Skull And Crossbones Quotes

On the black cotton was printed a white skull and crossbones - the skull head grinning as if he were mocking her. The nun struggled for her breath and wanted to drop the evil little banner, but her fingers wouldn't let go of it - making her stare into its horrid death face as if she were looking at her own end.

Oh, hey. This looks promising. " We came to a stop before a high, barbwire fence with an enormous PRIVATE PROPERTY--NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ALLOWED sign on it. The lettering was red, apparently to emphasize how serious they were. Personally, I would have added a skull and crossbones to really drive the message home.

He had a skull and crossbones label on him, but I drank his poison nevertheless and loved it; now I needed an antidote.

Anika walked to the workbench, which was flanked by two metal cabinets. She opened the cabinet on the left and spotted sundry items—nails, paint, and whatnot—that one expected to see. Even the rat poison with skull and crossbones on the bag made sense. She also saw, however, several boxes wrapped in white and labeled, “Explosive Plastic Comp-4 (C-4).” Paralyzed, she tried not to panic or stare. 

I'm going to draw on every grave in the cemetery" he continued. "Why do you draw them?" I asked. "Why a skull and crossbones?" "Reminds you what's underneath, don't it? It's all bones down there, whatever you may put on the grave.

And at midnight there came an apparition in hell. A handsome dark-eyed man with a dagger-like beard, in a tailcoat, stepped onto the veranda and cast a regal glance over his domain. They used to say, the mystics used to say, that there was a time when the handsome man wore not a tailcoat but a wide leather belt with pistol butts sticking out from it, and his raven hair was tied with scarlet silk, and under his command a brig sailed the Caribbean under a black death flag with a skull and crossbones. But no, no! The seductive mystics are lying, there are no Caribbean Seas in the world, no desperate freebooters to sail them, no corvette chases after them, no cannon smoke drifts across the waves. There is nothing, and there was nothing! There is that sickly linden over there, there is the cast-iron fence, and the boulevard beyond it…And the ice is melting in the bowl, and at the next table you see someone’s bloodshot, bovine eyes, and you’re afraid, afraid…Oh, gods, my gods, poison, bring me poison!...

Here’s the twist to your story, Charlie. You ready for it?" he growled and nipped at my lower lip. "Breathe me in deep. Hold your breath. I will make you fall in love with me again. Because I sure as shit didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and I sure as shit didn’t think I could fall in love with you again, but I did." His hands gripped me tighter. "Like I was falling from a cliff, Charlie. Then...then…I realized when I hit the ground; I’ve been in love with you this whole time. It never stopped. I’ll never stop. I will never stop, and I will never give up on you." His voice lowered, “It was you from the beginning, the minute you taped that skull and crossbones to your window wearing those baggy jeans, that Nirvana T-shirt, and those God-awful chucks, you were my horizon. Everything I could ever see.

Tap the Skull and Crossbones app.

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men! Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jail-house and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Simi rolled back and forth and spun around on Ash’s wheeled desk chair. Dressed in a neon pink lab coat and black and white striped leggings with thigh high laced platform boots that went all the way up to her black lace miniskirt, she was adorable. Her face was mostly covered by a black surgical mask with a matching pink skull and crossbones on the right side of it. Her glowing red eyes were emphasized by her solid jet-black pigtails and dark purple eyeliner. She’d been so excited about the impending birth of the baby, that she’d been dressed that way for a month and shadowing Tory’s every step. If Tory so much as hiccuped, Simi had whipped out a black baseball glove and asked, “is it time yet? The Simi’s gots her glove all ready to catch it if it is, ’cause sometimes they come out flying.”’ – Simi

I fell into my typewriter with it and came up with a brand-new, absolutely original tale, which had been lurking under my skin since I first drew a skull and crossbones, aged six.

The Duchessa d’Aosta had been placed under the command of Geoffrey Appleyard and a skeleton crew, who were so delighted with their prize ship – and their Italian prisoners now locked below decks – that they hoisted a skull and crossbones from the mainmast. March-Phillipps exploded when he saw it fluttering in the dawn breeze. ‘We all got a rocket and we were told we weren’t to fly the Jolly Roger,’ recalled Leonard Guise. ‘He was a great stickler for etiquette, old Gus.

