Shoutout Quotes

Happiness is an undercurrent of sensitivity and leads a surreptitious life: it is an internal eventuality. We can feel it in stillness and it stands the test of time. Joy is an eruption of cheerful moments and we want to express it: it is an external eventuality. We might shout it out, as it conveys a dynamic of fleeting instants. Joy gives voice to “en-joy-ment”. ("The grass was greener over there")

Fitz grinned—and a girl who’d been watching him tripped over her own feet.

Shoutout to the kids trying to read what they love on the bus. With the homework still undone. I see you. I am you.

I had people, in the plural, that I could ask to join me in the library, and even if they said no, they weren't really saying no, they were only saying not this time.

Wasing not of wasing is", Quentin added.

Sometimes we just need to look at something beautiful to refresh our souls. Shout-out to the places and people who enliven our spirits. Thank you.

It is not the Earth that has problems, it is us. We are like parasites on this planet - Mother Earth nurtures us, and we instead pollute her. This is my shout-out to everyone out there who's listening to this - people, our planet is dying. We must all stand together and find the means to protect it. It is the planet that is the best for us to live in, so we must care for it.

Goodwill shouldn't be just for men. It should also apply to women and children, and all animals, even the yucky ones like subway rats. I'd even extend the goodwill not just to living creatures but to the dearly departed, and if we include them, we might as well include the undead, those supposedly mythic beings like vampires, and if they're in, then so are elves, fairies, and gnomes. Heck, since we're already being so generous in our big group hug, why not also embrace those supposedly inanimate objects like dolls and stuffed animals (special shout-out to my Ariel mermaid, who presides over the shabby chic flower power pillow on my bed - love you, girl!). I'm sure Santa would agree. Goodwill to all.

-The very absence of the freedom to criticise against your own or any other government is all the more a reason to loudly shout-out for democracy! If that is wrong, Drew boldly went on, -then I would rather be wrong then to be numbered among the majority of the so-called righteous people whose only mandate seems to be controlling people. If a government is against its people expressing themselves, then that government is obviously hiding something criminal from its people and the world, and it is therefore afraid of being exposed and losing whatever power it has.

IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US. Hunger Games Fans- SHOUTOUT :D

Shout-out to Michelle Obama. That health kick of hers made the school take the good stuff from the vending machines and made my business very lucrative.

as a shout-out to one of the more unpleasant men who have explained things to me: Dude, if you’re reading this, you’re a carbuncle on the face of humanity and an obstacle to civilization. Feel the shame.

Listen, in dreams and especially in nightmares, from indigestion or anything, a man sees sometimes such artistic visions, such complex and real actuality, such events, even a whole world of events, woven into such a plot, with such unexpected details from the most exalted matters to the last button on a cuff, as I swear Leo Tolstoy has never invented.

5 PM CHRIS TAKES THE STAGE Announces that before the African lady, there will be a surprise talk, a mind-bender, he promises, on brain-computer interface. People snap out of their truffle-and-bacon haze. Chris introduces Elgin Branch from… wait for it… Microsoft Research. Research is the only half-decent group at MS, but really? Microsoft? Audience deflating. Energy dissipating. 5:45 PM HOLY CRAP Disregard snarkiness of 5 PM post. Give me a second… I’m going to need some time… 7 PM SAMANTHA 2 Thanks for your patience. This talk won’t post on the TED website for a month. In the meantime, let me try to do it justice. Big shout-out to my blogging pal TEDGRRRL for letting me transcribe her phone video. 5 PM Branch puts on headset. On the big screen:

And an extra loud shout-out to the Empire State Garrison, who came to Manhattan on a hot summer day to shoot Del Rey’s Death Troopers trailer and didn’t forget the blood … or the beer.

I’ve often been told you have to play the game to get what you want, give a little of yourself up to get the results you desire. But what if that’s all bullshit? What if every time I put a strip of false lashes on and cross my legs on a talk-show stage, I am not getting any closer to creating the change I want to see in the world? What if every pair of Spanx, every morning-TV-ready joke, every Instagram shout-out to the person who made my dress only carries me farther away from my goal? And the goal is big: radical self-acceptance for women everywhere, political change so total it shakes the ground, justice and joy for those who have been used and tossed aside. And the goal is small: utter and unbridled selfhood.

Shoutout to everyone with an ex who badmouths them to every dumb-dumb who will listen... Don’t be dragged into their lonely bitterness... Time reveals the truth...

For my odd family who supplied me with hundreds of stories to monetize. And a special shout-out to my mom, who read every single one of my scripts and was responsible for birthing me. This is also dedicated to me. I made the book, so it seems fair. That’s all the dedications. Read the book now.

Shout-out to everyone who won't be going back to "normal"! Those who will refuse to allow the nonsense they used to. Those who will set new healthy standards. Those who will let go, forgive, and move on. Those who will finally act upon their goals and dreams. Those who will never again shrink themselves for those who refuse to grow. Those who will fall back in love with life. Those who will come out of this chaos stronger and more baddasss than ever!

And I’m also really, really into the algorithms. Hashtags, shout-outs, geotagging, getting tagged on bigger accounts and on the Instagram Explore page—it’s all about climbing a ladder and getting yourself noticed.

inaugural address, which Trump took as another occasion to denounce “the establishment” in characteristically Bannonesque tones. An assemblage of one-line clichés, it saw the billionaire declaring that his rise to the presidency represented no mere trade-off between parties but rather a transfer of power “from Washington, D.C.” to “you, the American people.” He also declared, in a shout-out to the 1930s, that “the forgotten men and women of our country will be forgotten no longer” and described the landscape of deindustrialization as “rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape of our nation.

