Skeleton Funny Quotes

You look angry," he said. "You put me on hold." "For a very good reason." "You put me," she said very, very slowly, "on hold.

Its funny how certain objects convey a message -- my washer and dryer, for example. They can't speak, of course, but whenever I pass them they remind me that I'm doing fairly well. "No more laundromat for you," they hum. My stove, a downer, tells me every day that I can't cook, and before I can defend myself my scale jumps in, shouting from the bathroom, "Well, he must be doing something. My numbers are off the charts." The skeleton has a much more limited vocabulary and says only one thing: "You are going to die.

Do yourself a favor,' I said. "Forget it. Forget you ever saw me." "Forget that you tried to kill me too?" "Yeah. That, too." "But who are you?" "Percy-" I started to say. Then the skeletons turned around. "Gotta go!" "What kind of name is Percy Gotta-go?" I bolted for the exit.

And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it.

What's a Dullahan?' 'He's a headless horseman, in the service of the banshee.' 'Headless?' 'Yes.' 'Seriously?' 'Yes.' 'So he has no head?' 'That's usually what headless means.' 'No head at all?' 'You're really getting hung up on this headless thing, aren't you?' 'It's just kind of silly, even for us.' 'Yet you spend your days with a living skeleton.' 'But at least he has a head.' 'True.' 'He even has a spare.

There's something darn funny about an old librarian with a potty mouth.

The thing I hate most about skeletons is you can never tell when they're smiling.

That's alright, boys. All failure is, is a step toward success ... and gangrape by skeletons, but that's neither here, nor there.

The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke the paleontologists haven‘t seen yet.

Candles are funny things, you know. You lay them by every spring, knowing that a summer storm may knock out the power. And when the time comes, they hide.

Sea fleas,” Frank said. “They’re everywhere, very wee, practically invisible. They love our bait. If you fell overboard and weren’t picked up until the next day, those sea fleas would eat you right up, and your skeleton would sink to the bottom!” Cody lifted me up and hung me over the side. “Want to try it?” he said. “Not funny, Cody,” I said. I didn’t much like the idea of sea fleas nibbling me down to my bones.

Bet you never thought I’d save your skin.” “What?” “Just makin’ small talk. Got to distract myself from the pain, y’know? Life has a funny way of workin’ out, don’t it? Take your friend, for example. The sword-lady.” “Tanith?” “First time we met, we were tryin’ to kill each other, remember that? But every time subsequent to that there’s been a kind of a frisson between us.” “A what?” “Frisson. It’s French for … To be honest I don’t really know what it’s French for, but I know what it means in American. A sort of electrical undercurrent of emotion.” “I know what frisson means, but I really don’t think Tanith would share your view.” “You’re a kid. You don’t know the ways of menfolk and womenkind. All those threats she fires my way? That there is the mark of flirtation.” “Oh, dear God,” Valkyrie said, the colour draining from her face. “You fancy Tanith.” “I don’t fancy her, I—” “You have a crush on Tanith. That is disgusting.” “What? Why would it be disgustin’?” “Because you’re a hired killer.” “That don’t make it disgustin’, just makes it … unusual. Does she talk about me? “Somebody shoot me.” “What does she say? I’m a formidable foe, right? Does she say anythin’ in a kind of a more … wistful voice?” “I don’t want to talk about this.” “Does she ever say, ‘If only he were good …’?” “Stop your talking. Stop it right now. Stop it. She has a boyfriend.” His face fell. “Someone I know?” he asked morosely. “He may have punched you a few times, yes.” “She’s not … She’s not datin’ the skeleton, is she? How would that be even possible, let alone … nice? He’s got no skin, or lips, or … or nothin’. And he talks. Good God, he talks and he never shuts up.” “It’s not Skulduggery.” “Well then, who else could it …? It’s not the ugly fella, is it? It couldn’t be the ugly fella.” “Don’t call him ugly.” “It is him! But he’s all scars! I mean, I know I ain’t got no eyes, but once you get past that, you got my face. And my face is all right. Better’n his. His is a mess, like he was dropped head first into a blender as a kid. Seriously? She’s with him?” “Seriously, and you’re not going to break them up. Not because you won’t try, but because you won’t be able to. Look, are you ready yet? Can we move now?” “I’m ready,” he snapped. “But this conversation stays between us, understand? My romancin’ ain’t gonna work if she knows it’s comin’.” “Believe me, I never want to speak to anyone about this ever again.

