Night Vision Goggles Quotes

Yes, and in just a few minutes, a dIck will be able to find your vagina without needing night vision goggles and a weed whacker.

-Paint- My girlfriend is so besotted that she can't take her eyes off me. After we've turned out the light she puts on her night-vision goggles, and watched me as I sleep. Quite often I am woken by her sighing and involuntary yelps of happiness. This has been going on for years, and is showing no sign of abating. Once I asked her to stop all this infra-red activity, but it didn't really work; I'd wake up to find her covering me in luminous paint, and softly whispering, 'Sometimes I wonder if you know how much I love you.

Amy is blatantly fond of red light bulbs instead of, you know, normal ones, and I can’t see shit. Silly me, running out without my infrared night vision goggles and all.

I haven't been on a first date over five years. Five. Years. Which means, I haven't been on one since 2006. Let me take you back to that time: 2006. Tom Cruise and Kathie Holmes celebrated the birth of their little "TomKitten." The Wii came out - and YouTube was flooded with videos of people throwing those little white remotes into their TVs. Britney and Kevin call it quits, shocking America to its very core. Facebook was still just a college campus thing - if you wanted to stalk someone, you had to buy a zoom lens and some night vision goggles. It was a simpler time.

Remember, Very,” Dad used to say when I whined about the goggles, “if your opponent has night vision and you’ve never bothered to learn the local landmarks by anything but sight, you’re going to be in a bit of a pickle when it’s time to avoid getting disemboweled.

When you use your imagination, it is a bit like putting on night-vision goggles to see forms in the shadows of your head, heart, and spirit.

Jumping from a high altitude required oxygen. Jumping at night required night-vision goggles. Jumping at all required either nerves of steel or the brain of a hamster. Her nerves definitely weren’t steel, so Jina figured her brain was rodentlike.

night-vision goggles with high-definition magnification. Despite the unbearable heat and humidity, Robert wore his long-sleeved elastane top and his favorite pair of dark polyester pants. He didn’t care that the outfit made him look unarmed and vulnerable to anyone interested in picking a fight. It’ll take them a minute to decide. He

His booted feet pounded out an insane, frantic rhythm underneath him as he raced into the cavern across from Baba Yaga’s den at a dead sprint. Pieces of dragon dung flew off him and hit the ground behind him in miniature chunks. He didn’t dare look behind him to see if the dragon had risen from the ground yet, but the deafening hiss that assaulted his ears meant she’d woken up. Icy claws of fear squeezed his heart with every breath as he ran, relying on the night vision goggles, the glimpse he’d gotten of the map, and his own instincts to figure out where to go. Jack raced around one corner too sharply and slipped on a piece of dung, crashing hard on his right side. He gasped as it knocked the wind out of him and gritted his teeth, his mind screaming at him to get up and run, run, run. He pushed onto his knees, nursing what felt like bruised ribs and a sprained wrist, and then paled as an unmistakable sensation traveled up the arm he’d used to push himself up. Impact tremors. Boom. Boom. Boom, boom, boom. Baba Yaga was coming. Baba Yaga was hunting him. Jack forced himself up onto his feet again, stumbling backwards and fumbling for the tracker. He got it switched on to see an ominous blob approaching from the right. He’d gotten a good lead on her—maybe a few hundred yards—but he had no way of knowing if he’d eventually run into a dead end. He couldn’t hide down here forever. He needed to get topside to join the others so they could take her down. Jack blocked out the rising crescendo of Baba Yaga’s hissing and pictured the map again. A mile up to the right had a man-made exit that spilled back up to the forest. The only problem was that it was a long passage. If Baba Yaga followed, there was a good chance she could catch up and roast him like a marshmallow. He could try to lose her in the twists and turns of the cave system, but there was a good chance he’d get lost, and Baba Yaga’s superior senses meant it would only be a matter of time before she found him. It came back to the most basic survival tactics: run or hide. Jack switched off the tracker and stuck it in his pocket, his voice ragged and shaking, but solid. “You aren’t about to die in this forest, Jackson. Move your ass.” He barreled forward into the passageway to the right in the wake of Baba Yaga’s ominous, bubbling warning, barely suppressing a groan as a spike of pain lanced through his chest from his bruised ribs. The adrenaline would only hold for so long. He could make it about halfway there before it ran out. Cold sweat plastered the mask to his face and ran down into his eyes. The tunnel stretched onward forever before him. No sunlight in sight. Had he been wrong? Jack ripped off the hood and cold air slapped his face, making his eyes water. He held his hands out to make sure he wouldn’t bounce off one of the cavern walls and squinted up ahead as he turned the corner into the straightaway. There, faintly, he could see the pale glow of the exit. Gasping for air, he collapsed against one wall and tried to catch his breath before the final marathon. He had to have put some amount of distance between himself and the dragon by now. “Who knows?” Jack panted. “Maybe she got annoyed and turned around.” An earth-shattering roar rocked the very walls of the cavern. Jack paled. Boom, boom, boom, boom! Boom, boom, boom, boomboomboomboom— Mother of God. The dragon had broken into a run. Jack shoved himself away from the wall, lowered his head, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

