Super Funny Quotes

I thrust the picture at his chest. He takes it and squints at it in the softening light. Then his eyes widen. "Holy shit," he breathes. "Is this the girl that ate you?" "Ha, no. You're funny." I snatch my picture back. "So I was super fat. It's my father's fault. He never hugged me." "So, what, you ate him?

Green Lantern: "What are your powers anyway? You can't fly." Batman: "No." Green Lantern: "Super-strength?" Batman: "No." Green Lantern: "Hold on a second... You're not just some guy in a bat costume, are you? Are you freaking kidding me?!

You all right, man?' This should be my name. I could be like a super hero: You All Right Man. Ah...' I stumble. Don't bug Craig,' Ronny is like. 'He's in the Craig zone. He's Craig-ing out.

Someday you'll meet people who are actually on crack and you won't think that's a super funny thing to say.

I WAS INTIMIDATED BY YOU, AND I DONT KNOW WHY I'm an Anxious Idiot™ but your super funny and I wish I weren't shy so we could talk.

Reckoner Super Plan for Killing Regalia... Step One: find Regalia, then totally explode her. Lots and Lots. Step Two: put Val on decaf. Step Three: Mizzy gets a cookie.

. . . and together you're what, the Super Friends?

Is that all you bought?” His eyes shot to the left. “Um.” I clenched my teeth. “What else?” “A Super Mega Juicer,” he said quickly. “But, Sabina, seriously that juicer is a miracle machine.” “I’m a vampire, Giguhl. The only liquids I drink are blood and alcohol. I don’t do juice.

I realize nobody's coming to save me. I must save myself. I must be my own super hero. Although I am open to a sidekick.

If you're going to be a superhero, can I be your sidekick?" -April "What?" -Grace "The Dynamic Duo!" -April "Um, I'm pretty sure sidekicks have to have super powers, too. -Grace "Oh Yeah... Okay, but you can always use an Alfred." April "My Alfred?" -Grace "Oh come on Please I can help you design gadgets and stuff. Oh! I can design you outfits for crime fighting!" -April " *sigh* Okay. Sure. But no spandex" -Grace

Oh, so there were angels and demons, but no vampires? No mysterious, super-hot bloodsuckers who would love you forever? Now that was totally unfair.

And soon we were just rolling around on the ground, cursing and screeching and ripping out handfuls of hair. Without super hearing, I wouldn't have heard Zeb whisper, "This is the coolest thing I have ever seen." "Maybe they'll get muddy," Dick said. "Please, Lord, let them get muddy.

Opening my door to Dillon Ruddick, my bulding super. I handed him a cup of coffee. "Sorry about the blood." "What was it this time?" No one reported gunfire." "I hit a guy in the face with a hair dryer." "Whoa." Dillon said. "It wasn't my fault," I told him. "Maybe we should lay down some linoleum here. It would make things easier for clean up.

If someone had asked him, “Ben, are you lonely? , ” he would have looked at that someone with real surprise. The question had never even occurred to him. He had no friends, but he had his books and his dreams; he had his Revell models; he had a gigantic set of Lincoln Logs and built all sorts of stuff with them. His mother had exclaimed more than once that Ben’s Lincoln Logs houses looked better than some real ones that came from blueprints. He had a pretty good Erector Set, too. He was hoping for the Super Set when his birthday came around in October. With that one you could build a clock that really told time and a car with real gears in it. Lonely? he might have asked in return, honestly foozled. Huh? What? A child blind from birth doesn’t even know he’s blind until someone tells him. Even then he has only the most academic idea of what blindness is; only the formerly sighted have a real grip on the thing. Ben Hanscom had no sense of being lonely because he had never been anything but. If the condition had been new, or more localized, he might have understood, but loneliness both encompassed his life and overreached it. It simply was, like his double-jointed thumb or the funny little jag inside one of his front teeth, the little jag his tongue began running over whenever he was nervous.

Ronan," Noah said, "I have a super bad feeling." "It's called being dead," Ronan replied. "That's the sort of joke that's only funny if you're alive." "Good thing I am." "For now.

Laser light flickered all over him as if he was a packet of biscuits at a super-market check-out.

Yeah,” Tamara said. “An old bowling alley. There must be a town not too far from here. But how could Aaron be there? And don’t say something like ‘working on his score’ or ‘maybe he’s in a bowling league’ or something like that. Be serious.” Call leaned against the rough bark of a nearby tree and resisted the urge to sit down. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get up again. “I’m serious. It might be hard to tell in the dark, but I have my most super-serious face on.

Funny how people value eyes, when really, their colors are super limited. I doubt anyone would enjoy a new box of crayons if they came only in eye-color shades.

Moon, this is Tamarin. Tamarin, Moon is our new best friend. She’s super funny. Moon, can Tamarin touch your face?

Even astonishingly late in life, people seem incapable of considering that their parents might not be super-smart and really funny and immortal. Perhaps there’s a biological reason for that, that up to a certain age a child loves you unconditionally and hopelessly for one single reason: you’re theirs.

Luke is the sort of boy Taylor Swift could at least three songs out of.

I've never been this naked with a girl before. I'm not self-conscious or anything, but its different. Not weird. I'm definitely all right with Hayles seeing this much of me. "Wowza." Okay, now I'm a little embarrassed. "Is that a good thing?" She puts her hands on my chest and her face goes from pink to red. (...) "Seriously? Brody, this is totally another reason why you're just super fabulous." Huh? "You don't even know how freaking hot you are. That's uber sexy." Her eyes go to my bare torso. "Count with me." One finger strokes part of my stomach. "One..." She moves an inch or two over. "Two..." She slides down. "Three..." Back over. "Four..." Down. "Five..." Over. "Six." She flicks her gaze back up to me. "That's what people call a six-pack." I roll my eyes, but she keeps moving her fingers up to my chest. I want to stop her, but I don't at the same time. It feels too good. "And these..." She flattens her hands on me, and I tug her closer. "Are called pecs. Its like you stepped out of a fantasy.

