Straight To Dvd Quotes

I think it was Alfred Hitchcock who said 90 percent of successful moviemaking is in the casting. The same is true in life. Who you are exposed to, who you choose to surround yourself with, is a unique variable in all of our experiences and it is hugely important in making us who we are. Seek out interesting characters, tough adversaries and strong mentors and your life can be rich, textured, highly entertaining and successful, like a Best Picture winner. Surround yourself with dullards, people of vanilla safety and unextraordinary ease, and you may find your life going straight to DVD.

Wow,” Ryan said, taking the excedo in from his bare feet to his worn jeans and wrinkled T-shirt. “Protesting showers?” “Bite me.” Trance stood aside and let Ryan inside, despite his growled words. Ryan strode to the living room, went straight to Trance's DVD player, and inserted one of his sex discs. Trance stood in the entrance to the living room, arms crossed, leaning against the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up. “I don't remember making a movie date with you.” “Keep your dick in your pants, Romeo.” Ryan pushed Play and stood back. “What do you know about that?” Trance's eyes shot wide, and he yanked himself off the wall. “I know you need an ass-kicking if you came to watch porn with me—oh, fuck me, that's you. Turn it off! I don't need to see that.” Ryan hit the Pause button. “Well?” “Well, what?” Trance shuddered. “Christ. I'm going to have to gouge out my eyes now.

Time travel? Saving the world? Had I fallen into a straight-to-DVD release?

Who you are exposed to, who you choose to surround yourself with, is a unique variable in all of our experiences and it is hugely important in making us who we are. Seek out interesting characters, tough adversaries and strong mentors and your life can be rich, textured, highly entertaining and successful, like a Best Picture winner. Surround yourself with dullards, people of vanilla safety and unextraordinary ease, and you may find your life going straight to DVD.

It's hard to form a lasting connection when your permanent address is an eight-inch mailbox in the UPS store. Still,as I inch my way closer, I can't help the way my breath hitches, the way my insides thrum and swirl. And when he turns,flashing me that slow, languorous smile that's about to make him world famous,his eyes meeting mine when he says, "Hey,Daire-Happy Sweet Sixteen," I can't help but think of the millions of girls who would do just about anything to stand in my pointy blue babouches. I return the smile, flick a little wave of my hand, then bury it in the side pocket of the olive-green army jacket I always wear. Pretending not to notice the way his gaze roams over me, straying from my waist-length brown hair peeking out from my scarf, to the tie-dyed tank top that clings under my jacket,to the skinny dark denim jeans,all the way down to the brand-new slippers I wear on my feet. "Nice." He places his foot beside mine, providing me with a view of the his-and-hers version of the very same shoe. Laughing when he adds, "Maybe we can start a trend when we head back to the States.What do you think?" We. There is no we. I know it.He knows it.And it bugs me that he tries to pretend otherwise. The cameras stopped rolling hours ago, and yet here he is,still playing a role. Acting as though our brief, on-location hookup means something more. Acting like we won't really end long before our passports are stamped RETURN. And that's all it takes for those annoyingly soft girly feelings to vanish as quickly as a flame in the rain. Allowing the Daire I know,the Daire I've honed myself to be, to stand in her palce. "Doubtful." I smirk,kicking his shoe with mine.A little harder then necessary, but then again,he deserves it for thinking I'm lame enough to fall for his act. "So,what do you say-food? I'm dying for one of those beef brochettes,maybe even a sausage one too.Oh-and some fries would be good!" I make for the food stalls,but Vane has another idea. His hand reaches for mine,fingers entwining until they're laced nice and tight. "In a minute," he says,pulling me so close my hip bumps against his. "I thought we might do something special-in honor of your birthday and all.What do you think about matching tattoos?" I gape.Surely he's joking. "Yeah,you know,mehndi. Nothing permanent.Still,I thought it could be kinda cool." He arcs his left brow in his trademark Vane Wick wau,and I have to fight not to frown in return. Nothing permanent. That's my theme song-my mission statement,if you will. Still,mehndi's not quite the same as a press-on. It has its own life span. One that will linger long after Vane's studio-financed, private jet lifts him high into the sky and right out of my life. Though I don't mention any of that, instead I just say, "You know the director will kill you if you show up on set tomorrow covered in henna." Vane shrugs. Shrugs in a way I've seen too many times, on too many young actors before him.He's in full-on star-power mode.Think he's indispensable. That he's the only seventeen-year-old guy with a hint of talent,golden skin, wavy blond hair, and piercing blue eyes that can light up a screen and make the girls (and most of their moms) swoon. It's a dangerous way to see yourself-especially when you make your living in Hollywood. It's the kind of thinking that leads straight to multiple rehab stints, trashy reality TV shows, desperate ghostwritten memoirs, and low-budget movies that go straight to DVD.

