Moist Funny Quotes

Whole new theories of money were growing here like mushrooms: in the dark and based on bullshit.

You're not going to tell me they built fifty-foot-high killer golems, are you?" "Only a man would think of that. It's our job," said Moist. "If you don't think of fifty-foot-high killer golems first, someone else will.

They were indeed what was known as 'old money', which meant that it had been made so long ago that the black deeds which had originally filled the coffers were now historically irrelevant. Funny, that: a brigand for a father was something you kept quiet about, but a slave-taking pirate for a great-great-great-grandfather was something to boast of over the port. Time turned the evil bastards into rogues, and rogue was a word with a twinkle in its eye and nothing to be ashamed of.

. . . you worked for Harry King, they said, because a broken leg was bad for business, and Harry King was all about business.

Did I break you?" Bathymaas "What makes you think that?" Aricles "Why do you leak so?" Bathymaas "I don't know. It just does that sometimes." Aricles "Is it the same as when I grow moist between my legs whenever you're near?" Bathymaas "I-I suppose it is." Aricles "Your body is so different from min. Are all men like you?" Bathymaas "I would assume, but I don't make it a habit of being with naked men, especially when they're aroused." Aricles

It was that he thought she was funny. God, every time she made him laugh, she felt like a god, like she’d wrought some miracle. He was happy. Happy to be with her. She’d never made anyone happy in her entire life. She was a definite smartass, so she’d had occasion to make people laugh. But it was different with Stellan. It moved her completely that she could give that to him. It was … she couldn’t describe it even in her head. It just meant everything that she could make Stellan happy. The rest, regardless of how much of it there was, and there was a lot, was frosting. Not the sex. Sex with Stellan was definitely moist, rich, delicious cake. But the rest felt like she was on a game show, and she’d jumped through all the hoops to win the million-dollar prize, and then the confetti dropped and the band played and she’d been told she’d also won the fabulous all-expenses-paid vacation to Italy, the new car and the yacht. Seriously, he looked like he looked, dressed like he dressed, fucked like he fucked … and the man could cook and he liked to cook, but mostly, he liked to cook for her.

I am pleased to say I find nothing funny, sir,” Bent replied as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I have no sense of humor whatsoever. None at all. It has been proven by phrenology. I have Nichtlachen-Keinwortz syndrome, which for some curious reason is considered a lamentable affliction. I, on the other hand, consider it a gift. I am happy to say that I regard the sight of a fat man slipping on a banana skin as nothing more than an unfortunate accident that highlights the need for care in the disposal of household waste.” “Have you tried—” Moist began, but Bent held up a hand. “Please! I repeat, I do not regard it as a burden! And may I say it annoys me when people assume it is such! Do not feel impelled to try to make me laugh, sir! If I had no legs, would you try to make me run? I am quite happy, thank you!” He

Think of something to say. Keep him here. Something funny and interesting and cool. "I put my wellies on because I was sure it was going to rain and now my feet are getting horribly moist," Ellie said, and it was the single worst thing she'd ever said to anyone.

Your gamer tag is MoistWaffle69." "It's an informal platform, intended to bring joy to people's lives. I stand by that choice.

Nesta ate until she couldn't fit another morsel into her body, helping herself to thirds of the soup. The House seemed more than happy to oblige her, and had even offered her a slice of double-chocolate cake to finish. 'Is this Cassian-approved?' She picked up the fork and smiled at the moist, gleaming cake. 'It certainly isn't,' he said from the doorway, and Nesta whirled, scowling. He nodded toward the cake. 'But eat up.' She put down the fork. 'What do you want?' Cassian surveyed the family library. 'Why are you eating in here?' 'Isn't it obvious?' His grin was a slash of white. 'The only thing that's obvious is that you're talking to yourself.' 'I'm talking to the House. Which is a considerable step up from talking to you.' 'It doesn't talk back.' 'Exactly.' He snorted. 'I walked into that one.' He stalked across the room, eyeing the cake she still didn't touch. 'Are you really... talking to the House?' 'Don't you talk to it?' 'No.' 'It listens to me,' she insisted. 'Of course it does. It's enchanted.' 'It even brought food down to the library unasked.' His brows rose. 'Why?' 'I don't know how your faerie magic works.' 'Did you... do anything to make it act that way?' 'If you're taking a page from Devlon's book and asking if I did any witchcraft, the answer is no.' Cassian chuckled. 'That's not what I meant, but fine. The House likes you. Congratulations.' She growled, and he leaned over to pick up the fork. She went stiff at his closeness, but he said nothing as he took a bite of the cake. He let out a hum of pleasure that traveled along her bones. And then took another bite. 'That's supposed to be mine,' she groused, peering up at him as he continued to eat. 'Then take it from me,' he said.