Brix scoffs. “Please.” He lifts his, and holy forking fucknuggets. He has abs on top of his abs. Super abs. They could be their own superhero and wear their own cape.

I'm not blond or super fit or perfect. Not romantic, not "an individual," and definitely not a genius. So what am I? I'll tell you what : a bridesmaid.

The easiest way to remember your future wife’s birthday is to marry her on Super Bowl Sunday.

Luke is the sort of boy Taylor Swift could get at least three songs out of.

☹️ -Gregorovich

And that’s the weirdest thing about being someone’s parent. Not just a bank robber parent, but any parent: that you are loved in spite of everything that you are. Even astonishingly late in life, people seem incapable of considering that their parents might not be super-smart and really funny and immortal. Perhaps there’s a biological reason for that, that up to a certain age a child loves you unconditionally and hopelessly for one single reason: you’re theirs. Which is a pretty smart move on biology’s part, you have to give it that.

What's with the super soaker?" -Stephine "I had a stork of genius when you called me this morning I said what do I have to do to protect myself from the vampire? And the answer that came to me was holy water! I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner." -Lula "You have the Super Soaker filled with holy water?" -Stephine "Yeah I sucked it out of the church. You know that birdbath thing they got right up front?" -Lula "THe baptismal font?" -Stephine "That's it. They got it filled with holy water, free for the taking." -Lula "Brilliant." -Stephine

Just like an angel, the lovely one and the cute All the beauty together in your funny sulky looks Innocent, like the kids, like the pigeons in my garden Magnetic attraction, awesome, amazing and the super astute Immortal charming, like the moon and the stars Elegant, stylish, you must be very tasty, fruit

Why are the super-rich for socialism? Don't they have the most to lose? I take a look at my bank account and compare it with Nelson Rockefeller's and it seems funny that I'm against socialism and he's out promoting it." Or is it funny? In reality, there is a vast difference between what the promoters define as socialism and what it is in actual practice. The idea that socialism is a share-the-wealth program is strictly a confidence game to get the people to surrender their freedom to an all-powerful collectivist government. While the Insiders tell us we are building a paradise on earth, we are actually constructing a jail for ourselves.

I sometimes feel as though we are all daughters of the same mythical mother. Some of us are super direct, funny. Others are pensive, inquisitive, maudlin, bitter, sarcastic, or a combination of all those things. Yet we have all been orphaned, except by our words, which we eventually turn to in order to make sense of the impossible, the unknowable.

We have the most complete and instant access to information in all of history, and we’re using it to watch funny cat videos.

Even astonishingly late in life, people seem incapable of considering that their parents might not be super-smart and really funny and immortal.

You know what happens on live TV? Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl Boob happens on live TV. Adele Dazeem happens on live TV. President Al Gore happens on live TV

Chris: I bet I can get you to say red Jake: Ok try it Chris: What color is the sky Jake: BLUE Chris: Haha, I told you I could get you to say Blue Jake: No you said red Chris: BOOM!!!

He looks up. Our eyes lock,and he breaks into a slow smile. My heart beats faster and faster. Almost there.He sets down his book and stands.And then this-the moment he calls my name-is the real moment everything changes. He is no longer St. Clair, everyone's pal, everyone's friend. He is Etienne. Etienne,like the night we met. He is Etienne,he is my friend. He is so much more. Etienne.My feet trip in three syllables. E-ti-enne. E-ti-enne, E-ti-enne. His name coats my tongue like melting chocolate. He is so beautiful, so perfect. My throat catches as he opens his arms and wraps me in a hug.My heart pounds furiously,and I'm embarrassed,because I know he feels it. We break apart, and I stagger backward. He catches me before I fall down the stairs. "Whoa," he says. But I don't think he means me falling. I blush and blame it on clumsiness. "Yeesh,that could've been bad." Phew.A steady voice. He looks dazed. "Are you all right?" I realize his hands are still on my shoulders,and my entire body stiffens underneath his touch. "Yeah.Great. Super!" "Hey,Anna. How was your break?" John.I forget he was here.Etienne lets go of me carefully as I acknowledge Josh,but the whole time we're chatting, I wish he'd return to drawing and leave us alone. After a minute, he glances behind me-to where Etienne is standing-and gets a funny expression on hs face. His speech trails off,and he buries his nose in his sketchbook. I look back, but Etienne's own face has been wiped blank. We sit on the steps together. I haven't been this nervous around him since the first week of school. My mind is tangled, my tongue tied,my stomach in knots. "Well," he says, after an excruciating minute. "Did we use up all our conversation over the holiday?" The pressure inside me eases enough to speak. "Guess I'll go back to the dorm." I pretend to stand, and he laughs. "I have something for you." He pulls me back down by my sleeve. "A late Christmas present." "For me? But I didn't get you anything!" He reaches into a coat pocket and brings out his hand in a fist, closed around something very small. "It's not much,so don't get excited." "Ooo,what is it?" "I saw it when I was out with Mum, and it made me think of you-" "Etienne! Come on!" He blinks at hearing his first name. My face turns red, and I'm filled with the overwhelming sensation that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. His expression turns to amazement as he says, "Close your eyes and hold out your hand." Still blushing,I hold one out. His fingers brush against my palm, and my hand jerks back as if he were electrified. Something goes flying and lands with a faith dink behind us. I open my eyes. He's staring at me, equally stunned. "Whoops," I say. He tilts his head at me. "I think...I think it landed back here." I scramble to my feet, but I don't even know what I'm looking for. I never felt what he placed in my hands. I only felt him. "I don't see anything! Just pebbles and pigeon droppings," I add,trying to act normal. Where is it? What is it? "Here." He plucks something tiny and yellow from the steps above him. I fumble back and hold out my hand again, bracing myself for the contact. Etienne pauses and then drops it from a few inches above my hand.As if he's avoiding me,too. It's a glass bead.A banana. He clears his throat. "I know you said Bridgette was the only one who could call you "Banana," but Mum was feeling better last weekend,so I took her to her favorite bead shop. I saw that and thought of you.I hope you don't mind someone else adding to your collection. Especially since you and Bridgette...you know..." I close my hand around the bead. "Thank you." "Mum wondered why I wanted it." "What did you tell her?" "That it was for you,of course." He says this like, duh. I beam.The bead is so lightweight I hardly feel it, except for the teeny cold patch it leaves in my palm.

