Slurpee Quotes

When it's finals week and you've been studying for five hours straight, you need three things to get you through the nigh.The biggest Slurpee you can find,half cherry half Coke.Pajama pants, the kind that have been washed so many times they are tissue-paper thin. And finally,dance breaks. Lots of dance breaks.

Happiness is a Slurpee and a hot pink straw.

Rick Grimes: [Jimmy reaches for a rifle; Rick takes it from him] You ever fire one before? Jimmy: Well, if I'm going out I want one. Daryl Dixon: Yeah, and people in hell want Slurpees.

In my civilian world at home in Los Angeles, half the people I know are on antidepressants or anti–panic attack drugs because they can’t handle the stress of a mean boss or a crowd at the 7-Eleven when buying a Slurpee.

Had I known I was going to face down death today, I totally would’ve bought myself the Slurpee.

there’s a lot of unnecessary meanness that happens while you’re trying to sort out who you want to be, who your friends are, who your friends are not. Adults spend a lot of time talking about bullying in schools these days, but the real problem isn’t as obvious as one kid throwing a Slurpee in another kid’s face. It’s about social isolation. It’s about cruel jokes. It’s about the way kids treat one another. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, how old friends can turn against each other: it seems, sometimes, that it’s not enough for them to go their separate ways—they literally have to “ice” their old buddies out just to prove to the new friends that they’re no longer still friends. That’s the kind of stuff I don’t find acceptable. Fine, don’t be friends anymore: but stay kind about it. Be respectful. Is that too much to ask?

Leaving now. Back within the hour. Oh, and Rune? Bring back Twizzlers and a cherry Coke Slurpee. He wanted to know what these things were. Harrison, Thea (2011-05-03). Dragon Bound (A Novel of the Elder Races Book 1) (p. 36). Penguin Group US. Kindle Edition.

Young Arab men are not going to walk away from extremism because they can suddenly afford a Slurpee. They will walk away when they can devote themselves to a some call to serve a cause that connects nationalism to dignity and democracy and transcends a lifetime.

I hate it when I go into a Snack Shack and they're out of Blue Ice. The other slushie flavors taste like cheap candy.

It was then you'd have thought I'd been shot by a Taser, as paralyzed as I was at the sight of her - the perfect feminine form, the image hitting me with the velocity of a Slurpee-like brain-freeze, rendering me again the helpless, hapless male. Any trace of rationality or logic or even common sense that might've been there before is quickly abandoning ship, leaving Dickbrain at the helm and Lust navigating,

The United States of America has now reached a whole new level of patriarchal absurdity. You mean they massacred the Indians, enslaved the Africans, cut down all the trees, poisoned all the rivers, and extinguished or imprisoned all the animals for THIS, this hellhole of bombast and hamburgers and opioid addictions and cardboard-box houses and pretend ideas? You mean they used up all the oxygen on 4th of July firecrackers and forcing kids to pledge allegiance to the flag every goddam day, drank Coke till they choked, spat tobaccy till they puked, fought cancer (but only for people with lots of money), nestled in Nestlés, slurped slurpees, burped burpees, handed on herpes, Tasered the wayward, jailed the frail and tortured about a million billion chickens (then fried and ate them), just so people can drive around and shoot each other and create GoFundMe sites to pay the hospital bills?

I am assured that this is a true story. A man calls up his computer helpline complaining that the cupholder on his personal computer has snapped off, and he wants to know how to get it fixed. “Cupholder?” says the computer helpline person, puzzled. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m confused. Did you buy this cupholder at a computer show or receive it as a special promotion?” “No, it came as part of the standard equipment on my computer.” “But our computers don’t come with cupholders.” “Well, pardon me, friend, but they do,” says the man a little hotly. “I’m looking at mine right now. You push a button on the base of the unit and it slides right out.” The man, it transpired, had been using the CD drawer on his computer to hold his coffee cup. I bring this up here by way of introducing our topic this week: cupholders. Cupholders are taking over the world. It would be almost impossible to exaggerate the importance of cupholders in automotive circles these days. The New York Times recently ran a long article in which it tested a dozen family cars. It rated each of them for ten important features, among them engine size, trunk space, handling, quality of suspension, and, yes, number of cupholders. A car dealer acquaintance of ours tells us that they are one of the first things people remark on, ask about, or play with when they come to look at a car. People buy cars on the basis of cupholders. Nearly all car advertisements note the number of cupholders prominently in the text. Some cars, like the newest model of the Dodge Caravan, come with as many as seventeen cupholders. The largest Caravan holds seven passengers. Now you don’t have to be a nuclear physicist, or even wide awake, to work out that that is 2.43 cupholders per passenger. Why, you may reasonably wonder, would each passenger in a vehicle need 2.43 cupholders? Good question. Americans, it is true, consume positively staggering volumes of fluids. One of our local gas stations, I am reliably informed, sells a flavored confection called a Slurpee in containers up to 60 ounces in size. But even if every member of the family had a Slurpee and a personal bottle of

When it's finals week and you've been studying for five hours straight, you need three things to get you through the night. The biggest Slurpee you can find, half cherry, half Coke. Pajama pants, the kind that have been washed so many times, they are tissue-paper thin. And finally, dance breaks. Lots of dance breaks. When your eyes start to close and all you want is your bed, dance breaks will get you through.