What I'm fetishizing is not poverty (contrary to some people's beliefs, I am smarter than that) or even utter freedom––a life without obligations seems lonely and borderline worthless––but rather the obliteration of any sense of expectation: the expectation that my femininity, my body or my work should conform to any set of rules, any aesthetic other than my own. I've often been told you have to play the game to get what you want, give a little of yourself up to get the results you desire. But what if that's all bullshit? What is every time I put a strip of false lashes on and cross my legs on a talk show stage, I am not getting any closer to creating the change I want to see in the world? What is every pair of Spanx, every morning-TV-ready joke, every Instagram shout-out to the person who made my dress only carries me farther away from my goal? And the goal is big: radical self-acceptance for women everywhere, political change so total it shakes the ground, justice and joy for those who have been used and tossed aside. And the goal is small: utter and unbridled selfhood.

To any old punks who’re reading this: yes, Chickentown is a shout-out to John Cooper Clark’s memorable song, “Evidently Chickentown,” a striking evocation of heroin withdrawal in small-town/suburban England in the 1970s and 1980s.

Legends like Spidream or Zomboblade get asked for pictures and shout-outs all the time they’re seen around the cave.

Those of you who have to go to work and talk to your coworkers in compliment sandwiches so they don’t feel like you’re being too aggressive. Those of you who learned to bite your tongue even when you wanted to tell that douchebag in the cubicle next to you to go straight to hell. Shout-out to the ones who know their boss is incompetent, yet manage to get work done in spite of them. You have to do your job and theirs, AND perform the politics. I see you. I salute you. I pay my respects to you.

Give your mood a boost with a shoutout to God for how far He has brought you.

(shout-out to Mr. Reese: love your Pieces, sir),

She was okay,” I say. Ryot roars. “You’re such a goddamn liar.” I shrug. “I mean, yeah, she had a nice eyeball.” Ryot throws a towel at me from his locker, still laughing. “Fuck you. A nice eyeball. Just one of her eyeballs is nice?” “If I hit the ball tonight, it’s because of her right eyeball. Really got my juices flowing,” I deadpan. “You’re such a shithead.” “Nah, if I hit the ball tonight, it’s for one reason and one reason alone—because I worked my ass off in the cages today.” Ryot rolls his eyes. “Always so fucking serious. Why don’t you romanticize your story a bit? Think about the media coverage you could get.” Ryot steals my bat, holds it up to his mouth like a microphone, and then clears his throat. “Walker Rockwell, you went three for four today with a homerun and three RBIs. What can you attribute to your success today?” He turns his hat around and scratches his jaw. Is that supposed to be me? “Her name is Kate, and her right eyeball enticed me so much, I found myself inspired to find my bat again. Shout-out to Kate Chapman and her spherical sense receptor for vision.” He winks and then shoots a gun at the “camera.” “Now that’s a story.” I stare at him blankly. Blink. Shake my head. “You need fucking help.” I turn toward my locker, where I start mentally preparing for the game.

Twitter mentions are the new radio shout-out! (from a HighEdWeb social media presentation in 2011)

A toddler acting out is not shameful, nor is it behavior that needs punishing. It’s a cry for attention, a shout-out for sleep, or a call to action for firmer, more consistent limits.

The only thing I said that was real, that came from my heart, was a shout-out to my team.

Shout-out to your idiot friends/siblings who, as children, would call all vampires “Draculas.

Shout-out to musicians, singer-songwriters, and music artists just because... One love!

I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash. I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, “Aren’t those gourds straining your neck?” And I’m just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.” Carving orange pumpkins sounds like a pretty fitting way to ring in the season. You know what else does? Performing an all-gourd reenactment of an episode of Diff’rent Strokes—specifically the one when Arnold and Dudley experience a disturbing brush with sexual molestation. Well, this shit just got real, didn’t it? Felonies and gourds have one very important commonality: they’re both extremely fucking real. Sorry if that’s upsetting, but I’m not doing you any favors by shielding you from this anymore. The next thing I’m going to do is carve one of the longer gourds into a perfect replica of the Mayflower as a shout-out to our Pilgrim forefathers. Then I’m going to do lines of blow off its hull with a hooker. Why? Because it’s not summer, it’s not winter, and it’s not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; it’s fall, fuckers. Have you ever been in an Italian deli with salamis hanging from their ceiling? Well, then you’re going to fucking love my house. Just look where you’re walking or you’ll get KO’d by the gauntlet of misshapen, zucchini-descendant bastards swinging from above. And when you do, you’re going to hear a very loud, very stereotypical Italian laugh coming from me. Consider yourself warned. For now, all I plan to do is to throw on a flannel shirt, some tattered overalls, and a floppy fucking hat and stand in the middle of a cornfield for a few days. The first crow that tries to land on me is going to get his avian ass bitch-slapped all the way back to summer. Welcome to autumn, fuckheads!

online bidding was taking place. Lorraine had Terri Thomas give a shout-out to the event with a nice article about how online bidding helped build the beginning

And a special shout-out to the hard-ass Einstein’s bagel that started it all.

Shoutout to everyone building from nothing. No rich parents, no connections, no assistance, no excuses. Just hard work, consistency, discipline, and focus.