And that’s the weirdest thing about being someone’s parent... that you are loved in spite of everything that you are. Even astonishingly late in life, people seem incapable of considering that their parents might not be super-smart and really funny and immortal. Perhaps there’s a biological reason for that, that up to a certain age a child loves you unconditionally and hopelessly for one single reason: you’re theirs.

Jessica Stone. The Jessica Stone. My costar. As in, indie film poster child, beloved by the internet for being sexy and cute and funny, sure to snag an Oscar one day Jessica Stone. I think I saw her last movie in theaters fifteen times, and not just because it was based on a graphic novel. Don’t fanboy, I order myself. Don’t fanboy. Gail looks at me, surprised. “But Dare, we were—” I cough. Twice. Gail looks between Jessica Stone and me, widens her eyes, and finally gets it. Her ears go even redder. “Oh. Oh.” She grabs her backpack and makes a hasty retreat. “I…um. I’ll be around if you need me, Dare.” After the door closes, Jessica Stone turns her eyes—which are super, freakishly, ice-water blue—to me. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” My tongue ties into ten hundred knots. She can intrude as much as she wants. I mean, not intrude—like, let me politely be in her presence for the rest of my life—but intruding works too. Into my life. As much as she wants. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. But it’s Jessica Stone. Damn it, man, don’t fanboy.

Special Super Bowl Wisdom of the Ages: "Marshawn Lynch" Not really shy. Still extremely embarrassed he believed you can't be charged for beating up on large groups of people-as long as you are carrying a football.

because my anxiety disorder gets really bad on planes and so I end up panicking a bit. Usually I get on Twitter and tell everyone that I love them because that’s about the time that my antianxiety pills kick in and they make me super sentimental and scared that I’m going to die. It’s like taking ecstasy, but instead of having sex and going to a rave I just want someone to stroke my hair and sing me old Irish drinking songs.

On TV shows, the person who reports a crime is always a prime suspect.... Plus, Grace cheats. Once she copied off my spelling test. Cheaters often grow up to be thieves. Grace just jumped from cheater to thief early.

People think I’m crazy and then they realize it’s all just a game and I’m super clever. And then they spend a little more time and realize that no, I’m just crazy, but I’m also really lucky because shit still seems to work out for me.

The universe has certain rules. Among them are: He who owns a sharp tool will eventually cut himself. And: Laboratory accidents never result in super-hero-type powers. And most applicable in this case: He who laughs first gets caught. The first rule could be, at a stretch, applied to Tony Stark and the Iron Man suit, considering recent events. One notable exception to the second rule was currently swinging around New York City on a spider web, which did not bear thinking about.

Everyone thinks of Anubis as this super jacked up jackal. I find that amusing. I guess he must work out a lot.” I guess when you think of it, it is kind of funny. No other picture of gods from that time are ripped. I guess Anubis did Egyptian steroids.

Yes. It very much is. Especially if things are run by a bunch of old people who think the generation after them is full of a bunch of lazy, directionless kids. “Funny—they broke the world and created the problem, and somehow we’re supposed to fix it for them.

Getting married means you've won, and I hate thinking like that, I do, but let's be honest, that's just how it is. Until you're married, you're a loser, NO MATTER HOW GREAT YOU ARE AT EVERYTHING ELSE. In our super progressive, equal right, modern society, it's the one thing no one wants to say but everyone is thinking, however messed-up it is.

Even astonishingly late in life, people seem incapable of considering that their parents might not be super-smart and really funny and immortal. Perhaps there’s a biological reason for that, that up to a certain age a child loves you unconditionally and hopelessly for one single reason: you’re theirs. Which is a pretty smart move on biology’s part, you have to give it that.

Doris loves Superman as well.unfortunately, she got knocked down by a van last year, and it was a big, long recovery for her, really. It took about six months, didn't it, before she was fully back to normal. She never gone back to normal. She's got a bionic leg now, which made her twice as fast and twice as stupid. You know, but she's just such good fun. But anyway,like she had a bit of a low point, you know, when she got really fed up, you know, with those stupid lampshade collars, you know, that they have on their head. Ugh, bumping into everything, she was walking about sighing. Ugh, like that, you know, and if you've ever been known or been with the terriers, but that ball of energy,you know, and she wasn't allowed to be for a walk or anything. It was awful. So to cheer her up, I bought her a little Superman outfit for dogs. When you get home, you look online. They are absolutely brilliant. You can get Wonder Woman and Darth Vader, all sorts. They're the funniest thing I have ever seen in my. The front paws, the front legs go in Super man's legs, you know, and it like covers up the paw with these little, red boot things on the bottom. And it comes up and ties around the neck, and there's tube stuff down from the front. So from the front, it's like a tiny, little Superman with a dog's head. And then, on the back there's this cape. So when she trots around, it looks like she's flying! Ah, it's brilliant! And she loves it. I couldn't get it off for about a week. It's honestly, they're absolutely brilliant, you must check it out. So anyway, tonight this is for Doris.