Be honest, guys. What kind of cheap, low budget, straight to DVD piece of shit would have the main characters find a book ‘Slasher Survival School’?” he asked. ​“Apparently you don’t have a subscription to Netflix…” Eddie said sullenly before settling back at the table to read his C&C Monster Manual.

When we got close to the airport, the reality of the public reaction to Steve’s death began to sink in. Members of the media were everywhere. We drove straight through the gates to pull up right next to the charter plane. The last thing I felt like doing at that moment was to talk to anyone about what had happened. I just wanted to get to Steve. As I walked toward the plane, I turned back to thank the police who had helped us. The tears in their eyes shocked me out of my own personal cocoon of grief. This wasn’t just a job for them. They genuinely felt for us, and suffered Steve’s loss. So many other people loved him too, I thought. All during the endless, three-hour plane ride to Maroochydore, I kept flashing back to our fourteen years of adventures together. My mind kept focusing on another plane ride, so similar to this one, when Bindi and I had to fly from the United States back to Australia after Steve’s mum had died. Part of me wished we could have flown forever, never landing, never facing what we were about to. I concentrated on Bindi and Robert, getting them fed and making sure they were comfortable. But the thought of that last sad flight stayed there in the back of my mind. The plane landed at Maroochydore in the dark. We taxied in between hangars, out of public view. I think it was raining, but perhaps it wasn’t, maybe I was just sad. As I came down the steps of the plane, Frank, Joy, and Wes stood there. We all hugged one another. Wes sobbed. We managed to help one another to the hangar, where we all piled into two vehicles for the half-hour drive back to the zoo. I turned on the DVD in the backseat for the kids. I desperately needed a moment without having to explain what was going on. I wanted to talk to Wes, Joy, and Frank. At some point during the ride, Wes reached back and closed the DVD player. The light from the player was giving the press the opportunity to film and photograph us in the car. This was a time to be private and on our own. How clever of Wes to consider that, I thought, right in the middle of everything. “Wes,” I said, “what are we going to do now?

At some point, every single one of my kids had a showdown with me that involved me looking straight at them, reminding them the answer is no, and them proceeding to push the DVD button while making direct eye contact with me as if to say, I see you, bitch. What are you going to do about it? And really, what was I going to do about it? I mean, the global move away from spanking has been humane and psychologically appropriate, but it has left us kind of impotent in these moments, hasn’t it?

make sure you get the one that is numbered with your special couple number. Trust me, you boy/boy couples out there would not want to get a gift with bath bombs and girl massagers. You'd prefer the one meant for you with flavored lube and special toys like vibrating butt plugs or an autographed DVD from a premier gay porn studio. And for you straight couples—I'm sorry—we have vanilla pudding

Dennis Michael Lynch, a conservative blogger and the producer of several straight-to-DVD documentaries about illegal immigration, was working on a documentary about the shooting and advising Andy on how to navigate the media. When Andy told Dennis about Kenny’s report, Dennis interviewed him. A few days after that interview, on March 27, Dennis ran an article previewing Kenny’s report.17 But Kenny wasn’t flattered; he freaked out. He had figured that the interview would be part of a documentary that would air a year later. Now a scoop on his report had been published on a conservative clickbait website that, he reflected, “looked like it could give you a computer virus.” Kenny had wanted to write a serious report that would attract meaningful media attention. But now anyone who Googled him might see him as a partisan teenage attention-seeker.

Vogel also quotes, almost straight, from As You Like It when he comments that “The whole world’s a stage.” Co-director Larry Charles talks about this on the DVD commentary track: “… ‘the whole world is a stage’ – quoting Shakespeare referring to the stage. It’s all play, playing with the reality; the Rastafarian janitor – was it real, was it not, was it a dream?