Scout Badges Quotes

She was my assignment." "From The Eye?" "No, from the Boy Scouts. That Witch Dating badge just kept eluding me." "Well, you must have at least three Total Douchebag badges by now, so that has to count for something.

I don’t care what anyone says, every girl needs to have a good long cry once in a while. The kind that weakens you, swells your eyes shut, and strips away every shred of emotion from your body until the pain subsides. The pain of… whatever. Death, heartbreak, solitude, desire, jealousy. All the crap that becomes a badge of honor among women—like those little merit badges Girl Scouts have sewn on their uniforms, only these badges are stitched across our hearts.

My name is Markowski. I carry a badge. Also a crucifix, some wooden stakes, a big vial of holy water, and a 9mm Beretta loaded with silver bullets. I was never a Boy Scout but "Be Prepared" is still a good motto to live by. Especially if you plan to keep living.

So why were you with her?” “She was my assignment.” “From The Eye?” “No, from the Boy Scouts. That Witch Dating badge just kept eluding me.” “Well, you must have at least three Total Douchebag badges by now, so that has to count for something.

I was racking up prescription slips like Boy Scout badges. What didn't I have?

I don’t care what anyone says, every girl needs to have a good long cry once in a while. The kind that weakens you, swells your eyes shut, and strips away every shred of emotion from your body until the pain subsides. The pain of… whatever. Death, heartbreak, solitude, desire, jealousy. All the crap that becomes a badge of honor among women—like those little merit badges Girl Scouts have sewn on their uniforms, only these badges

So why were you with her?" "She was my assignment." "From The Eye?" "No,from the Boy Scouts. That Witch Dating badge just kept eluding me." "Well,you must have at least three Total Douchebag badges by now, so that has to count for something. What about Holly? Was that fake,too?" I was panting slightly, thanks to trying to keep up with him. Stupid short legs. He had his hands in his pockets, and hi head was slightly down, like he was walking against the wind. "You know, these were all things I was willing to tell you several weeks ago. Too bad you decided to stand me up." I had caught up to him by now, and I snagged his elbow,doing my best to ignore the little thrill that went through me even at that innocent touch. "How is that you can go from decent human being to complete jackass in zero-point-two seconds? Do they teach you that in The Eye?" He stopped, and his eyes glided over my lips. "Actually,I'm just trying to see if I can make you mad enough to kiss me again.

The guy is a fucking Boy Scout. Like, for real. He got the Eagle Scout badge. I bet he could kill a bunny with a bow in the dark.

Busy" has become a trigger word in our marriage. Adam wears his busyness like a badge. Like a Boy Scout. It is something he is proud of : a status symbol of his success. It makes him feel important

So why were you with her?” “She was my assignment.” “From The Eye?” “No, from the Boy Scouts. That Witch Dating badge just kept eluding me.” Hawkins, Rachel (2011-03-01). Demonglass (Hex Hall Book 2) (p. 255). Disney. Kindle Edition.

Boy Scouts are bitches. Tell them I said that shit; I don’t give any fuck. What are they going to do, be cheerful and thrifty? Slit my throat with citizenship badges?

What are you trying to do back there, Boy Scout? Get a merit badge for eating ass?” Julian gasped out.

The campfires provide enough plain old regular visible light to show this sorry affair for what it is: a bunch of demented Boy Scouts, a jamboree without merit badges or hygiene.

I was once a Webelo scout; but then they refused to give me a badge for smoking cigarettes so I quit.

Naomi has a flare for the dramatic and why discuss things over the phone when you can call an emergency meeting?   And in Naomi’s terms . . . and mine . . . an emergency meeting can constitute a sleepover at my house, filled with all sorts of Girl Scout activities like working on our bedazzling, margarita, and gossip badges.