Included in the bounty were “253 aircraft (including six- and seven-passenger airplanes, UH-60 Blackhawk and UH-1 Huey helicopters, 7,856 M-16 rifles, 181 grenade launchers, 8,131 bulletproof helmets, and 1,161 pairs of night-vision goggles.”37 A retired police chief in New Haven, Connecticut, told the New York Times, “I was offered tanks, bazookas, anything I wanted.”38

Things are so relaxed and uneventful that he thinks to himself in passing, “It is times like these that Murphy strikes.” The PJ is thinking about Murphy’s Law: “If anything can go wrong it will.” Murphy’s Law is particularly notorious for rearing its ugly head during complex military operations. Seconds later, Dan’s thoughts of Murphy prove prophetic. Even though he is wearing a noise-canceling headset, Sergeant Houghton hears a loud pop. He is a trained aircrew member and the unusual noise sets off internal alarm bells in his head. He looks around; the rest of the passengers remain oblivious, but Sergeant Houghton notices flight engineers moving around, nervously referring to their checklists. And then he hears the ominous sound of an engine winding down and losing power. He flips up his night vision goggles and mentally takes stock of his situation. Word quickly circulates around the cabin—hold on!

Maybe the real issue here is that we were not created to do life by ourselves. We were not given a sentence of solitary confinement and placed in a world of isolation, but from the moment we entered this human experience, it was clear there was a world waiting to be discovered, creatures which were there for our interaction. And the spark inside us often has to be spoken to, to be touched by the soul of another. It’s as if the spark is only visible through the lens of night vision, a set of goggles which only another human being can hand to us.

Two rows of wooden cabins, more than a dozen of them, stretched up the slope behind the hotel. The cabins had pitched roofs, vaguely suggesting ultra-utilitarian Alpine chalets. Only two of them had lights on, one in the middle and the last cabin at the end of the row. The last cabin would be where she was meeting Ghanbari, he thought, parking the Toyota around the side of the hotel, next to another SUV. He checked the windows of the hotel and the other structures before getting out of the Toyota but could see no one watching. It was a shame he didn’t have his night vision goggles, he thought, but bringing them through Iranian customs would have been a dead give-away. The Iranians were all over him as it was. He took out the ZOAF pistol, attached the sound suppressor, put it in his ski jacket pocket and got out of the SUV. The night was cloudy. He couldn’t see the stars. A cold wind filled with tiny snow particles blew down from the peak. He walked through the snow behind the first cabin, then higher up and across the slope behind the cabins so he could approach the last cabin from the rear

But that didn’t happen. Instead, a unit of about thirty1 Ukrainian soldiers wearing night vision goggles rode quad bikes through the forests around the capital that evening. They dismounted near the column’s head and launched jerry-rigged drones equipped with small explosives. These took out a handful of lead vehicles. Those disabled vehicles then clogged up the central road. Surrounding fields were muddy and impassable. The column, facing freezing weather and faltering supply lines, ground to a halt. Then the same small unit of drone operators managed to blow up a critical supply base using the same tactics, depriving the Russian army of fuel and food.

Templar tactical gear that included dark ceramic body armor worn under black jumpsuits of flame retardant material without markings or insignia, lightweight Kevlar tactical helmets with built–in communications gear along with audio and video recording devices, and military style combat boots. For this mission a set of I2 goggles had also been supplied; the image intensifier headgear – what most people called night vision goggles – would allow them to see in all but total darkness. Each man was armed with a Heckler & Koch MP5 SD submachine gun, a HK Mark 23 .45 caliber handgun and the holy sword they’d been given at their investiture into the Templar ranks.

I had been brooding earlier that morn over my most probable future, which had seemed so dim that I would probably need night vision goggles to see my way through it.

