Maintenance Funny Quotes

When they reached a maintenance closet, Iko ushered the escort-droid inside. “I want you to know that I hold nothing against you,” she said, by way of introduction. “I understand that it isn’t your fault your programmer had so little imagination.” The escort-droid held her gaze with empty eyes. “In another life, we could have been sisters, and I feel it’s important to acknowledge that.” A blank stare. A blink, every six seconds. “But as it stands, I’m a part of an important mission right now, and I cannot be swayed from my goal by my sympathy for androids who are less advanced than myself.” Nothing. “All right then.” Iko held out her hands. “I need your clothes.

Vamps were homebodies—high-maintenance, party-till-you-die, don’t-look-at-me-funny-or-I’ll-kill-you homebodies, but homebodies nevertheless.

I make some jokes about it, but they’re not funny and just add to the depression.

You’ve kidnapped my friend. Sucked her brain out! Not that she had much to begin with, but—” “Bite me.” The laughter didn’t hurt, now. I didn’t even feel weird saying it. Bite me. Pretty funny, for a part-vampire. “Ha. You wish. Lesbo vamp girl.” “Lesbo?” “You love me.” “We’d never work, Nat. You’re too high maintenance.” We both cracked up, and right then, the darkness was kind.

Psst!” said a voice, and he looked around to see a wispy little witch and the ferrety wizard from Magical Maintenance gesturing to him from over beside the statue. Harry hastened to join them. “You got in all right, then?” Hermione whispered to Harry. “No, he’s still stuck in the bog,” said Ron. “Oh, very funny…

Les psychiatres, c'est très efficace. Moi, avant, je pissais au lit, j'avais honte. Je suis allé voir un psychiatre, je suis guéri. Maintenant, je pisse au lit, mais j'en suis fier. Psychiatrists are very efficient. Before, I used to wet the bed. I went to see a psychiatrist, and was cured. Now, when I wet the bed, I'm proud of it.

Winslow wants you to learn this"- he waved a few sheets of stapled pages- "and that." He pointed to the book in my lap. Fifty French Conversations. It was one of our textbooks. I'd stopped at the seventeenth: Mon hamster a mange trop de fromage. Il a mal au ventre maintenant. "The rest is the Bainbridge Method." "You have a method?" "Patented and proven." I waved the book. "Does it include greedy, cheese-guzzling hamsters with stomachaches?" He nodded. "Absolutely.French conversations is nothing without rodents and cheese.Is there something shameful in your past involving either?" "Not that I can think of off the top of my head." "Tant pis." "And that means...?" "Fuhgeddaboudit," he translated, grinning. I sighed. "Do people make Russian jokes in your presence?" "How do you get five Russians to agree on anything?" "How?" I asked. "Shoot four of them." I thought for a sec. "I'm not sure that's funny." "No," Alex said. "People don't tell many Russian jokes in my presence." "I should start my three things, huh?" "Yeah.That would be good." I did some speedy translating in my head. "Je n'ai jamais lu Huckleberry Finn, Beloved, ou Moby-Dick." "Ella,no one has read Moby-Dick. The French was passable, but as far as revelations go,that sucked." "Ah, but there's a part deux. All three of those books were required reading last year in my American lit class. I used SparkNotes." "You're kidding, right?" "See?" I daintily brushed Dorito crumbs from my fingertips. "Changes your perception of me, doesn't it?" "No,I mean, 'That's a revelation?' You can do better than that." "Maybe," I agreed, "but it's still early in the game.

Jack’s eyes glinted with humor. “Do we have to start with that?” “What else would we start with?” “Couldn’t you ask me something like, ‘How did your morning go?’ or ‘What’s your idea of the perfect day?’” “I already know what your idea of the perfect day is.” He arched a brow as if that surprised him. “You do? Let’s hear it.” I was going to say something flip and funny. But as I stared at him, I considered the question seriously. “Hmmn. I think you’d be at a cottage at the beach . . .” “My perfect day includes a woman,” he volunteered. “Okay. There’s a girlfriend. Very low-maintenance.” “I don’t know any low-maintenance women.” “That’s why you like this one so much. And the cottage is rustic, by the way. No cable, no wireless, and you’ve both turned off your cell phones. The two of you take a morning walk along the beach, maybe go for a swim. And you pick up a few pieces of seaglass to put in a jar. Later, you both ride bikes into the town, and you head for the outfitters shop to buy some fishing stuff . . . some kind of bait—” “Flies, not bait,” Jack said, his gaze not moving from mine. “Lefty’s Deceivers.” “For what kind of fish?” “Redfish.” “Great. So then you go fishing—” “The girlfriend, too?” he asked. “No, she stays behind and reads.” “She doesn’t like to fish?” “No, but she thinks it’s fine that you do, and she says it’s healthy for you to have separate interests.” I paused. “She packed a really big sandwich and a couple of beers for you.” “I like this woman.” “You go out in your boat, and you bring home a nice catch and throw it on the grill. You and the woman have dinner. You sit with your feet up, and you talk. Sometimes you stop to listen to the sounds of the tide coming in. After that, the two of you go on the beach with a bottle of wine, and sit on a blanket to watch the sunset.” I finished and looked at him expectantly. “How was that?” I had thought Jack would be amused, but he stared at me with disconcerting seriousness. “Great.” And then he was quiet, staring at me as if he were trying to figure out some sleight-of-hand trick.

Cats are solitary hunters with only the vaguest concept of hierarchy and little desire to “please” anyone but themselves

The CO had held his briefing, the pilots were manning the aircraft and we had senior officers from the Wing and Group staff prowling around in maintenance control looking at our paperwork, it was in reality a pop inspection.     I thought the CO would be horrified but instead he thought it was funny and gave them all the big wide grin as he was heading out to his aircraft, almost as if to say, “Watch this shit you assholes.

What made me fall the hardest for someone in the past was the fact that she made no attempt to hide her flaws. Instead, she would play with them and even flaunt them in a way that magically drew me closer. If she was late, she’d come up with a funny reason why. If her place was dirty, it was so I could watch her clean in front of me. She would often tease me and keep me on my toes. Too many women worry about being perceived as high maintenance, but as Allison Armstrong says: ‘It’s okay to be high maintenance as long as you’re high performance!’ And she was and I loved her, even though she was the most difficult woman I ever dated.

Let me tell you, managing a bunch of high-maintenance white women who freak out every time their European hair dryer blows out an outlet isn't exactly a picnic.

kind of funny that you’re high maintenance and difficult,

General?" I wasn't listening as I finished the final inspection of the Living quarters. "I don't like this." They kept muttering while I continued to check their weapon maintenance and uniforms. "I'm scared." "If you're scared of the general's smile, I think you'll shit your pants to see him laugh." Maxus taunted the younger recruits. "But none of that is as bad as when you disrespect him, so shut the fuck up!

A funny thing about code is that when left alone, it gets moldy and breaks of its own accord. This is true of product code and test code. A large part of maintenance engineering is about monitoring quality, not looking for new issues.

As in most mining towns, the people of Broken Hill were not expecting the minerals to last forever, so they built the dwellings accordingly. As a result, our house required ongoing maintenance. Every day when explosives were fired underground at 7 am and 3 pm to prepare the mines for the next shift, the ground rumbled, the house shook and it became a sport spotting the new bits of damage – mostly chunks of cement falling off the outside walls, which didn’t make the house look very pretty. The blasts were like small earth tremors, so Mum never bought ornaments for the mantelpiece or shelves; they would only end up as jigsaw puzzles on the ground around 7 am or 3 pm.