She huffed at me, “That I knew you were here. It’s a coincidence. I mean, of course you would follow me, right? I ran out of the room in a fit! What are you, a boy scout?” She laughed, “Am I your next badge? The ‘Save Skye Martin from herself’ badge?” she finished in a disgusted voice, as she came to stand in front of me. I watched the myriad of expressions roll across her face: worry, confusion, fear - they were all there, as she stood toe-to-toe with me. When I didn’t answer her fast enough, she turned to walk away. “Hey, Skye,” I called after her. “I’m not a boy scout.” She turned, but kept on walking; shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah, so?” I took a deep breath, and then I let her in on one of the many secrets I had. “I’m not a boy scout, but I am here to save you…I’m a Guardian.

The Beats are really nothing more than a troop of malevolent Boy Scouts trying to earn badges for cultural arson.

You are the salt of the earth….” —Matthew 5:13 (NRSV) FRIENDSHIP THROUGH BOOKS I met Bill years earlier when he’d joined the St. James Literary Society, a book and discussion group at New London, Connecticut’s homeless shelter. Bill was what we used to call a “rag man,” one who collected bottles and other castoffs to sell or give away. He always had a shopping cart crammed with stuff. Initially, he fought my friendship with the tenacity that only a street person possesses; to survive, Bill believed he could love no one and allow no one to love him. I lured him and other shelter residents with their love of books. I'd learned from volunteering that many homeless people enjoy reading; books provided an escape. Bill was a voracious reader. We found nearly one thousand tattered books in his apartment after he died, most purchased for a few cents. Although he preferred books to people, eventually he began talking. But are our meetings making any difference in his life, I wondered. Then, one night, we were discussing childhood memories, and Bill told us he’d been a Boy Scout, had earned a service badge for collecting eyeglasses. I teased, “Too bad I have to drag these things out of you.” He didn’t laugh. Instead, he met my eyes directly—a rare occurrence—and said, “Until this group, I wouldn’t have told anyone these things.” And then I was the wordless one. Lord, I praise You for giving me the opportunity to love and be loved. —Marci Alborghetti Digging Deeper: Mt 5:1–20

Until competency management platforms gain widespread acceptance, “badges” or “stackable credentials” are unlikely to gain much traction. The notion that educated adults, like the boy and girl scouts they once were, will prefer to flaunt a collection of badges testifying to skills they have demonstrated is flawed for one reason. While degrees are validated by a single institution with a recognizable form (i.e., colleges and universities), who is validating a collection of badges? Who vouches that a student has demonstrated a given skill? Although many visionary organizations are seeking to enter this market, outside of IT none currently has the ability or credibility to authenticate such credentials in a way that would be acceptable to a critical mass of employers and students.

When it came to navigating the treacherous landscape of love, a moral compass was about as useful as a Girl Scout badge.   The

There used to be Boy Scout troops on Mars; it makes sense if you think about it. I got my badge in knots, among other things. That was a lifetime ago, but it’s surprising how much of the Boy Scout curriculum is useful after the apocalypse. Scratch that. It’s not surprising at all. In hindsight, it seems like the Boy Scouts is an end-times preparation service.

walked down the hill and stuck out my thumb, standing in the same spot where I had stood when I hitchhiked to high school. My clothes and gear were in my official Boy Scout backpack, a big old thing on an aluminum rack, with my sleeping bag and pup tent lashed to it. I’d been a serious Boy Scout — I joined at 12, after my failed Little League career, and took to it immediately, racking up merit badges and making it all the way to Eagle Scout. I knew first aid, how to start a fire in the rain, how to make a mean camp stew, and lots of other useful stuff. And I didn’t mind sleeping outside, which was a good thing, since there was no way I could afford motels. My official Boy Scout sheath knife, a serious piece of business with a leather-wrapped handle and a five-inch blade, was also in the pack; I’d move it into my boot by the end of the first day.