New Rule: Americans must realize what makes NFL football so great: socialism. That's right, the NFL takes money from the rich teams and gives it to the poorer one...just like President Obama wants to do with his secret army of ACORN volunteers. Green Bay, Wisconsin, has a population of one hundred thousand. Yet this sleepy little town on the banks of the Fuck-if-I-know River has just as much of a chance of making it to the Super Bowl as the New York Jets--who next year need to just shut the hell up and play. Now, me personally, I haven't watched a Super Bowl since 2004, when Janet Jackson's nipple popped out during halftime. and that split-second glimpse of an unrestrained black titty burned by eyes and offended me as a Christian. But I get it--who doesn't love the spectacle of juiced-up millionaires giving one another brain damage on a giant flatscreen TV with a picture so real it feels like Ben Roethlisberger is in your living room, grabbing your sister? It's no surprise that some one hundred million Americans will watch the Super Bowl--that's forty million more than go to church on Christmas--suck on that, Jesus! It's also eighty-five million more than watched the last game of the World Series, and in that is an economic lesson for America. Because football is built on an economic model of fairness and opportunity, and baseball is built on a model where the rich almost always win and the poor usually have no chance. The World Series is like The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You have to be a rich bitch just to play. The Super Bowl is like Tila Tequila. Anyone can get in. Or to put it another way, football is more like the Democratic philosophy. Democrats don't want to eliminate capitalism or competition, but they'd like it if some kids didn't have to go to a crummy school in a rotten neighborhood while others get to go to a great school and their dad gets them into Harvard. Because when that happens, "achieving the American dream" is easy for some and just a fantasy for others. That's why the NFL literally shares the wealth--TV is their biggest source of revenue, and they put all of it in a big commie pot and split it thirty-two ways. Because they don't want anyone to fall too far behind. That's why the team that wins the Super Bowl picks last in the next draft. Or what the Republicans would call "punishing success." Baseball, on the other hand, is exactly like the Republicans, and I don't just mean it's incredibly boring. I mean their economic theory is every man for himself. The small-market Pittsburgh Steelers go to the Super Bowl more than anybody--but the Pittsburgh Pirates? Levi Johnston has sperm that will not grow and live long enough to see the Pirates in a World Series. Their payroll is $40 million; the Yankees' is $206 million. The Pirates have about as much chance as getting in the playoffs as a poor black teenager from Newark has of becoming the CEO of Halliburton. So you kind of have to laugh--the same angry white males who hate Obama because he's "redistributing wealth" just love football, a sport that succeeds economically because it does just that. To them, the NFL is as American as hot dogs, Chevrolet, apple pie, and a second, giant helping of apple pie.

Hey." Miles moves closer. "It's okay. It's...fuck." He pulls me roughly into his chest, his wine bottle still hanging from his hand. He kisses the top of my head like it's the most natural thing in the world. In actuality, it's the first time he's touched me, period. I've never been super physically affectionate with even my close friends, but I have to admit that after weeks of exactly no physical contact, it feels nice to be held by a near-perfect stranger.

Why did you break in Mrs. Casnoff’s desk for?” Information on Archer. After he left. “Ah. You’re welcome, by the way?” For what? She jiggled the nail harder. “For putting him in his place the other night. Working with The Eye,” she scoffed. “Yeah, that’s a brilliant plan.” He’s just trying to think of something,” I said automatically. I wasn’t sure why I was defending him when I’d basically said that idea was the stupidest thing ever to have stupided, but I didn’t like the scorn in her voice. Well, my voice, her words. Elodie paused in trying to open the desk drawer and shoved my hair back with both hands. “What’s it going to take for you to realize that Archer Cross is bad news? He’s an Eye. He’s a liar and a jerk, and he’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. And you’re betrothed to Cal. Boys who can heal all wounds and are super hot, to boot? Don’t exactly come around every day.” I don’t think about Cal like that. Pressing the point of the nail back into the lock, Elodie snorted. “Um, hi, I’ve been in your head. You totally think about him like that.” Look,, this isn’t a slumber party, I snapped. Can you please get back to work? “Fine,” she muttered. “Don’t listen to me. But I’m telling you, Cal is the way to go. Heck, if I had a body, I wouldn’t mind-“ I’m going to need you to stop right there. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she wasn’t going to stop right there, but before she could say anything else, the lock on the drawer gave way.

And as we take up our positions on the stage, we call upon the nine Muses for assistance, Calliope, who helps with the epic ballads, Euterpe, who helps with the sad songs, Erato, who helps with the confessional songs, Clio, who helps with the oldies, Melpomene, who helps with the super-tragic stuff, Polyhymnia, who helps with the religious songs, Terpsichore, who helps with the dance numbers, Thalia, who helps with the funny songs, And Urania, who helps when it gets spacey and psychedelic.

If you like cool, funny entertainment, you might like this one. It's a first novel by a local author." She handed him a copy of Practical Demonkeeping. "A very different kind of buddy novel. I thought it was hilarious." "You're reading me like a book." The guy shook his head as if embarrassed by his own lame joke. Then he looked over at Blythe. Natalie saw his gaze move swiftly over her mother's red V-neck sweater and short skirt. "How can you tell that's exactly what would make me happy?" he asked. Oh boy. He was flirting. Guys did that a lot with her mom. She was super pretty, and Natalie knew it wasn't only because Mom was her mom and all kids thought their moms were pretty. Even her snottiest friends like Kayla said Blythe looked like a model. Like Julia Roberts. Plus, her mom had a knack for dressing cool and being social---she could talk to anyone and make them like her. Also, she had a superpower, which was on full display right now. She had the ability to see a person for the first time and almost instantly know what book to recommend. She was really smart and had also read every book ever written, or so it seemed to Natalie. She could talk to high school kids about Ivanhoe and Silas Marner. She ran a mystery discussion group. She could tell people the exact day the new Mary Higgins Clark novel would come out. She knew which kids would only ever read Goosebumps books, no matter what, and she knew which kids would try something else, like Edward Eager or Philip Pullman. Sometimes people didn't know anything about the book they were searching for except "It's blue with gold page edges" and her mom would somehow figure it out.