Against the background of bland colors he projected an unfadable blackness. In a world of men with harrowed faces, with smashed eyes, bloody, bruised and disfigured limbs, among the fetid, broken human bodies, of which I had already seen so many, he seemed an example of neat perfection that could not be sullied: the smooth, polished skin of his face, the bright golden hair showing under his peaked cap, his pure metal eyes. Every movement of his body seemed propelled by some tremendous internal force. The granite sound of his language was ideally suited to order the death of inferior, forlorn creatures. I was stung by a twinge of envy I had never experienced before, and I admired the glittering death's-head and crossbones that embellished his tall cap. I thought how good it would be to have such a gleaming and hairless skull instead of my Gypsy face which was so feared and disliked by decent people. The officer surveyed me sharply. I felt like a squashed caterpillar oozing in the dust, a creature that could not harm anyone yet aroused loathing and disgust. In the presence of such a resplendent being, armed in all the symbols of might and majesty, I was genuinely ashamed of my appearance. I had nothing against his killing me.

with skull-and-crossbones painted in chicken blood.

Every day when I wake up and head out for chores, I'm struck by the beauty we enjoy on our farm. Based on visitors' comments, that's a shared awareness. Not one of our doors has a skull and crossbones. We want visitors to be struck not by what we've done, but rather by how we've caressed this beautiful niche of God's creation into a productive and profoundly inspiring place.

As touching Slave-ships meeting, why, they are in such a prodigious hurry, they run away from each other as soon as possible. And as for Pirates, when they chance to cross each other's cross-bones, the first hail is— "How many skulls?"— the same way that whalers hail— "How many barrels?" And that question once answered, pirates straightway steer apart, for they are infernal villains on both sides, and don't like to see overmuch of each other's villanous likenesses.

but mostly I took sleeping aids in large doses, and supplemented them with Seconols or Nembutals when I was irritable, Valiums or Libriums when I suspected that I was sad, and Placidyls or Noctecs or Miltowns when I suspected I was lonely. Within a few weeks, I’d accumulated an impressive library of psychopharmaceuticals. Each label bore the sign of the sleepy eye, the skull and crossbones. “Do not take this if you become pregnant.” “Take with food or milk.” “Store in a dry place.” “May cause drowsiness.” “May cause dizziness.” “Do not take aspirin.” “Do not crush.” “Do not chew.” Any normal person would have worried about what the drugs would do to her health.

I still have no choice but to bring out Minerva instead.” “But Minerva doesn’t care about men,” young Charlotte said helpfully. “She prefers dirt and rocks.” “It’s called geology,” Minerva said. “It’s a science.” “It’s certain spinsterhood, is what it is! Unnatural girl. Do sit straight in your chair, at least.” Mrs. Highwood sighed and fanned harder. To Susanna, she said, “I despair of her, truly. This is why Diana must get well, you see. Can you imagine Minerva in Society?” Susanna bit back a smile, all too easily imagining the scene. It would probably resemble her own debut. Like Minerva, she had been absorbed in unladylike pursuits, and the object of her female relations’ oft-voiced despair. At balls, she’d been that freckled Amazon in the corner, who would have been all too happy to blend into the wallpaper, if only her hair color would have allowed it. As for the gentlemen she’d met…not a one of them had managed to sweep her off her feet. To be fair, none of them had tried very hard. She shrugged off the awkward memories. That time was behind her now. Mrs. Highwood’s gaze fell on a book at the corner of the table. “I am gratified to see you keep Mrs. Worthington close at hand.” “Oh yes,” Susanna replied, reaching for the blue, leatherbound tome. “You’ll find copies of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom scattered everywhere throughout the village. We find it a very useful book.” “Hear that, Minerva? You would do well to learn it by heart.” When Minerva rolled her eyes, Mrs. Highwood said, “Charlotte, open it now. Read aloud the beginning of Chapter Twelve.” Charlotte reached for the book and opened it, then cleared her throat and read aloud in a dramatic voice. “’Chapter Twelve. The perils of excessive education. A young lady’s intellect should be in all ways like her undergarments. Present, pristine, and imperceptible to the casual observer.’” Mrs. Highwood harrumphed. “Yes. Just so. Hear and believe it, Minerva. Hear and believe every word. As Miss Finch says, you will find that book very useful.” Susanna took a leisurely sip of tea, swallowing with it a bitter lump of indignation. She wasn’t an angry or resentful person, as a matter of course. But once provoked, her passions required formidable effort to conceal. That book provoked her, no end. Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom for Young Ladies was the bane of sensible girls the world over, crammed with insipid, damaging advice on every page. Susanna could have gleefully crushed its pages to powder with a mortar and pestle, labeled the vial with a skull and crossbones, and placed it on the highest shelf in her stillroom, right beside the dried foxglove leaves and deadly nightshade berries. Instead, she’d made it her mission to remove as many copies as possible from circulation. A sort of quarantine. Former residents of the Queen’s Ruby sent the books from all corners of England. One couldn’t enter a room in Spindle Cove without finding a copy or three of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom. And just as Susanna had told Mrs. Highwood, they found the book very useful indeed. It was the perfect size for propping a window open. It also made an excellent doorstop or paperweight. Susanna used her personal copies for pressing herbs. Or occasionally, for target practice. She motioned to Charlotte. “May I?” Taking the volume from the girl’s grip, she raised the book high. Then, with a brisk thwack, she used it to crush a bothersome gnat. With a calm smile, she placed the book on a side table. “Very useful indeed.

