Naughty Son Quotes

By the time we have our fifth and sixth you'll be a pro." Kane teased. He nuzzled Sebastien head. " Do you hear that, son ? You're our experiment, so you'll have all sorts of excuses to do very naughty things.

My son, Sam, at three and a half, had these keys to a set of plastic handcuffs, and one morning he intentionally locked himself out of the house. I was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper when I heard him stick his plastic keys into the doorknob and try to open the door. Then I heard him say, "Oh, shit." My whole face widened, like the guy in Edvard Munch's Scream. After a moment I got up and opened the front door. "Honey," I said, "what'd you just say?" "I said, 'Oh, shit,'" he said. "But, honey, that's a naughty word. Both of us have absolutely got to stop using it. Okay?" He hung his head for a moment, nodded, and said, "Okay, Mom." Then he leaned forward and said confidentially, "But I'll tell you why I said 'shit.'" I said Okay, and he said, "Because of the fucking keys!

Advice, then, young yeoman: When referring to the king's middle daughter, state that she is fair, speculate that she is pious, but unless you'd like to spend your watch looking for the box where your head is kept, resist the urge to wax ignorant on her naughty bits." -Pocket I don't know what that means, sir." -Yeoman Speak not of Regan's shaggacity, son" [...] -Pocket

He liked the girls, liked to hold them around the waist, felt like a man when he did. But as for talking with them, no, no! Then he felt as though he were dealing with another species of human being, in some cases a higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired the weak, pale, little girl and had picked her to be his wife. That was still the only way he could think of a woman - as a wife. He danced in a very chaste and proper manner, but he heard awful stories about his pals, stories he didn't understand until later. They could dance the waltz backwards around the room in a very indecent way, and they told naughty stories about the girls.

Your son has burned down my life!” But there was no punishment for me that day. My mom was too much in shock. There’s naughty, and then there’s burning down a white person’s house. She didn’t know what to do.

People write tragedies in which fatal blondes betray their paramours to ruin, which Cressidas, Cleopatras, Delilahs, and sometimes even naughty daughters like Jessica bring their lovers or their parents to distress: but these are not the heart of tragedy. They are fripperies to the soul of man. What does it matter if Antony did fall upon his sword? It only killed him. It is the mother's not the lover's lust that rots the mind. It is that which condemns the tragic character to his walking death. It is Jocasta, not Juliet, who dwells in the inner chamber. It is Gertrude, not the silly Ophelia, who sends Hamlet to his madness. The heart of tragedy does not lie in stealing or taking away. Any featherpated girl can steal a heart. It lies in giving, in putting on, in adding, in smothering without pillows. Desdemona robbed of life or honour is nothing to a Mordred, robbed of himself--his soul stolen, overlaid, wizened, while the mother-character lives in triumph, superfluously and with stifling love endowed on him, seemingly innocent of ill-intention. Mordred was the only son of Orkney who never married. He, while his brothers fled to England, was the one who stayed alone with her for twenty years--her living larder. Now that she was dead, he had become her grave. She existed in him like the vampire. When he moved, when he blew his nose, he did it with her movement. When he acted he became as unreal as she had been, pretending to be a virgin for the unicorn. He dabbled in the same cruel magic. He had even begun to keep lap dogs like her--although he had always hated hers with the same bitter jealousy as that with which he had hated her lovers.

I feel him tugging on the side of my lace thong. He strengthens the kiss, sweeping his tongue slow and deep through my mouth as he yanks as hard as he can on my thong. “OW! Son of a bitch!” I shout, pulling my mouth away from his as the lace digs into the side of my hip. “Sorry! Shit. I was trying to be all cool and rip these fuckers off you, but Jesus Christ what are they made out of, steel?” he mutters in annoyance, looking down between us as he continues to pull and tug at the material that refuses to tear.

My son, Sam, at three and a half, had these keys to a set of plastic handcuffs, and one morning he intentionally locked himself out of the house. I was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper when I heard him stick his plastic keys into the doorknob and try to open the door. Then I heard him say, “Oh, shit.” My whole face widened, like the guy in Edvard Munch’s Scream. After a moment I got up and opened the front door. “Honey,” I said, “what’d you just say?” “I said, ‘Oh, shit,’ ” he said. “But, honey, that’s a naughty word. Both of us have absolutely got to stop using it. Okay?” He hung his head for a moment, nodded, and said, “Okay, Mom.” Then he leaned forward and said confidentially, “But I’ll tell you why I said ‘shit.’ ” I said Okay, and he said, “Because of the fucking keys!