Hey!” said Steve. “I know you—you’re the chicken lady!” “I’M NOT A CHICKEN LADY!” roared Spidroth. “Sorry, chicken lady,” said Steve. “I had the weirdest dream. I was fighting off a load of skeletons, and then I died. Isn’t that funny!” “That was no dream, you slack-jawed oaf!” said Spidroth. “It’s still happening right now!

Okay, now we just run and hope we don't get a skeleton army of 10,000,000 people behind us here...and I'm pretty sure we are. I can hear them coming behind us.

Heheh. The old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. It's ALWAYS funny." The kid gave a confused giggle as Sans tucked his hand back into his pocket. "Anyways, you're a human, right? That's hilarious. I'm Sans. Sans the Skeleton. I'm actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now. But…y'know…" Sans shrugged, "I don't really care about capturing anybody. Now my brother, Papyrus, he's a human-hunting FANATIC." Motion over the kid's head drew Sans's attention briefly and his face lit up. He'd know that silhouette anywhere, even from this distance through the light fog. "Hey, actually, I think that's him over there." He focused back on the kid, catching the tail end of their rotation to see what he was looking at. "I have an idea." The kid looked back at him. "Go through this gate thingy." The kid glanced at the gate, worry marring their expression. Sans nodded. "Yeah, go right through. My bro made the bars too wide to stop anyone." It was a breath, a moment that allowed Sans to watch as the kid's worry turned into determination, before the kid turned right around and walked through the massive structure's posts. Sans kept pace with them, following them through to the other side and then some. Surprisingly enough, the oddly-shaped lamp that had always been next to his station was suddenly conveniently-shaped and very useful, especially with his brother heading their way. "Quick, behind that conveniently-shaped lamp.

Well, children, I guess we’ll need to get all these statues and skeletons back to the house,” Charlotte said, in a happier voice. “Thank you so much for finding them for me! I had no idea that they were made by a well-known sculptor.” She turned to Grandfather. “James, does the name Clover Dodge ring a bell with you?” she asked. Grandfather looked at his cousin Charlotte as if remembering something long ago. “Dodge? Yes, yes,” Grandfather began. “I vaguely recall the name--that was the name of the original family that owned Skeleton Point--before it was Skeleton Point, that is. But I had no idea she was a sculptor as well.” A smile slowly lit up Charlotte’s face. “What’s funny?” Benny asked. Charlotte sighed. “In some ways, I’m better off than I was before all this happened! I have all these valuable statues back, including the ones I didn’t even know were missing. And now I have experts--Greeny and Hilda--who can help me bring Skeleton Point back to life.” Benny walked over to Mister Bones. He was hanging just inside the doorway of Dead Man’s Cave. “Did you hear that, Mister Bones? You might be coming back to life.” The Mystery at Skeleton Point

A wither skeleton took a step in front of the portal. Funny how it is okay for them to drag you into the portal but they don’t want you to go in on your own. Invite only, apparently.

Every morning, I had to work harder to talk my limbs into moving. Imagine a skeleton, tossing its organs inside its bony shell, sealing on its skin. Strutting into the world with a Hello! Doing fine, thank you. How are you? I’ll have it to you by the end of the day. Yes! That’s too funny, ha ha, good-bye.

1158. A girl came back home from the school and asked her grandmother, “Granny, what is a lover ?” “A lover!!” the grandmother said. “Let me think. Lov… Lover…. Oh, my God!” She rushed to the wall, pulled aside the hanging rug, revealing a hidden closet door. She unlocked the door, and a skeleton of a young man fell out from the closet.

