Rubber Duckie Quotes

Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie. (Jace Wayland)

Bubbles. On a scale of one to ten, a bubble bath has to rank zero as far as things I'd expect an older-than-dirt-badass vampire to indulge in. The only thing that would surprise me more would be if you pulled out a rubber ducky. -Kira to Mencheres

The funny thing about mundies," Jace said, to nobody in particular, "is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means." I know what it means," Clary snapped. No, you don't, you just think you do. Magic is a dark elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish." I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish, you-" Jace waved a hand, cutting her off. "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.

You may call an eletric eel a rubber duck but that does not make it a rubber duck and god help the poor bastard who takes a bath with the duckie

New Rule: If we want to find a place to cut government waste, we must start with the DEA rubber duck. Yes, on the DEA's website you can buy a rubber ducky with a DEA badge and a cop's hat. Which I recommend doing, because they're a great place to hide your weed.

You take a shower, do whatever you do in the morning. I’ll make us some breakfast.” “Won’t you take a shower with me?” He grinned. “I’d be happy to be your rubber duckie.

Tell me something true about you.” “Okay …” She mentally rifled through birthplace (Portland, Oregon), college major (sociology), astrological sign (Virgo), favorite movie (The Apple Dumpling Gang—don’t judge), until she hit a fact that wasn’t completely mundane. “One of my favorite things in the world are those charity events where everyone buys a rubber ducky with a number and the first person’s duck to get down the river wins.” “Why?” “I like seeing the river teeming with all those outrageously yellow and orange ducks. It’s so friendly. And I love the hope of it. Even though it doesn’t matter if you win, because all that wonderful, candy-colored money is going to something really important like a free clinic downtown or cleft palate operations for children in India, you still have that playful hope that you will win. You run alongside the stream, not knowing which is your duck but imagining the lead one is yours.” “And this is the essence of your soul—the ducky race?” “Well, you didn’t ask for the essence of my soul. You asked for something true about me, and so I went for something slightly embarrassing and secret but true nonetheless. Next time you want the essence of my soul, I’ll oblige you with sunsets and baby’s laughter and greeting cards with watercolor flowers.” He squinted at her thoughtfully. “No, so far as I’m concerned, the yellow duckies are the essence of your soul.

Do you remember our conversation? Do you remember the places we went and the things we saw? The bindery was our access, the point in space that contains all other points, and that night you were a boy unbound, a tiny astronaut, taking your first leap into an infinite and unknowable universe. For the first time you could see the voices of the things you'd been hearing for so long, all that clamorous matter vying for your attention. With your supernatural ears, you were able to perceive, with absolute clarity, the sinuous shapes and contours of the sounds that matter makes as it moves through space and time and mind. Some of these sounds were so beautiful they made you laugh out loud and clap your hands with delight, and others were so sad they made tears run down your face. And, oh, the visions we had! Container ships glittering on a moonlit night off the coast of Alaska. Pyramids of sulfur, rising yellow in the mist. The plundered moon and all its craters; globes and stars and asteroids; a jet black crow with a diamond tiara; a flock of rubber duckies, spinning through the Pacific gyres. At the sound of a footstep, a young girl freezes, and Andromeda sparkles in the firmament. Fires rage as the redwoods burn; and in the deep ocean, a pilot whale carries her dead baby on her nose, while sea turtles weep briny tears onto nets of plastic.

Okay, so we’re in here. Now what?” “Now, you hook a duck.” He grins and picks up a stick that has a wire hook on the end. He points to what can only be described as a fake pond in the middle of the stall with rubber duckies floating around it. “So, that’s it? I just use this stick and hook a duck on it.” “Well, yeah.” He gives me a stupid look. “It’s not as easy as it looks.” “Sure it’s not.” I snatch the stick from him. Liam leans against the edge of the fake pond and folds his arms, watching me. “Go on then. Hook a duck, Boston.” I chuckle, shaking my head. I put my bag on the floor and set Squishy on top of it. Then, I hover my stick over the water. I try to catch one of the little fuckers—I really do—but they’re moving a lot quicker than I realized, and they’re all bumping into each other, knocking the others away. I nearly catch one, but another bumps into it and knocks the fucker away from my hook. “Little bastard,” I hiss. Liam laughs. “You can’t call a duck a bastard.” “It’s not a real duck.” I give him a look. “Aha! Got one!” I proudly lift my stick with the duck hanging on the end of it. “So, now what?” “What do you mean, now what?” “I mean, now what happens?” “Nothing. That’s it. Well, you win a prize, but considering that we broke in here, taking a prize would be stealing.” “Oh.” I take the duck off the stick, stand the stick against the pond, and set the duck on the small ledge below. “Well, it just feels kind of…anticlimactic now.” I lean against the pond next to him. “Anticlimactic, huh? How about I make you feel climactic?

That continued until you were each old enough to bathe and dress yourselves. While I think Sudley is gone, your mom still has Goodnight Moon at her house. So one day when you have your own kids, get your own copy of Goodnight Moon—it is still in print— and read it’s quiet, comforting words at the end of the day. When your own kids are on your lap listening to you read, picture you on my lap falling asleep in your warm “footies” by your bed. And maybe a new Sudley and Obie, plus a replacement rubber ducky, will be in the bathroom nearby, ready for the next night’s bath.

What’s in it for me?” the sheriff grinned. “Well, I’ll make sure not to show my friends here the baby photos of you trying to masturbate with a rubber ducky in the sink for starters, then maybe I’ll order you a pizza… What did you have in mind?

gertrude stein has a big butt slide over gertrude stein and when she slides it makes a great noise as though someone dragged a wet cloth across the huge glass window of a public building gertrude stein from here to there it's you the washcloth behind your ear is all yours from here to there it's me the rubber duckies mine gertrude stein and thusly we're pleased but gertrude stein is a charlatan thinks it's fine to let one loose under the water eh gertrude stein? it's impossible that anyone could so enjoy making bubbles and because it's her tub she pulls the plug and steals my towel and runs out stark naked huge butt descending the staircase onto the streets of st.-germain-des-prés

Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn’t make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.

off. “Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn’t make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.

He hums thoughtfully, "Well, I don't think you'd win that fight. I mean, is anyone really going to be scared of a girl wearing rubber ducky pajama pants?

yacht club tastes and a rubber ducky budget.

duck doesn’t make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.

because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn’t make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie.

June recalls as a child being raised in a loveless home: “I remember climbing up on the stool in the morning to get the cereal down from the cupboard. And when I took a bath, I took it alone. I didn’t have rubber duckies or anything like that to play with. My grandmother would leave me and come back thirty minutes later to see me shivering in the cold water.