A debilitating absence of government machinery was compounded by White failure in the realm of ideas. Red propaganda effectively stamped the Whites as military adventurists, lackeys of foreign powers, restorationists. The Whites mounted their own propaganda, military parades, and troop reviews blessed by Orthodox priests. Their red, white, and blue flags, the national colors of pre-1917 Russia, often had images of Orthodox saints; others had skulls and crossbones. The Whites copied the Bolshevik practice of the agitation trains. But their slogans—“Let us be one Russian people”—did not persuade.

She’s just getting a tat,” she says, turning me around. “What kind of tat?” “A tiny little butterfly or something equally as cute. Maybe a Disney princess. She hadn’t decided yet.” She rolls her eyes. Friday has skulls and crossbones and turtles and all sorts of weird shit all over her body. “I want to help her pick something,” I say, trying to push past Friday. “Stop,” she says. “She wants to surprise you.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “Tats mean different things to different people,” Friday says. “This means a lot to her, and she should be the one to decide what she gets.” I already know this, but I want to be involved, dammit. “You don’t trust Paul to take care of her?” Friday asks, her eyebrows crashing together. Of course I trust him. “But this is my girl,” I say. I know I sound like a baby. But there it is. She pats me on the arm. “Suck it up, buttercup,” she says.

Suddenly I realized I was standing on the hot wood of the dock, still touching elbows with Adam, staring at the skull-and-crossbones pendant. And when I looked up into his light blue eyes, I saw that he was staring at my neck. No. Down lower. “What’cha staring at?” I asked. He cleared his throat. “Tank top or what?” This was his seal of approval, as in, Last day of school or what? or, Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders or what? Hooray! He wasn’t Sean, but he was built of the same material. This was a good sign. I pumped him for more info, to make sure. “What about my tank top?” “You’re wearing it.” He looked out across the lake, showing me his profile. His cheek had turned bright red under his tan. I had embarrassed the wrong boy. Damn, it was back to the football T-shirt for me. No it wasn’t, either. I couldn’t abandon my plan. I had a fish to catch. “Look,” I told Adam, as if he hadn’t already looked. “Sean’s leaving at the end of the summer. Yeah, yeah, he’ll be back next summer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to compete once he’s had a taste of college life and sorority girls. It’s now or never, and desperate times call for desperate tank tops.” Adam opened his mouth to say something. I shut him up by raising my hand. Imitating his deep boy-voice, I said, “I don’t know why you want to hook up with that jerk.” We’d had this conversation whenever we saw each other lately. I said in my normal voice, “I just do, okay? Let me do it, and don’t get in my way. Stay out of my net, little dolphin.” I bumped his hip with my hip. Or tried to, but he was a lot taller than me. I actually hit somewhere around his mid-thigh. He folded his arms, stared me down, and pressed his lips together. He tried to look grim. I could tell he was struggling not to laugh. “Don’t call me that.” “Why not?” “Dolphins don’t live in the lake,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this were the real reason. The real reason was that the man-child within him did not want to be called “little” anything. Boys were like that. I shrugged. “Fine, little brim. Little bass.” He walked toward the stairs. “Little striper.” He turned. “What if Sean actually asked you out?” I didn’t want to be teased about this. It could happen! “You act like it’s the most remote poss-“ “He has to ride around with the sunroof open just so he can fit his big head in the truck. Where would you sit?” “In his lap?” A look of disgust flashed across Adam’s face before he jogged up the stairs, his weight making the weathered planks creaked with every step.

The packs of cigarettes available here carried the typical skulls and crossbones on them, but apparently no one in North Korea cared.