A preacher visiting his flock in the country happens to see a pig walking around on three legs. The preacher stops the farmer and says, “My son, what’s happened to your poor pig?” “Well,” says the farmer, “this pig is very special to my family and me. Just two months ago, I was working underneath my tractor when the jack fell and the tractor was crushing me. I yelled and my pig rushed to my rescue, dug me out, and pulled me away from the tractor.” “That’s very commendable,” says the preacher, “but—” “That’s not all, preacher. Last week, my house caught fire and my pig pulled my two young daughters to safety. The little fella even received a hero’s gold ribbon from the mayor.” “That’s marvelous,” says the preacher, “but that still doesn’t explain the missing leg.” “Like I said preacher, this pig is very special to my family and, well, we just can’t bring ourselves to eat it all at once.

A father stork and baby stork are sitting in their nest. The baby stork is crying and crying and father stork is trying to calm him. “Don’t worry, son. Your mother will come back. She’s just out bringing people babies and making them happy.” The next night, it’s the father’s turn to do the job. Mother and child are sitting in the nest and the baby stork is crying and crying. The mother stork says, “Son, don’t cry. Your father will be back soon. He’s just out bringing joy to new mommies and daddies.” A few days later, the stork parents are desperate: their son is absent from the nest all night! Shortly before dawn, the little chick returns and the parents ask him where he’s been all night. “Nowhere,” says the storklet. “Just out scaring the shit out of college students!

One summer, a bachelor farmer hires a college student to help around the farm. Says the farmer, “Son, since you have done such a fine job here this summer, I am going to throw a party for you. You better be able to handle a few beers because there will be lotsa drinkin’ going on.” “Hey, I’m a college man—I can hold my liquor, believe you me. I should do just fine.” “There is also going to be a lot of fightin’, so I hope you can handle yourself with your fists.” “I have been working hard all summer and I think I’m in pretty good shape to defend myself.” “Okey-dokey, but did I mention that there will be lotsa sex?” “Thank God! I have been out here all summer without a date and I have been dying for some action. Say. . . what should I wear to this party?” “I don’t care. Its just gonna be me and you.

Four men get together at a reunion. Three of them have sons and they start bragging about them, while the fourth guy leaves to take a leak. The first man says his son is doing so well, he now owns a factory for manufacturing furniture. “Why, just the other day he gave his best friend furniture for his new house.” The second man says his son is doing just as well. He is a manager at an exclusive car dealership. “Why, just the other day he gave his best friend a Ferrari.” The third man says his son was thriving, too. He is a manager at a bank. “Why, just the other day he gave his best friend money to buy a house.” The fourth man comes back from the bathroom, and the other three tell him that they’ve been discussing their very successful sons. He just shakes his head and says his son is gay and hasn’t amounted to much—but he must be doing something right, because in the past few weeks he’s been given a house, furniture, and a Ferrari by his three boyfriends!

A preacher goes into a bar and says, “Anybody who wants to go to heaven, stand up.” Everybody stands up except for a drunk in the corner. The preacher says, “My son, don’t you want to go to heaven when you die?” “When I die? Sure. I thought you were taking a load up now.

I don't want to do the show anymore. I've had enough exposure. It was sort of fun the first season but then Boyd went and ruined everything. He completely humiliated me." Boyd - as in Boydell Hampton - the preacher's son with the baby face and the mile-wide naughty streak. The kind of guy who talked poetically about being a missionary but who was really far more interested in exploring the missionary position. And every other position he could think of.

I’ve never really understood the concept of Christmas. I know it’s part of one of their religions, and I think this is the one that’s all tangled up in a sorcerer who pretended to be the “son of god” in an attempt to teach humans to behave better, but then where does the fat guy in the red suit come into it? And why are humans teaching their children that home invasion is something to look forward to?

Lillian Meecham was a stunningly beautiful woman of thirty-seven. Time had encircled her softly, enriched and deepened her beauty as the years tiptoed past her. Her hair was long, a dark luxuriant red, swept to one side of her head and half covering her right eye, a haughty, insouciant mane that added a touch of ingenuous naughtiness to a face that otherwise had the innocence of a Madonna. Her face was a reflection of many things; a sum of many transfiguring, even violent events. Her smile was joyous, but the joy was fringed with grief. Her lips were full and passionate, her nose, mischievous and arrogant. In her face, hardening experiences were registered in soft places. Pain was exiled to the nearly invisible lines shooting out from the eyes. Grief radiated in tight stars from both sides of her mouth. These wrinkles were the only indications that the face had suffered and that time had left at least a few footprints in passage. It was a kind face; a face that sons could love, husbands worship, and daughters envy. Her body was firm, ripe, and full. It had rich curves that invited the secret scholarship of men’s eyes. She had borne four children and suffered three miscarriages, but her stomach was as hard and flat as her hand.

I was changing my outfit,” Daniel swiftly stated at the exact same time Cass said, “I was just ravishing your son.