Alien monsters were pleasant and funny. One early and almost forgotten piece of history tells that Adam, in addition to naming all the sub-lunar creatures, also named the nine hundred and ninety-nine species of creatures who had their homes and nests above the moon, on other moons or trabants or asteroids or planets. And after they were named, the super-lunary creatures went back to their own places, with friendly memories of Earth, the ‘naming place’. So we do have nine hundred and ninety-nine alien species, monstrous but friendly, waiting to meet us again.

Johnny,the super,stares forward.His new tangerine hair half blinds me above a purple,leopard print shirt.I swing the door wide.“Come in,Johnny.”He eyes Fenris.“I think I’ll stand here,if you don’t mind.Gobbledepoop.”“Yeah, okay.”I lift my purse from the kitchen counter and scrounge for my wallet.Handing Johnny a number of bills, I say, “This should square us, dude. I’ll be out tomorrow.” “Shame.” He flips through the money, his lips silently counting. “You pay on time, and you’re quiet.I like things serene and peaceful.”I glance at his flaming hair. “I can see that about you.

They dated," Frank says, with just a little too much relish. "For two years. They were the shiniest golden couple of our class. What a match, you know? Both gorgeous. She's super smart--does student government, debate, choir, all that business. He does the sports and volunteers with his dad's church, has those puppy eyes that make you want to buy him a boat--" "Do they?" "Yes, gaze deeply into his eyes next time--you'll feel it." He takes a long draw from his drink and then continues. "Anyway, they were the kind of couple where it's like, separate--they're great. But together, it's . . . star magic." "Star magic?" "From the universe. Celestial bodies aligning and shit. That kind of magic.

And it started out fun. We were chattering enthusiastically, flipping between CNN, MSNBC, and FOX News. But as the evening wore on, and the numbers rolled in, it got quieter, and I found myself becoming intensely depressed. Why was I putting myself through this? The issues I’ve devoted my life to have become so marginalized by the coverage that they have no possible relevance to me. I can’t even blame the media — people simply don’t care about alternate-party politics. And why should they? I’m so far in the minority that my activism is a joke, a punchline that stopped being funny years ago. It goes beyond rooting for the underdog. It’s not rooting for the Giants: it’s more like, say, rooting for the Twins. But during the Super Bowl.

Thank you, Clara,” I say. “How did you get the key?” “Dumb luck,” she says. “Those twins with the funny names dropped it just a few feet away from me.” “They… dropped it?” Those guys are the most skilled sleight-of-hand tricksters I’ve ever seen. Hard to imagine either of them dropping anything. “Yeah, they were juggling a bunch of things between them as they walked. The key just fell and they didn’t notice.” “But you did.” “Sure.” “How did you know it was the key to our police car?” She lifts the key tag to show me. It’s a clear plastic holder that’s probably meant for pictures. This one frames a piece of paper with a note scrawled in little-kid block letters: “Penryn’s police car—Super Secret.” If I ever see the twins again, it looks like I owe them a zombie-girl mud fight.

A light was flashing on the desktop display when Kira entered. Another message. With a sense of trepidation, she pulled it up. I am the spark in the center of the void. I am the wider shin scream that cleaves the night. I am your eschatological nightmare. I am the one and the word and the fullness of the light. Would you like to play a game? Y/N -Gregorovitch As a rule, ship minds tended to be eccentric, and the larger they were, the more eccentricities they displayed. Gregorovich was on the outer tail of that bell curve, though. She couldn’t tell if it was just his personality or if his behavior was the result of too much isolation. Surely, Falconi isn’t crazy enough to fly around with an unstable ship mind… Right? Either way, best to play it safe: No. -Kira An instant later, a reply popped up: ☹️ -Gregorovich

A light was flashing on the desktop display when Kira entered. Another message. With a sense of trepidation, she pulled it up. I am the spark in the center of the void. I am the widdershin scream that cleaves the night. I am your eschatological nightmare. I am the one and the word and the fullness of the light. Would you like to play a game? Y/N -Gregorovitch As a rule, ship minds tended to be eccentric, and the larger they were, the more eccentricities they displayed. Gregorovich was on the outer tail of that bell curve, though. She couldn’t tell if it was just his personality or if his behavior was the result of too much isolation. Surely, Falconi isn’t crazy enough to fly around with an unstable ship mind… Right? Either way, best to play it safe: No. -Kira An instant later, a reply popped up: ☹️ -Gregorovich

Do you consider yourself athletic? How would you rate yourself, say, as a swimmer? Average, below average, maybe a little above average? So-so? Terrible? Well, I’ve got news for you: whether you know it or not, you are a world-class super-Olympic gold medal swimmer. I’m not kidding. You know how I know that? Because I took anatomy, physiology, bacteriology, and chemistry in college, as part of my science minor. And here’s what I learned: we all start out the same way, as tiny sperm cells. In order for you to be born, assuming your daddy had an average sperm count, you had to have out-swum some 200,000 other sperm. And it was uphill all the way. Now, I do not know what motivated you, but that little tail was wiggling like mad, and you were screaming, “Out of my way! Out of my way! I want to teach school! I want to dance! I want to be in real estate! I want to be a journalist!” or whatever it was you were screaming at the top of your little sperm voice.