Here comes the whirlwind...” I heard Richard whisper next to me. I saw out of the corner of my eye he had the night vision goggles propped up on his forehead, the H&K .45 held out in front of him in a two-handed grip, elbow propped on his knee. He might as well be waiting for a traffic light to turn green, for all the lack of concern in his features.

Kofia za chuma au sandarusi zenye uwezo wa kukwepesha risasi za wadunguzi na kuzuia mpaka risasi tatu za AK-47, ijapokuwa zimetengenezwa kuzuia risasi moja tu, ni miongoni mwa vitu 17 vilivyobebwa na makomandoo wa Tume ya Dunia; wakati wakitekeleza Operesheni ya Kifo au Ushindi Kamili (operesheni ndogo ya Operation Devil Cross ya Tume ya Dunia) katika Msitu wa Benson Bennett, Salina Cruz, Oaxaca, nchini Meksiko. Thamani ya vitu vya komandoo mmoja wa EAC ('Executive Action Corps') akiwa vitani ni zaidi ya dola za Kimarekani 65,000; ikiwa ni pamoja na magwanda ya jeshi ('Ghillie Suits'), kofia za chuma, miwani ya kuonea usiku (yenye uwezo wa kubinuka chini na juu), redio na mitambo ya mawasiliano migongoni mwao juu ya vizibao vya kuzuia risasi, vitibegi vya msalaba mwekundu ('Blowout kits' – katika mapaja ya miguu yao ya kulia, ndani yake kukiwa na pisto na madawa ya huduma ya kwanza), vitibegi vya kujiokolea ('Evasion Kits' – katika mapaja ya miguu yao ya kushoto, ndani yake kukiwa na visu na pesa na ramani ya Meksiko) na bunduki za masafa marefu.

She handed him her gun. “Down,” she ordered. “Shoot anybody that comes into view.” “What about you?” “No, don’t shoot me.” “I mean where are you going?” “Hunting.” Kat had already extinguished their flashlights. She unhooked her night-vision goggles and pulled them over her eyes. “There might be more.” She freed a long steel blade from her belt.

Something niggled her. A seemingly small fact she was overlooking. A rodent scurried through some leaves nearby. A mosquito whined in her ear. What was it? No flashlight. That was it. Fitch hadn’t brought a flashlight outside with him. When she’d glimpsed him walking down the steps, she’d expected to see a light wink on. But it never did. And then he’d just strolled up that path in the dark like— Her breath caught in her chest. —like he could see. She sat up. That wasn’t a strange-looking hat he’d been wearing. Those were night-vision goggles.

Not once had the Afghan warlord invited him down to the tents they had erected below the work site. Khan and his group of Taliban had established a comfortable camp complete with carpets and servants. At night Yanuk watched them through his night vision goggles. While he slept in the open and ate from cans, these peasants were living it up like they were on some sort of camping trip, eating roasted goat and taking turns to sodomize one of their young servants.

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The figure was clad head-to-toe in the same kind of matt black tactical gear utilized by the MI6 OpTeams, his head was hidden behind a mesh balaclava and clumsy night-vision goggles that gave the shooter a bug-eyed aspect. Marc recognized the long, heavy frame of the pistol in the man’s hand. A silenced Mark 23 semi-automatic, the same kind of weapon favoured by American SOCOM operatives. He had no desire to see the gun up close, however, and when the shooter turned away to look to the stern, Marc slipped down the stairwell and moved as fast as he dared past the doors of the passenger deck. At each compartment he paused for a count of three, holding his breath to listen. Nothing. Amidships, he came across an open door and used the muzzle of the Glock to nudge the gap a little wider. He swept left and right, finding no threats

The short-barrel MP9 submachine gun released a cluster of silenced rounds that ran up Novakovich’s body, some of the bullets sparking off the case of the hard drive. Novakovich cried out and crumpled backward with a crash. The gunman pivoted sharply at the corner of the passage and turned the muzzle of the MP9 toward Marc. His night vision goggles would easily render the space visible, and there was no cover at all. Marc took the offensive and attacked as the weapon came toward him. With the Glock in his fist, he brought the heavy butt of the pistol across, smashing it into the lenses of the gunman’s NVG rig with such violence that broken shards were driven into the shooter’s cheek and eyes. The gunman jerked the MP9’s trigger, but the shots went wide, chugging into the wall and the ceiling of the corridor as the magazine emptied

Slycer stood utterly still for a moment, then slowly raised a hand to the night-vision goggles and slid them off. Mara dropped the mask to the floor and smiled.