As their uncle, Earl Spencer, says their characters are very different from the public image. “The press have always written up William as the terror and Harry as a rather quiet second son. In fact William is a very self-possessed, intelligent and mature boy and quite shy. He is quite formal and stiff, sounding older than his years when he answers the phone.” It is Harry who is the mischievous imp of the family. Harry’s puckish character manifested itself to his uncle during the return flight from Necker, the Caribbean island owned by Virgin airline boss Richard Branson. He recalls: “Harry was presented with his breakfast. He had his headphones on and a computer game in front of him but he was determined to eat his croissant. It took him about five minutes to manoeuvre all his electronic gear, his knife, his croissant and his butter. When he eventually managed to get a mouthful there was a look of such complete satisfaction on his face. It was a really wonderful moment.” His godparent Carolyn Bartholomew says, without an ounce of prejudice, that Harry is “the most affectionate, demonstrative and huggable little boy” while William is very much like his mother, “intuitive, switched on and highly perceptive.” At first she thought the future king was a “little terror.” “He was naughty and had tantrums,” she recalls. “But when I had my two children I realized that they are all like that at some point. In fact William is kind-hearted, very much like Diana. He would give you his last Rolo sweet. In fact he did on one occasion. He was longing for this sweet, he only had one left and he gave it to me.” Further evidence of his generous heart occurred when he gathered together all his pocket money, which only amounted to a few pence, and solemnly handed it over to her. But he is no angel as Carolyn saw when she visited Highgrove. Diana had just finished a swim in the open air pool and had changed into a white toweling dressing gown as she waited for William to follow her. Instead he splashed about as though he were drowning and slowly sank to the bottom. His mother, not knowing whether it was a fake or not, struggled to get out of her robe. Then, realizing the urgency, she dived in still in her dressing gown. At that moment he resurfaced, shouting and laughing at the success of his ruse. Diana was not amused. Generally William is a youngster who displays qualities of responsibility and thoughtfulness beyond his years and enjoys a close rapport with his younger brother whom friends believe will make an admirable adviser behind the scenes when William eventually becomes king. Diana feels that it is a sign that in some way they will share the burdens of monarchy in the years to come. Her approach is conditioned by her firmly held belief that she will never become queen and that her husband will never become King Charles III.

I know many folks who have business cards made up that state that their child has Autism and explain what it is. They feel that educating these judgmental, tisk-tisking, disrespectful types will help. My husband and I always joked that we were going to have our own cards made up that said, “My son has autism. He is not intentionally being naughty or rude, but you are!

When I don’t immediately reply, she punches me in the arm. “Ow, what the hell?! Just give me a minute!” I yell at her. “Yeah, that’s it! Get mad!” she demands, punching me again. “SON OF A BITCH, I WANT YOUR COCK IN MY PUSSY!” I shout at the top of my lungs, glaring at her as I rub the spot on my arm that already feels like it’s bruising. “BEND ME OVER THE COUCH AND FUCK ME HARD!” Ariel screams, threatening me with her fist held up in the air. “BEND ME OVER THE COUCH AND FUCK ME HARD!” Ariel claps her hands together in glee and bounces up and down on her stool. “Oh my God this is so much fun! It’s like having my very own wind-up, talking hussy doll. I WANT TO LICK YOUR BALLS!” “I WANT TO LICK YOUR BALLS!” I immediately shout back, starting to get the hang of this and not even a little bit embarrassed by the things coming out of my mouth now. “FUCK ME HARDER, LICK MY PUSSY, PUT YOUR DICK IN MY MOUTH, STICK IT IN MY ASS, TOSS MY MOTHERFUCKING SALAD!” Ariel immediately stops clapping and looks at me with wide eyes. “What? Too far?” I ask. “Jesus, way too far. I know I told you to cruise around on Urban Dictionary to pick up some new words, but that was clearly a mistake.

This shit is lit! I’m about to be a hoe for somebody son up in here tonight!

Nahhh, sis! We need to get our shit and get the fuck out of here. We don’t know these muthafuckin’ people. What if they try to kill us in our sleep and take Hailey? Just by looking at her, that nigga know you had his baby. Ion think we made the best decisions in life, but this by far is the most fucked-up decision we made by coming here. We let a lil’ fun in the sun be our one and muthafuckin’ done! Mmmm mmmm, this ain’t it. I didn’t picture myself dying in Belize! He’s so pissed right now, and ion got time to be fighting Lucifer’s son! Write that nigga a check for his money, and ummmmm, ion know what the fuck you gone give him for Hailey Bear ‘cause technically you stole half of his seed too. I just don’t think this is the time for you to walk up in these people shit and be like, heyyyy I’m the muthafuckin’ girl that robbed you five years ago, had yo’ baby, but I’m here to do yo’ sister and mama makeup.

I know her snitch ass son told her. I swear if she wasn’t my mama, I would punch her and her damn son in the throat.