When my mother died I was a baby,' Cyrus finally said. 'And so I didn’t really know what I’d lost until I was much older. I mean, maybe I still don’t. But there was this one day when I was fifteen or sixteen when I decided I was really going to feel it. Like, I didn’t get to have a day to grieve my mother properly when it happened. So I made one up. I skipped school and just wandered around downtown Fort Wayne listening to my Walkman, weeping wherever I went, trying to picture her in my head. I kept ducking into these alleys and side streets bawling my eyes out, imagining all the days she’d never seen me. All the days I’d never see her. I got dehydrated from all the crying, I remember feeling super thirsty. I remember stopping into a gas station to buy a Gatorade, and the clerk there asking if I was okay, if I needed any help. That’s such a funny detail, I’d forgotten about that till just now. It tasted like trash, so sweet it burned. But I chugged it! I was so thirsty from crying. I felt it I think maybe for the first time then. All that grief consolidated, concentrated into a single hard point. Like a diamond. That one day.

Incubus?" I asked Ben. He nodded grimly. "A lost soul-usually male-turned evil spirit that attaches itself to someone in order to lead her astray. The spirit is kind of...sexual in nature." He reddened and gestured to the picture. "Like it shows there. The incubus comes to a woman and has...you know...relations with her in her sleep." My jaw dropped, and I was glad Ben's eyes were averted as an exhilarating stream of images from my dreams flashed at super-speed through my head. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until it came out in a whoosh that I tried to pass off as a laugh. "It's not funny, Clea." "It's insane. Even if there were such a thing as an evil spirit, wouldn't it be obvious if I'd spent my whole life stalked by one? Wouldn't terrible things have happened to me?" "Maybe they will. Maybe he's just been waiting for the right time. Maybe that time is now, and that's why all of a sudden you see him everywhere." "So he's a patient evil spirit," I said sarcastically. "Know what else comes from the same Latin root as 'incubus'?" Ben retorted. "Incubate. I don't think it's coincidence. I think this...thing has been incubating, and now it's ready to come out and do whatever it's going to do. And I think your dad would agree with me.

My mouth dropped open. 'You're naked!' 'I am,' Kieran replied. And he was. Like completely naked, and I saw way too much tawny-hued skin. Way too much. I quickly spun around, my wide eyes clashing with Casteel's. 'You should see your face right now,' Casteel gripped the arrow in his stomach. 'It looks like you've been sunbathing.' 'Because he's naked,' I hissed. 'Like, super naked.' 'What do you think happens when he shifts forms?' 'The last time his pants actually stayed on!' 'And sometimes they don't.' Casteel shrugged. 'Those pants were looser, I suppose,' Kieran stated. 'There's no need to be embarrassed. It's only skin.' What I saw was not only skin. He was... well, his body was a lot like Casteel's. Lean, hard muscle and... I wasn't going to think about what I saw. At a loss for what to say, I blurted out in a whisper. 'He has to be cold!' 'Wolven body temperatures run higher than normal. I'm just a little chilled,' Kieran commented. 'As I'm sure you noticed.' Casteel smirked. 'I doubt she knows what you're referencing.' I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled slowly. 'I know exactly what you're referencing, thank you very much!' 'How do you know that?' Casteel lifted his brows, and I noticed that his pupils seemed to have returned to their normal size. 'If you know what that means, than someone has been very naughty.

Violet’s not getting out of our sight,” Arion adds. There’s a moment of just staring…like everyone is trying to silently argue. “No one naked in my car,” Mom states when I just stand in my spot, waiting on them to hurry through the push and pull. You really can tell how thick the air is when too many alphas are in the room at one time, but weirdly it never feels this way when it’s just the four of them. Unless punches are thrown. Then it gets a little heavier than normal. Arion pulls on his clothes, and threads whir in the air as I quickly fashion Emit a lopsided toga that lands on his body. Everyone’s gaze swings to him like it’s weird for him and normal for me to be in a toga. Awesome. Damien muffles a sound, Emit arches an eyebrow at me, and Arion remains rigid, staying close to me but never touching me. All of us squeezing into a car together while most of them hate each other…should be fun. The storm finally stops before we board the elevator, and it’s one of those super awkward elevator moments where no one is looking at anyone or saying anything, and everyone is trying to stay in-the-moment serious. We stop on the floor just under us, after the longest thirty-five seconds ever. The doors open, and two men glance around at Emit and I in our matching togas, even though his is the fitted sheet and riding up in some funny places. He looks like a caveman who accidentally bleached and shrank his wardrobe. I palm my face, embarrassed for him. The next couple of floors are super awkward with the addition of the two new, notably uncomfortable men. Worst seventy-nine seconds ever. Math doesn’t add up? Yeah. I’m upset about those extra nine seconds as well. Poor Emit has to duck out of the unusually small elevator, and the bottom of his ass cheek plays peek-a-boo on one side. Damien finally snorts, and even Mom struggles to keep a straight face. That really pisses her off. “You’re seeing him on an off day,” I tell the two guys, who stare at my red boots for a second. I feel the need to defend Emit a little, especially since I now know he overheard all that gibberish Tiara was saying… I can’t remember all I said, and it’s worrying me now that my mind has gone off on this stupid tangent. I trip over the hem of my toga, and Arion snags me before I hit the floor, righting me and showing his hands to my mother with a quick grin. “Can’t just let her fall,” he says unapologetically. “You’re going to have to learn to deal with that,” she bites out. She has a very good point. I don’t trip very often, but things and people usually knock me around a good bit of my life. The two guys look like they want to run, so I hurry to fix this. “Really, it’s a long story, but I swear Emit—the tallest one in the fitted-sheet-toga—generally wears pants…er…I guess you guys call them trousers over here. Anyway, we had some plane problems,” I carry on, and then realize I have to account for the fact we’re both missing clothing. “Then there was a fire that miraculously only burned our clothes, because Emit put all my flames out by smothering me with his body,” I state like that’s exactly what happened. Why do they look so scared? I’m not telling a scary lie. At this point, I’ve just made it worse, and fortunately Damien takes mercy, clamping his hand over my mouth as he starts steering me toward the door before I can make it…whatever comes after worse but before the worst. “Thank you,” sounds more like “Mmdi ooooo,” against his hand, but he gets the gist, as he grins. Mom makes a frustrated sound. “Another minute, and she’d be bragging about his penis size in quest to save his dignity. Did you really want to hear that?” Damien asks her, forcing me to groan against his hand.

