-length brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. She was strong and was an athlete as a teenager. She smoked, drank, and laughed out loud. A vital presence. She just never did understand or relate to children. She left school as a teenager and worked full-time in an office, then married young and became a mother and housewife. Now she found herself in New York in the swinging sixties, and despite my dad’s best efforts to make her the perfect square wife, she was energized, curious, and had time on her hands. She took music lessons, looked longingly at the bohemian lifestyle, and went off alone to the Newport Jazz Festival to see Miles Davis. Not about to be the happy homemaker, she wanted to party. Dad never became rich, and I’ve been told some blame fell upon my mom for failing to help him climb the career ladder. Instead of standing by her man, she acquired hippie habits, wore dashikis, and was a lousy teammate at cocktail parties.

Mom wasn’t a weak person, or a wisp of a domineered housewife who hid in the background. Far from it. She was a vivacious, funny, and smart woman who loudly voiced her opinions, and would’ve been a suffragette had she lived in the twenties. She was gorgeous, with shoulder-length brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. She was strong and was an athlete as a teenager. She smoked, drank, and laughed out loud. A vital presence. She just never did understand or relate to children. She left school as a teenager and worked full-time in an office, then married young and became a mother and housewife. Now she found herself in New York in the swinging sixties, and despite my dad’s best efforts to make her the perfect square wife, she was energized, curious, and had time on her hands. She took music lessons, looked longingly at the bohemian lifestyle, and went off alone to the Newport Jazz Festival to see Miles Davis. Not about to be the happy homemaker, she wanted to party.