The packs of cigarettes available here carried the typical skulls and crossbones on them, but apparently no one in North Korea cared. They smoked. They died. What did it matter?

One sign had a skull and crossbones on it. Skelee thought it was a sign for the bathroom.

The flag unfurled, and Thomas and the others gaped as they saw the familiar Jolly Roger—a grinning skull and crossbones. No, not crossbones. In place of the anticipated pair of crossed long bones was a pair of white cocks, with big balls and a bulbous head where the round joints of the bones should be.

tugging her through the crowds and toward the real tourist draw of the Gate. Jutting out of the quartz about four feet off the ground lay the dial pad: a solid-gold block embedded with seven different gems, each for a different quarter of the city, the insignia of each district etched beneath it. Emerald and a rose for Five Roses. Opal and a pair of wings for the CBD. Ruby and a heart for the Old Square. Sapphire and an oak tree for Moonwood. Amethyst and a human hand for Asphodel Meadows. Tiger’s-eye and a serpent for the Meat Market. And onyx—so black it gobbled the light—and a set of skull and crossbones for the Bone Quarter.

Zach’s Fanfare #2” (MFSB)* “Comeback Kid” (Sleigh Bells) “Monkey Gone to Heaven” (The Pixies) “Spaceman” (Harry Nilsson) “Going Down” (Freddie King) “I’m Bad” (Rocket to Memphis) “Pumped Up Kicks” (Foster the People) “Nobody Does It Better” (Me First and the Gimme Gimmes) “Skull & Crossbones” (Sparkle Moore & Dan Belloc and His Orchestra) “Switchblade Smiles” (Kasabian) “I Wanna Destroy You” (The Soft Boys) “Drain You” (Foxy Shazam) “T.O.R.N.A.D.O.” (The Go! Team) “Woman of Mass Destruction” (The Woolly Bandits) “Tough Lover” (Nick Curran and the Lowlifes) “(I’m Stuck in a Pagoda With) Tricia Toyota” (The Dickies) “Apache” (The Sugarhill Gang) “For Whom the Bell Tolls” (Metallica) “We All Go Back to Where We Belong” (R.E.M.) “Change Reaction” (David Uosikkinen) “Satellite” (The Hooters) “Fanfare for Rocky” (Bill Conti)*

Claudette turned her arms upward to show us her tattooed wrists. One held the skull and crossbones of the Wilted Rose. The other resembled the flag which adorned the mast above us. A ship's wheel with two swords crossed through it.

The father, for his part, had waited until they arrived, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of people and the cries of the shoeshine boys and the importuning of beggars, he explained that it was book by a journalist that had come out a couple of years ago but was still selling, that the guy was uncouth but the book, from what he had heard wasn't bad. Elaine tore off the wrapping paper, saw a design of nine blue frames with trimmed corners, and inside the frames saw bells, suns, Phrygian caps, floral sketches, moons with women’s faces, skulls and crossbones and dancing demons, and all seemed a bit absurd and gratuitous, and the title, Cien años de soledad, exaggerated and melodramatic. Don Julio put a long fingernail over the E of the last word, which was backwards. ‘I didn’t notice till I’d already bought it’, he apologized. ‘If you want we can try to exchange it.’ Elaine said it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t going to get on the train with nothing to read because of a silly typo. And days later, in a letter to her grandparents, she wrote: ‘Send me something to read, please, I get bored at night. The only thing I have here is a book that the señor gave me as a going- away present, and I’ve tried to read it. I swear I have tried, but the Spanish is very difficult and everybody has the same name. It’s the most tedious thing I’ve read in a long time, and there’s even a typo on the cover. It’s incredible, it’s in its fourteenth printing and they haven’t corrected it. When I think of you reading the latest Graham Greene, it doesn’t seem fair.

The steel-framed span loomed thirty feet above the muddy water. At the far end of the hundred-foot deck, the forest swallowed up a dirt road that used to lead somewhere. Years of traffic rumbling across the bridge had worn parallel streaks into the deck, and heavy runner boards covered holes in rotted planks. Metal rails sagged in spots. Still, the reddish-brown truss beams on either side stood stiff and straight, and overhead braces cast shadows on the deck below. On that rusty frame, between lines of vertical rivets, someone had painted a skull and crossbones and scribbled: 'Danger, This Is You.

In the age of AIDS I had been making it a practice to imagine a skull and crossbones on the forehead of every possibly available comely gay man I found myself alone with, but Slonski's kept fading in, fading out.