There’s a place I used to go when I felt lonely and small—not age- or body-wise small, I’m five ten in sneakers, I’m never actually small. But like when you’re in a people-packed space and there’s not a single face that looks at you for longer than a second—it’s not invisibility, it’s worse, they see you, they just have already decided in that second that there’s nothing about you that’s worth knowing, that kind of small. I liked sitting on the curb of the 7-Eleven parking lot. I’d get a Slurpee and sit a little left of the door so I could see all the people going in, but only their legs. A store across that street sold lamps, and it was always so, so bright.

You're the guy who tried to get my cab. I knew I knew you! You scared the bejesus out of me. Come to think of it it was easy to get a cab during rush hour? I am sorry. I had no idea it was your cab. Let me make it up to you. How about a nice hot dog and a beer. Just a hot dog then. Some coffee? Milk? Soda? Tea? LifeSavers? Slurpee? Just let me know. I'm here. I knew I knew ya!

Too depressed for a Slurpee? Now that’s depressed. My

You're the guy who tried to get my cab. I knew I knew you! You scared the bejesus out of me. Come to think of it it was easy to get a cab during rush hour? I am sorry. I had no idea it was your cab. Let me make it up to you. How about a nice hot dog and a beer. Just a hot dog then. Some coffee? Milk? Soda? Tea? LifeSavers? Slurpee? Just let me know. I'm here. knew I knew ya!

The man looked worse in the lamplight. His skin washed of pigment. Tim’s mind conjured a weird image: the last few sips at the bottom of a Slurpee cup, the color all sucked out, only the tasteless ice crystals left.

The reality, of course, is that when you hit puberty you don't magically blossom into a woman -- you're still the same tiny fool you were at puberty-minus-one, only now once a month hot brown blood just glops and glops out of your private area like a broken Slurpee machine. Forever.

Time travel ain’t no Michael J. Fox movie. You mess with timelines, you might end up with butterfly effects that’ll make Chernobyl look like a spilled Slurpee.

First with letting him shove his dick down my throat and swallowing his cum like it’s a fucking Slurpee.

I want a hotel room,” Cam demanded. “A nice one. With free breakfast and unlimited internet. And I want another Slurpee.” “Deal.” It was a better idea than letting him crash on my couch. “Let’s go.

It’s frosty and blue like a Slurpee with cherries, gummy fish and neon-colored umbrella straws hanging off the rim of the half-gallon fish bowl. I lean forward and take a sip, ready to drown my sorrows in this cocktail.

I got Jeremiah and me both Slurpees, half Coke and half cherry, a combination I had perfected over the years. When I got back to the car, I climbed in and handed Jeremiah his Slurpee. His whole face lit up. “Aw, thanks, Bells. What flavor did you get me?” “Drink it and see.” He took a long sip and nodded appreciatively. “Half Coke, half cherry, your specialty. Nice.” “Hey, remember that time—,” I started to say. “Yup,” he said. “My dad still doesn’t want anyone touching his blender.” I put my feet up on the dashboard and leaned back, sipping on my Slurpee. I thought to myself, Happiness is a Slurpee and a hot pink straw. From the back, Conrad said, irritably, “Where’s mine?” “I thought you were still asleep,” I said. “And you have to drink a Slurpee right away or it’ll melt, so… I didn’t see the point.” Conrad glared at me. “Well, at least let me have a sip.” “But you hate Slurpees.” Which was true. Conrad didn’t like sugary drinks, he never had. “I don’t care. I’m thirsty.” I handed him my cup and turned around and watched him drink. I was expecting him to make a face or something, but he just drank and handed it back. And then he said, “I thought your specialty was cocoa.” I stared at him. Did he really just say that? Did he remember? The way he looked back at me, one eyebrow raised, I knew he did. And this time, I was the one to look away. Because I remembered. I remembered everything.

I didn't want to waste my time. I didn't want someone who wouldn't understand when I reference Tony Stark, Mal Reynolds, and Alexander Hamilton in the same breath―all handsome rogues, obviously. I wanted someone who didn't need me to backtrack and explain everything. Someone who would escort me to midnight showings but never ask me to dress up to attend. Someone who knew that I always, always, always wanted a Slurpee, but especially when it was snowing.

If coming of age used to mean summers and weekends working at 7-Eleven cleaning the Slurpee machine to make a few extra bucks to buy your favorite record, now it’s about checking boxes on a college application: becoming fluent in a second language, volunteering at a shelter, taking weekly SAT prep courses.

Southern stories need haunted eyes. That’s where all the bad mojo settles, at the bottom of the country. Like Coke syrup at the bottom of a Slurpee.