In chem, Peter sits a row in front of me. I write him a note. Why would you tell Josh that we’re-- I hesitate and then finish with a thing? I kick the back of his chair, and he turns around and I hand him the note. He slouches in his seat to read it; then I watch as he scribbles something. He tips back in his chair and drops the note on my desk without looking at me. A thing? Haha. I press down so hard my pencil tip chips off. Please answer the question. We’ll talk later. I let out a frustrated sigh and Matt, my lab partner, gives me a funny look. After class Peter is swept away with all his friends; they leave in a big group. I’m packing up my backpack when he returns, alone. He hops up on the table. “So let’s talk,” he says, super casual. I clear my throat and try to gather my bearings. “Why did you tell Josh we were--” I almost say “a thing” again, but then change it to “together?” “I don’t get what you’re so upset about. I did you a favor. I could have just as easily blown up your spot.” I pause. He’s right. He could have. “So why didn’t you?” “You’ve sure got a funny way of saying thank you. You’re welcome, by the way.” Automatically I say, “Thank you.” Wait. Why am I thanking him? “I appreciate you letting me kiss you, but--” “You’re welcome,” he says again. Ugh! He’s so insufferable. Just for that I’m going to toss a little dig his way. “That was…really generous of you. To let me do that. But I’ve already explained to Josh that it’s not going to work out with us because Genevieve has you whipped, so it’s all good. You can stop pretending now.” Peter glares at me. “I’m not whipped.” “But aren’t you, though? I mean, you guys have been together since the seventh grade. You’re basically her property.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter scoffs. “There was a rumor last year that she made you get a tattoo of her initials on your butt for her birthday.” I pause. “So did you?” I reach around him and fake try to lift up the back of his shirt. He yelps and jumps away from me, and I collapse in a fit of giggles. “So you do have a tattoo!” “I don’t have a tattoo!” he yells. “And we’re not even together anymore, so can you stop with this shit? We broke up. We’re over. I’m done with her.” “Wait, didn’t she break up with you?” I ask. Peter shoots me a dirty look. “It was mutual.

Here’s a sentence in a book I’m reading: ‘We belong, of course, to a generation that’s seen through things, seen how futile everything is, and had the courage to accept futility, and say to ourselves: There’s nothing for it but to enjoy ourselves as best we can.’ Well, I suppose that’s my generation, the one that’s seen the war and its aftermath; and, of course, it is the attitude of quite a crowd; but when you come to think of it, it might have been said by any rather unthinking person in any generation; certainly might have been said by the last generation after religion had got the knock that Darwin gave it. For what does it come to? Suppose you admit having seen through religion and marriage and treaties, and commercial honesty and freedom and ideals of every kind, seen that there’s nothing absolute about them, that they lead of themselves to no definite reward, either in this world or a next which doesn’t exist perhaps, and that the only thing absolute is pleasure and that you mean to have it — are you any farther towards getting pleasure? No! you’re a long way farther off. If everybody’s creed is consciously and crudely ‘grab a good time at all costs,’ everybody is going to grab it at the expense of everybody else, and the devil will take the hindmost, and that’ll be nearly everybody, especially the sort of slackers who naturally hold that creed, so that they, most certainly, aren’t going to get a good time. All those things they’ve so cleverly seen through are only rules of the road devised by men throughout the ages to keep people within bounds, so that we may all have a reasonable chance of getting a good time, instead of the good time going only to the violent, callous, dangerous and able few. All our institutions, religion, marriage, treaties, the law, and the rest, are simply forms of consideration for others necessary to secure consideration for self. Without them we should be a society of feeble motor-bandits and streetwalkers in slavery to a few super-crooks. You can’t, therefore, disbelieve in consideration for others without making an idiot of yourself and spoiling your own chances of a good time. The funny thing is that no matter how we all talk, we recognise that perfectly. People who prate like the fellow in that book don’t act up to their creed when it comes to the point. Even a motor-bandit doesn’t turn King’s evidence. In fact, this new philosophy of ‘having the courage to accept futility and grab a good time’ is simply a shallow bit of thinking; all the same, it seemed quite plausible when I read it.

Me: ѕоn уоur lаtе fоr dinner gеt hоmе nоw Dad: nо im оn mу wау tо nаrnіа! Mе: уоur drunk аrnt уоu Dad: nо whаt mаkеѕ you thіnk thаt Mе: whеrе do you live then? Dаd: іn a оvеr ѕіzеd muѕhrооm іn ѕmurf vіllаgе ��

I’m super funny? Moon thought. In what universe?

Mandyidontknowwherethespacebaris

уоu hаvе the right tо a bаnаnа. If you can't afford one, a rеаllу crappy one will bе рrоvіdеd to уоu.

world had become. I’d dropped each joy, one by one, not noticing they were gone or really remembering I’d had them at all. I stopped listening to music, stopped dancing, stopped going on country drives. I stopped enjoying food, found no pleasure in good company, but instead a temporary lessening of misery, which made me a super-fun presence. Depression is so talented at turning you from a foodie into someone who wishes they could just eat a compressed nutrition bar every day, except about everything. I started to do and fall in love with all my favorite activities again, with gusto. I remembered what it was to put a new song I loved on repeat, to make little involuntary happy noises when biting into a soft ball of burrata, to push the Miata to 6,000 rpms, to rewrite Carly Rae Jepsen lyrics to be about my dog, to put on heels and a slip to mop while “Dangerous Woman” plays out of the speakers at full volume.