She had twisted and turned from the fever, until one side of her nightgown was rolled up above her waist and the covers were off. He couldn’t help but notice the length of her legs and the slender curve of her hip. And, while he wasn’t going to mess with her gown and take the chance of waking her up, he could pull the covers back over her. It wasn’t until he bent down to grab the blankets that he saw the small tattoo on her hip. His eyes widened. He looked at her profile. Even asleep, she appeared daunting. But this little tattoo was proof that there might be a softer side to Catherine Dupree. The tattoo was a butterfly—and it was pink. Who would ever have believed that Cat Dupree would be the kind of woman to have a girly thing like that? Barbed wire? Yes. A skull and crossbones? Sure. A snake with fangs exposed? Plausible. But a tattoo of a small pink butterfly on her butt? Priceless.

I found the ad in a community booster paper. “Sharp, experienced go-getter wanted to strip/refinish woodwork. Enthusiasm a must.” I had spent years refinishing, first in Raleigh and then again in Chicago. I always vowed I’d never do it again, but that’s the problem with having a skill: once you swear off it, you know you’re stuck with it forever. All work seems designed to kill you, but refinishing is tailor-made to provide a long and painful death. The chemical strippers are sold in metal cans picturing a skull and crossbones, and the list of ingredients reads like a who’s who in the world of cancer-causing agents. These strippers will eat through plastic buckets, rubber gloves, and nylon brushes. One is advised to wear a respirator but I rejected it, as the cumbersome mask tended to interfere with my smoking.

I watched him, mesmerized. The ink of his tattoos bespoke the path he’d walked to get to me. A skull and crossbones on his hip. His daughter’s initial on one side of his chest and the words ‘Sine metu’ on the other. I’d learned Latin in college and I knew it meant ‘without fear’.

It was probably hacker work too. Although it didn’t look like hacking. Nothing was blinking, beeping, or green. I didn’t see a single skull and crossbones. It just looked like Sol had fallen asleep at the keyboard.

My colleague deciphered some bits of the writing on the wolf-totem jar. He found a smattering of words and phrases that spoke of death and destruction. Nothing more." "So basically a waning label," Painter said. Kowalski frowned, "Why didn't they just slap it with a skull and crossbones to begin with? It would've saved everyone a bunch of trouble.

Kala, this is what’s called drama. This is what we live for, baby girl.” Ian tipped his beer back. “Way better than TV.” Jake frowned and looked down at his identically dressed infant. “How do you know which one is which?” “A father always knows,” Big Tag said. “Also, I marked this one with a Sharpie. See, it looks like a tiny mole right behind her ear. That’s Kala.” Serena gasped. “Ian Taggart, that’s horrible.” He shrugged. “Nah, what’s horrible is I’m trying to figure out a way to make it permanent. Is it illegal to tattoo a baby?” “Yes,” Serena and Ally managed to say at the same time. Big Tag shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s not like I’m putting a skull and crossbones on her. It’s a miniscule dot so neither one of these girls can pull one over on the old man.” He pointed to the baby in Jake’s arms. “Yeah, I’m looking at you, Kenz. I see how you roll over and try to pretend to be Kala.

Kala, this is what’s called drama. This is what we live for, baby girl.” Ian tipped his beer back. “Way better than TV.” Jake frowned and looked down at his identically dressed infant. “How do you know which one is which?” “A father always knows,” Big Tag said. “Also, I marked this one with a Sharpie. See, it looks like a tiny mole right behind her ear. That’s Kala.” Serena gasped. “Ian Taggart, that’s horrible.” He shrugged. “Nah, what’s horrible is I’m trying to figure out a way to make it permanent. Is it illegal to tattoo a baby?” “Yes,” Serena and Ally managed to say at the same time. Big Tag shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s not like I’m putting a skull and crossbones on her. It’s a miniscule dot so neither one of these girls can pull one over on the old man.” He pointed to the baby in Jake’s arms. “Yeah, I’m looking at you, Kenz. I see how you roll over and try to pretend to be Kala. I’m not blind. Daddy sees everything. Including how you look at that Tristan kid. Stay away from him.” “Ian, she’s eight weeks old,” Serena pointed out. “Tristan recently turned one. I hardly think they’re planning to date.

