Snooki Quotes

Did I mention I've finally decided on a nickname for you?" "I didn't know you were looking." Well, I've given the matter some serious thought." "And what have you come up with?" "Cookie," I anounced proudly. Xavier scrunched up his face. "No way." "You don't like it? What about Bumblebee?" "Worse." "Snookie-Wookie?" "Do you have any cyanide?" "Well, some of us are just a bit hard to please.

I don't eat friggin' lobster or anything like that. Because they're alive when you kill it.

I know it doesn't feel this way all the time, but we get to choose what we care about and what we spend our resources on. We choose what - or ideally whom - to lust after. We choose what to watch, what to like, what to build, how to spend the breaths that we've been alive. And the fact that many of our choices are unconscious - get that handbag, get that Starbucks, look at that Snooki - does not in any way make us less responsible for those choices. I'm happiest when I feel like I'm part of a community that helps me choose more intelligently and with greater empathy. And I, for one, like the choices we made this weekend.

so this crow comes and it starts quacking at us.

The idea of some kind of objectively constant, universal literary value is seductive. It feels real. It feels like a stone cold fact that In Search of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust, is better than A Shore Thing, by Snooki. And it may be; Snooki definitely has more one-star reviews on Amazon. But if literary value is real, no one seems to be able to locate it or define it very well. We’re increasingly adrift in a grey void of aesthetic relativism.

I don't care if I'm small! I'll kick you.

I feel like today should be a perfect Meatball day... Let's just get wastey-pants!

When people get into their 30s plus "boyfriend" sounds weird...if you really think about it. Instead, I think we should universally start using the term "manfriend" or "snookie bookie cuddles pie".

Snooki is a bestselling author? Huh? What? I don't know if I should dumb down my book, shoot myself or find a publisher who'll settle for a rough draft written on a Pop-Tart and a coconut lotion handie..

I never knew how much I missed pickles and pickle juice. It's like, an overwhelming feeling that I can't even explain.

Whenever we finish a conversation i'm somewhere between entertained and traumatized.

I was wearing a colorful, short cover-up over a royal blue bikini. I had on gold strappy sandals and I looked cute-as-fuck. Did I, however, look like I was about to go yachting with New York City’s upper elite? No. I probably would have fit in better at the Jersey Shore between Snooki and JWoww.

when its raining you are sunny

Are you sure you're not too tired? I can see through time, but i'm alright.

On Sunday evenings, there was a comparatively vast array of radio shows from which to choose. Frequently I would lie in my bed with my father, who would pull the covers over our heads and pretend that we were in a cave. This is how we would listen to shows such as Jack Benny, The Great Gildersleeve with Harold Peary, The Fred Allen Show, and The Edgar Bergen Show. As a ventriloquist, Edgar Bergen had Charlie McCarthy and the slow-witted Mortimer Snerd as puppets. For us the last show of the evening was always Your Hit Parade sponsored by Lucky Strike Cigarettes, starring Snooky Lanson, Gisele MacKenzie and a host of other well-known singers of that period. Although my father was a strict disciplinarian, on Sunday evenings he usually relaxed things and we would enjoy our time listening to the radio together.

I don’t have the money,” said Fredo. “I did, but that brutto figlio di puttana bastardo stole it.

I don’t have the money,” said Fredo. “I did, but that brutto figlio di puttana bastardo stole it.” “I appreciate

guys started setting up lights, cameras, and microphones everywhere. Ms. Beard walked around looking us over like a general inspecting the troops. “Oh, this is going to be fabulous!” she said. “It will be the first reality show that takes place in a school. The ratings are going to go through the roof!” “Are we going to be famous like that Snookie lady?” asked Andrea. “That depends on what happens, baby,”2 said Ms. Beard. “This is reality

I kept wishing Snooky had come back to teach at Kahana. I'd go talk to him. He was the only guy who helped you to see things as they were out there. The others ignored your questions or what they saw out there, or tried to make you see only the things they wanted you to see. He talked of freedom, while everybody else talked of duty and obligation. It was like we were born in a cage and Snooky was coaxing us to fly off, not run away, but be on our own and taste the freedom and danger of the open space... Freedom was freedom from other people's shit, and shit was shit no matter how lovingly it was dished, how high or low it came from. Shit was the glue which held a group together, and I was going to have no part of any shit or any group.

Go already,” Jess mumbled, but she snuggled deeper, sending pins and needles snaking up his arm. He searched out her face in the darkness. “Are you sure, baby?” “As long as you promise to hurry home, Pookie Bear, I'll miss you.” Jess batted her eyes at him adoringly. “I'll check 10-8 in a few,” Kayne sighed, knowing he was going to have to figure out how to extricate himself from the sardine can of the bed. He did not want to leave them. “Okay, Pookie Bear.” Shay chuckled before she hung up. Kayne pinched Jess’s ass, satisfied when she yelped in surprise. “You're in so much trouble for that,” he growled. “I guess you're really not much of a Pookie Bear, you're more of a Pookums? Or maybe a Snooky Poo?” Jess giggled when he cringed. “Sugar Kayne, Candy Kayne?” “You're enjoying the fact that I'm a captive audience, aren't you?” Jess nodded—the little witch.