Dear Diary, “Z! Get up for school!” my mom yelled at me this evening. The sun had just gone down, and the moon was on the way up, which meant that it was time to get ready for school. My name is Zombulon, Z for short, and I’m a zombie. Looking at my name and what kind of creature I am really makes my parents look lazy, but I don’t think that they ever imagined that they’d have another kid after my older brother because his name is Arrgh, or R for short. My parents are really into one-letter nicknames. Once my brother called my parents M and D for a while, but they didn’t like that at all. It really wasn’t fair. What also isn’t fair is that I’ve got to wake up right at nightfall for school when all of the other kids get to wake up at the crack of dawn. I bet they all feel really lucky about it. It must be great to be able to wake up to the sun in your eyes instead of having to go to bed when it comes up. Being a zombie is really complicated for a lot of reasons, but my main complaint is that I can’t go outside during the day because if I do I’ll burn up. It’s like all of those stories about vampires who turn to dust in the sunlight, except for zombies are real and I just happen to be one of them. Because zombies can’t go out into the sun, most of them tend to be afraid of anything that can go into the sun and live to tell the tale. I swear that once R ran away from a chicken just because he had never seen one before. It was pretty funny. The punch in the arm that he gave me after I laughed at him was not funny. Another weird thing about being a zombie, or a monster in general around here, is that we’ve all got to go to night school. Usually, when humans talk about night school, they’re complaining about adults who they think are dumber than them for not going to college right away and waiting to take classes after work or something. My mom complains about it every once in a while, and then my dad reminds her that their best human friend went to night school and now he’s loaded. Anyway, monster night school is different. It’s just a bunch of kids like me going to school together at night. Zombies, skeletons, pigmen, and other monsters are all allowed to go to the school. Personally, I think that the humans and villagers just don’t want us to scare their kids. Anyway, Mom’s pitching a fit downstairs, so I guess that I better get ready for school. After all, it is my first day of middle school, so she wants everything to be extra special for me. I’m going to write all about it tomorrow when I actually have some news. I’m sure I will because today is going to be the first day of school this year, and new stuff always happens on the first day.

PAUL: It was great at the beginning. I could speak the language almost fluently after a month and the people were fantastic. They’d come out and help us. Teach us songs. Man, we thought it was all going so well. But we got all the outhouses dug in six months and we had to stay there two years, that was the deal. And that’s when we began to realize that none of the Nglele were using these outhouses. We’d ask them why and they’d just shrug. So we started watching them very carefully and what we found out was the Nglele use their feces for fertilizer. It’s like gold to them. They thought we were all fucking crazy expecting them to waste their precious turds in our spiffy new outhouses. Turns out they’d been helping us because they misunderstood why we were there. They thought it was some kind of punishment and we’d be allowed to go home after we finished digging the latrines, that’s why they were helping us and then when we stayed on they figured we must be permanent outcasts or something and they just stopped talking to us altogether. Anyway, me and Jeff, the guy I told you about, we figured maybe we could salvage something from the fuckup so we got a doctor to make a list of all the medicines we’d need to start a kind of skeleton health program in Ngleleland and we ordered the medicine, pooled both our salaries for the two years to pay for it. Paid for it. Waited. Never came. So we went to the capital to trace it and found out this very funny thing. The Minister of Health had confiscated it at the dock, same man who got our team assigned to the Nglele Tribal Territories in the first place. We were furious, man, we stormed into his office and started yelling at him. Turned out to be a real nice guy. Educated in England, British accent and everything. Had this office lined with sets of Dickens and Thackeray all in leather bindings. Unbelievable. Anyway, he said he couldn’t help us about the medicine, he’d been acting on orders from higher up, which we knew was bullshit, then he said he really admired our enthusiasm and our desire to help his people but he wanted to know just out of curiosity, if we’d managed to start the medical program and save a thousand lives, let’s say, he wanted to know if we were prepared to feed and clothe those thousand people for the next ten years, twenty years, however long they lived. He made us feel so goddamned naive, so totally helpless and unprepared, powerless. We went out of there, got drunk, paid the first women we could find and spent the rest of the week fucking our brains out. And then for the next year and two months we just sat around in Ngleleland stoned out of our minds counting off the days we had left before we could go home. Anyway, since you asked, that’s what the Peace Corps was like.

Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.