Sometimes it was hard for me to connect the boy I knew—the skinny smart kid who collected lead soldiers and pursued Boy Scout merit badges—with the phenomenally successful man he’d become. But sooner or later, when we were together, some remark would inevitably trigger childhood memories and then we’d be off, zipping down a path that existed now only for the two of us.

the last rays of the sun touched the hills at night," now, on his next to last day on earth, he had changed his mind and wanted to be buried on Lookout Mountain. "It's pretty up there.... You can look down into four states," he said. At any rate, Denver won the old plainsman's remains, and Lookout Mountain in nearby Golden, Colorado, would receive them-but not immediately. The funeral services were scheduled for Sunday, January 14, but the body would be kept in a mortuary vault in Olinger's Funeral Home until Memorial Day, when it would be finally buried on Lookout Mountain. Cody's funeral, like his life, was carried out on a grand scale. Described as "the most impressive and most largely-attended ever seen in the West," it was a service of such pomp and ceremony as only a head of state would have been granted. At ten o'clock on the morning of January 14, Cody's body was taken from the Decker home to the state capitol, where it lay in state in the rotunda, beneath the huge dome and its flagpole, on which the Stars and Stripes floated at half mast. The body was dressed in a frock coat on which were pinned the badges of the Legion of Honor and of the Grand Army of the Republic. The coffin bore the inscription: "Colonel William F. Cody, `Buffalo Bill."' Troopers from Fort Logan formed lines in the rotunda, through which passed the governors of Colorado and Wyoming, delegations from the legislatures from those states, officers of the United States Army, members of the fraternal organizations of which Cody was a member, veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic, thousands of men, women, and children. Among the mourners were a handful of old Indians and former scouts-those who had been performers in Buffalo Bill's Wild West. The rotunda was open for three hours. During that time, some eighteen thousand people according to the Denver Post's estimates-twenty-five thousand was the New York Times's guess-filed past the casket. At noon the crowd was kept back while the family, including his foster son, Johnny Baker, bade the Colonel farewell. A delegation of Knights Templar from North Platte followed.

It's not every day you find al-Qaeda's number four operative dead in a Girl Scout camp in Iowa. The

And she told me I deserved a merit badge for it ... which was such a particularly funny, particularly uncanny thing for her to have said, because when I was about eight years old and I was a Cub Scout, all the boys in our den were sitting around in the kitchen of our den mother one afternoon, and she lit a cigarette bending over the flame from the front burner of the stove, and she set her hair on fire, and I put it out—I don't remember if I just smothered it with my hands or doused it with some Sprite or what—but she stared at me with this sort of demented look of gratitude on her face (she drank) and she said, 'I'm going to recommend that you get a merit badge for this,' and sure enough I did, I actually got a merit badge for extinguishing the fire in our den mother's hair.

NIKKI: Yep! I’m trying to help her earn a cooking badge for Scouts. Any ideas for a super-EZ brat-proof snack? BRANDON:

They had a sweety-sweet picture of Jesus over the choir booths that I didn't like at all. Jesus looked like he was a Boy Scout, waiting to get his twenty-first merit badge from the head Scout Master.

the Inventing merit badge, which required a Scout to not only invent a new device or mechanism but also to obtain a U.S. patent for it. Needless to say, not many Scouts ever attempted this badge during its four-year existence and it is something of a miracle that nine Scouts managed to earn it.

What do you think it’s worth, Lassiter, finding and returning the priceless heritage of a nation?” “How about a Boy Scout merit badge and a thank-you note from Yeltsin?” Above us,

War is hell, yes; but so is Cub Scouts. Or at least being the parent of a Cub Scout is. A subtler kind of hell where the people have no sense of irony, and they make you go camping in cold weather, and you have to carve small race cars out of blocks of wood, and sing songs that have a lot of verses, and attend den meetings, and help your child obtain all sorts of useless (and nearly unobtainable) badges. And then, after years of encouraging your kid to like Cub Scouts, you have to quick discourage him from liking it around age twelve so it doesn’t adversely affect his social life. Plus, they ban alcohol.