Pr Girl Quotes

No amount of expertly choreographed PR could prevail, in the end, against Armageddon. It strolled over the barricades and took its pleasure.

Beauty is the PR campaign of the soul.

Sor-ry,” said Cassie, rolling her eyes and grinning at Damien. He grinned back, bonding away. I was taking a vague, unjustifiable dislike to Damien. I could see exactly why Hunt had assigned him to give the site tours—he was a PR dream, all blue eyes and diffidence—but I have never liked adorable, helpless men. I suppose it’s the same reaction Cassie has to those baby-voiced, easily impressed girls whom men always want to protect: a mixture of distaste, cynicism and envy.

I don’t fecking believe it,” Uncle Coilin grumbled. “I could put up with the French, the Italians, the Americans, the Chinese, the Russians.” He continued a list that seemed to take several minutes to complete before concluding: “but I never thought you’d end up with a fecking Englishman.” Hayden stared at Karla open-mouthed. “Is there any nationality you haven’t slept with?” She mused for a few moments. “No-one from Tibet.” “You have some prejudice against Tibetans?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve just never met the right one. Yet.” A grin slowly spread across her face. “Mind you, I bet the Dalai Lama would be awesome.” “I don’t think he has sex.” Waving her hand, she looked at Hayden with mild contempt as Coilin sank his head into his hand. “That’s just marketing and PR bullshit,” she explained breezily. “I bet you, he’d be fantastic in the sack. I mean, it wouldn’t be like shagging the Pope - you know, all kinky shit and getting me to dress up as a young girl. No, he’d be a Tantric master. He’d keep me in a state of orgasm for hours.” Hayden sighed. “I don’t know which is worse: your perverse grasp of theology or the fact you fantasise about sex with the world’s religious leaders.” “It’s the only way to bring us together in peace and harmony,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

One day Spinner, the woman who runs PR tells me, “I like that idea, but I’m not sure that it’s one-plus-one-equals-three enough.” What does any of this nutty horseshit actually mean? I have no idea. I’m just amazed that hundreds of people can gobble up this malarkey and repeat it, with straight faces. I’m equally amazed by the high regard in which HubSpot people hold themselves. They use the word awesome incessantly, usually to describe themselves or each other. That’s awesome! You’re awesome! No, you’re awesome for saying that I’m awesome! They pepper their communication with exclamation points, often in clusters, like this!!! They are constantly sending around emails praising someone who is totally crushing it and doing something awesome and being a total team player!!! These emails are cc’d to everyone in the department. The protocol seems to be for every recipient to issue his or her own reply-to-all email joining in on the cheer, writing things like “You go, girl!!” and “Go, HubSpot, go!!!!” and “Ashley for president!!!” Every day my inbox fills up with these little orgasmic spasms of praise. At first I ignore them, but then I feel like a grump and decide I should join in the fun. I start writing things like, “Jan is the best!!! Her can-do attitude and big smile cheer me up every morning!!!!!!!” (Jan is the grumpy woman who runs the blog; she scowls a lot.) Sometimes I just write something with lots of exclamation points, like, “Woo-hoo!!!!!!! Congratulations!!!!!!! You totally rock!!!!!!!!!!!!” Eventually someone suspects that I am taking the piss, and I am told to cut that shit out.

Flick, the posh white-girl name guaranteed to open doors in certain situations. There’s always a Flick – she might be a party PR girl, or a gallerist or just a friend

What do you want that couldn’t wait until the morning?” Arik asked as he led the way inside. The Pride’s king headed to the bar he’d had installed in the corner of his living room. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from a shelf. He poured them each a generous dollop. “I want permission to go after the Northern Lakes Pack.” “Am I going to regret asking why?” “They’re threatening Arabella.” “Who’s that?” “Jeoff’s sister.” Arik tossed back the fiery liquid before asking with a frown, “Why the fuck would I let you start a war over Jeoff’s sister?” “Because those pricks attacked us on home turf.” A snort escape Arik. “Ah yes, that puny attempt at a kidnapping. You caused quite a stir with your antics. Part of your stunt even made it onto YouTube before we could squash it. I had to have our PR department spin a Twitter thread on how it was part of a scene being taped for a movie.” “You can’t blame me for that. I had to stop them.” He did, but what he didn’t tell Arik was he’d never once thought of the repercussions of his actions. He saw Arabella in danger and had to go to her rescue. Bystanders and witnesses be damned. “I can see why you’d feel like you had to act. I mean, they made you look silly by catching you off guard like that, but, next time, could you be a little more discreet?” “No.” Why lie? The reply took his leader aback. “What do you mean no? Discretion is a fact of life. One girl isn’t worth drawing undue attention to ourselves.” “One girl might not be, but my mate is.” Want to stop conversation dead? Drop a bombshell. “Close your mouth, Arik, before you catch flies.” Only Arik’s mate could hope to tease him like that and get away with it. Dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, Kira emerged from the bedroom and perched on a barstool. “Did you hear what he said?” a still astonished Arik demanded. “Yes. He’s fallen victim to the love bug. I think it’s cute.” “I would have said impossible,” Arik muttered. “You and me both, old friend. But, the fact of the matter is, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure that Arabella is supposed to be mine.” “And the one percent that isn’t sure?” “Is going to get eaten by my lion.

The Last Iberian Jews Fig. 3. Decree of Expulsion of the Jews, Granada, March 31, 1492. Manuscript on paper; uncertified copy. Courtesy of Simancas (Valladolid), Archivo General de Simancas (PR 28-6). 24 Spain and Expulsion After Conversion: The Jews, 1391–1492 From the perspective of the Jews, the Catholic Monarchs were like the little girl with a little curl from Longfellow’s nursery rhyme: when they were good they were very, very good, and when they were bad, they were horrid.

Setup: Alicia (the scientist) is speaking to an elementary school class about what she does. She’s just taken scads of questions from several young boys. The teachers says, “Maybe you could talk for a little bit about what it’s like to be a women in science……for the girls.” And I just got so sad. What the hell am I supposed to say? When I’m doing science my gender isn’t interesting to me. The science I’m doing is interesting. And okay, there was a past when women in science were anomalies but that was a dark and ridiculous time. We live in the future now. Can we just agree I can talk about gravitation without having to point out the existence of my vagina before I begin? It’s all so trivial. I half-way feel like I wasted my time going out there. I could have spent that time in the lab. We could have sent the possessor of a penis out there to handle the PR while I got some serious work done.