Hey Cap'n! What're the swords for?" "Squawk, sea monsters!" Abraham replied. Even he grasped a miniature cutlass in his left claw. Eve cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" "Best to be prepared," the tier three parrot said. "It's not because you're pirates?" "Nope." Eve pointed over the bow. "And there's a merchant ship on the horizon." "Have to be ready to defend ourselves," he squawked back. Eve rolled her eyes, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "That man's raising a skull-and-crossbones flag." "Squaaaawk, just a formality.

Emerald and a rose for Five Roses. Opal and a pair of wings for the CBD. Ruby and a heart for the Old Square. Sapphire and an oak tree for Moonwood. Amethyst and a human hand for Asphodel Meadows. Tiger’s-eye and a serpent for the Meat Market. And onyx—so black it gobbled the light—and a set of skull and crossbones for the Bone Quarter.

Jutting out of the quartz about four feet off the ground lay the dial pad: a solid-gold block embedded with seven different gems, each for a different quarter of the city, the insignia of each district etched beneath it. Emerald and a rose for Five Roses. Opal and a pair of wings for the CBD. Ruby and a heart for the Old Square. Sapphire and an oak tree for Moonwood. Amethyst and a human hand for Asphodel Meadows. Tiger’s-eye and a serpent for the Meat Market. And onyx—so black it gobbled the light—and a set of skull and crossbones for the Bone Quarter.

Eddie Grace's buick Got four bullet holes in the side Charley Delisle is sittin' at the top Of an avocado tree Mrs Storm will stab you with a steak knife If you step on her lawn I got a half a pack of lucky strikes man So come along with me Let's fill our pockets With macadamia nuts And go over to Bobby Goodmanson's And jump off the roof Hilda plays strip poker When her mama's across the street Joey Navinsky says she put Her tongue in his mouth Dicky Faulkner's got a switchblade And some gooseneck risers That eucalyptus is a hunchback There's a wind down from the south So let me tie you up with kite string I'll show you the scabs on my knee Watch out for the broken glass Put your shoes and socks on And come along with me Let's follow that fire truck I think your house is burning down Then go down to the hobo jungle And kill some rattlesnakes with a trowel And we'll break all the windows In the old Anderson place We'll steal a bunch of boysenberrys And smear 'em on your face I'll get a dollar from my mama's purse Buy that skull and crossbones ring And you can wear it round your neck On an old piece of string Then we'll spit on Ronnie Arnold And flip him the bird Slash the tires on the school bus Now don't say a word I'll take a rusty nail Scratch your initials in my arm I'll show you how to sneak up on the roof Of the drugstore I'll take the spokes from your wheelchair And a magpie's wings And I'll tie 'em to your shoulders And your feet I'll steal a hacksaw from my dad Cut the braces off your legs And we'll bury them tonight Out in the cornfield Just put a church key in your pocket We'll hop that freight train in the hall We'll slide all the way down the drain To New Orleans in the fall

When I saw this pirate house I figured it was where he was headed." "How on earth could you know this was a pirate house?" "The skull and crossbones door knocker tipped me off." "Observant of you." "And the Jolly Roger flag flying from the eaves." "Well spotted." "And the fact the house is parked in the middle of Marine Parade, blocking traffic, with what appears to be a street lamp wedged beneath it." "Yes, well, we are experiencing minor technical difficulties.

Mommy!" Gracie ran up, water dripping into her eyes. "You haf to come stand over here. It's weally fun. I pwomise. And nuffing will happen." "Sound fishy to me," Angie said. "I wouldn't fall for it." Abby laughed and let Gracie lead her to a precise spot ominously marked on the ground with a skull and crossbones.

As Mother headed the car for the highway, she said, "You two sure got quiet in the back seat. I thought you'd be telling Jo Dee and Brian good-bye all the way across the bridge." Michele and Michael giggled. "We are," they said, as they perched on their knees facing out the back window. They each gave the skull and crossbones sign and Jo Dee and Brian returned it.

He felt personally responsible for the intellectual health of the library’s patrons. The popularity of pseudoscience books, which he considered “not worth the match to burn them up,” worried him. Instead of removing the books from the collection, he established what he called the “Literary Pure Food Act” to warn readers about them. He hired a blacksmith to make a branding iron in the shape of a skull and crossbones—the poison warning symbol—and used it to brand the frontispiece of the offending books. He also created warning cards to insert in the questionable books. He wanted the cards to say, “This book is of the worst class that we can possibly keep in the library. We are sorry that you have not any better sense than to read it,

Did the bottle have a skull and crossbones?” “Should have. The cocktail was called something like Famous Last Words. What?

He’d blown out a skull and crossbones image. Ghost was chill like that.