Stakeholder analysis can often feel like you are searching for enemy soldiers in a tunnel without the benefit of night-vision goggles,

No doubt those crafty fuckers have night vision goggles in those fancy masks of theirs.

most of those three hundred thousand bought-and-paid-for Afghani soldiers never really existed. They were a “ghost” army of fake names, ranks, and serial numbers that corrupt Afghani politicians and warlords created to bilk the American taxpayer for billions of payroll dollars. Equally important, those nonexistent ghost soldiers had been armed to the teeth with expensive American military equipment. All told, analysts estimated the Taliban was now in possession of at least eighty billion dollars’ worth of weapons and supplies including forty-five UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, twenty-five hundred armored Humvees, and sixteen thousand pairs of night vision goggles, along with tens of millions of rounds of ammunition for all those abandoned weapons systems.

I’m lurking in the shubbery behind an industrial unit, armed with a clipboard, a pager, and a pair of bulbous night-vision goggles that drench the scenery in ghastly emeralt tones. The bloody thing make me look like a train-spotter with a gas-mask fetish, and wearing them is giving me a headache

All of the resources he needed would be waiting for him underneath Signal Hill. A full arsenal of weapons, medical supplies, ammunition, an armoured vehicle, food, and even night vision goggles.

in 1997 alone, the Pentagon handed over more than 1.2 million pieces of military equipment to local police departments.36 Similarly, the National Journal reported that between January 1997 and October 1999, the agency handled 3.4 million orders of Pentagon equipment from over eleven thousand domestic police agencies in all fifty states. Included in the bounty were “253 aircraft (including six- and seven-passenger airplanes, UH-60 Blackhawk and UH-1 Huey helicopters), 7,856 M-16 rifles, 181 grenade launchers, 8,131 bulletproof helmets, and 1,161 pairs of night-vision goggles.”37 A retired police chief in New Haven, Connecticut, told The New York Times, “I was offered tanks, bazookas, anything I wanted.”38

Demand-side sales is like having night vision goggles. People think sales is just a numbers game of percentages and probability. If you bring in enough people, cars will sell. They’re not taking the time to understand why people buy. They don’t ask questions: What do you like? What don’t you like? Why are you buying a new car? They don’t talk about car loans. If they were paying attention, they’d help. They’d know the customer’s requirements, show them contrasting options, and frame their tradeoffs. They’d help them frame it out then use a time wall to force a decision. When you do this, selling becomes serving.

He selected an AR-15 rifle and a Benelli M1014 12-gauge combat shotgun and propped them in the corner to take along. Cody packed a gear bag with two .45 ACP 1911 Colts with extra magazines, night vision goggles, body armor, .223 rounds for the AR-15 and 12-gauge buck for the shotgun, binoculars, rope, handcuffs and flex-ties, a pair of radios, and several cell phones. While he was bent over buckling a holster with a 9MM Model 26 “Baby” Glock to his ankle, the door was pushed open.

this is what death is like. Alone, peaceful, floating, floating, no fear . . . Clipping the night-vision goggles back into place, I could see ghostly green flakes of snow falling gently around

it quickly became comforting. Maybe this is what death is like. Alone, peaceful, floating, floating, no fear . . . Clipping the night-vision goggles back into place, I could see ghostly green flakes of snow falling gently around me. My hunger pangs

So Pike and his guys set up, dug in, and waited, night-vision goggles, commo buds in their ears, weapons locked and hot, good to go.

Or convincing defense departments to buy expensive war toys that were never even used while ignoring the lesser-priced items, like body armor and night-vision goggles, that grunts on the ground actually relied on to survive.

I remember. A gunship’s crew laughing before mowing down reporters and civilians - in short bursts. A truck crossing a shadowy bridge, seconds before it explodes along with those inside the pressroom, as the general declares the driver “the luckiest man in Bagdad.” Our military - using attack helicopters and night scopes – to spray bullets at fleeing soldiers, like roaches running from a giant can of Raid. The pressroom laughs again. It’s not funny and there lies the rub.

Andrew C. Thornton II was a lawyer turned drug lord whose body was found with night vision goggles, a bulletproof vest, Gucci loafers, and a duffel bag containing approximately $15 million of cocaine, $4,500 in cash, six 1/10 oz. gold Krugerrands, knives, and two pistols.