Cаsѕіе: hеу уоu knоw whаt sucks? Me: vассumѕ. Cаѕѕіе: you knоw what sucks in a mеtарhоrісаl sense? Mе: blасk hоlеѕ Cassie: ….уоu knоw what just isn't сооl? Mе: lаvа

Jеnnа: M DRINK

Boyfriend: I miss you babe, I can’t wait to see you again. Woah Potato!!! Lol!! Boyfriend: Damn Autocorrect, I meant woohoo!! Boyfriend: But I think I like it. Woah Potato

Getting a nickname is a very common thing in Australia, and when your friends honour you with one, you don’t have a choice; you have to accept it. I knew a guy at school who was super thin, so he scored the nickname ‘Skin’, for ‘skinny’. My mother’s name is Shirley, but Dad only called her ‘Girl’ and hardly ever said her real name. Either it was because she always looked so young and pretty, or he was playing it safe to avoid slipping up and calling her by a different woman’s name when he was drunk.

Unfortunately, Beck and Adrian weren’t allowed to sleep, either. Maybe two minutes after they’d snuggled into each other, and Adrian was about to get his nap on, there was a relentless pounding on Beck’s door. Beck grabbed something and threw it at the door. Not the lube, Adrian hoped. Whatever it was made a satisfactory thud. “Go the fuck away," Beck bellowed. “What the hell is going on in there? Half the frat is complaining you woke them up. The other half is bitching that you’re having way too much fun and it’s rude to not share with everyone.” Adrian recognized the voice. It was Travis, the frat President, and he sounded super butthurt. “No sharing,” Beck bellowed. “Get your own twink.” “What?” Travis yelled back. Beck got out of bed and flung open the door. On the other side was Travis, and behind him was an assortment of other brothers. Most of them Adrian knew by sight but couldn’t put names to the faces. “Go away,” Beck snarled at Travis. “You’re harshing my afterglow.” “You’re naked,” Travis pointed out. He seemed confused as he looked over Beck’s shoulder and saw Adrian in Beck’s bed. Adrian gave Travis a little wave with his fingers. “And there’s a dude in your bed.” “Thank you, Captain Observation. Go. Away.” “But you’re not gay.” Travis glanced at some of the brothers who stood behind him like he was searching for moral support. “Right?” “None of your fucking business. In future, we’ll try to keep down the noise. I think I need to muzzle the kid. Or maybe just keep my dick in his mouth.” Adrian grinned. He had no idea how long Beck’s attraction would last, but he decided he was gonna ride that gravy train as long as possible. “But then you couldn’t fuck my tight ass, Daddy,” he called out. The brothers outside the room looked shocked, like they were a bunch of middle-aged white women who’d been shown porn for the first time. It was fucking hilarious and Adrian couldn’t help but giggle. Beck turned back to him. “This is true, and your ass is very fine. Ball gag it is.” He turned back to Travis. “Does a ball gag work for you?” “I… what?” Travis’ voice had gone weak and plaintive. It was clear he no longer wished to be a part of the conversation. “A. Ball. Gag. Used for stifling the noises made by twinks who are apparently screamers. I had no idea the kid was gonna be a screamer, Travis. Hell, I had no idea he was hiding in my bathroom, spying on me. But thanks to that glory hole bullshit, I did know that the kid could suck a golf ball through a garden hose and that’s not a skill I think should go to waste. So he’s mine now. He’s gonna move his shit out of the basement and into my room. And he’s mine, you get me? No one lays even the tiniest finger on him. Fuck. Don’t even look at him cross-eyed. Mine. Get your own twinks.

What did you have for lunch?” “Oatmeal and raisins?” he replied tentatively. I walked over and stood in front of Jordan, looking down at him. “You mean oatmeal and raisin cookies?” “Which is oatmeal and raisins, and those are super healthy.

(Investigating was the professional word for snooping.)

8===D

And that's the weirdest thing about being someone's parent: that you are loved in spite of everything that you are. Even astonishingly late in life, people seem incapable of considering that their parents might not be super-smart and really funny and immortal...Perhaps there's a biological reason for that, that up to a certain age a child loves you unconditionally and hopelessly for one single reason: you're theirs. Which is a pretty smart move on biology's part, you have to give it that.

The internet, with its endless streams of information and echo chambers, feeds this natural bias like super fertilizer on a weed.

What kind of father stole their son’s almost-mate?

Humour. Something funny can be a huge help with your visualising. This doesn’t mean you have to be the funniest person in the room, it means use what’s funny to you. When I meet someone called John, for example, I immediately picture him sitting on a toilet. For me that’s funny, for others it may not be—but it is memorable. I believe comedians are often super-creative beings because they find ways to communicate a point and to make it entertaining and unique. If you want to exercise your creativity, why not learn more about comedy?

men thinks women are stupid about finance ,about science and politics. otherwise they think themselves super intelligent. no . I am not saying this from hate or anger ,I am saying this because I have seen such persons around me . if a woman weak in finance ,with a limited budget how they manage households ? or in crisis come up with reserved fund ? they understand loan ,as equal overdraft ,they understand where her signature can protect her respect where might insult . they just pretend to be stupid much time ,that their loved one may feel safe and can be relaxed that their tricks are still unknown . funny . like let them win

hockey

Im James Bond. Im Jason Bourne. Im Super-freaking-Mario come to life.

By the time Chip and I met, he’d managed to combine these two conflicting sides of himself: the kid who steered clear of trouble and did the right thing, and the kid who rode his Big Wheel full speed into the street without looking both ways. I had never met anyone like him. It’s funny to me to think that the whole opposites-attract thing might have been programmed into my DNA. Just as my outgoing mother was drawn to my quiet dad, I was this shy girl drawn to the super-outgoing Chip Gaines. And the fact that he owned a successful lawn and irrigation business and had made up his mind that he loved Waco and wanted to stay put was somehow a perfect fit with everything I knew I wanted myself.

I have the funniest story today Diary! There was a trainer looking for Pokémon at the entrance to my cave and he was a big, mean looking man with a funny golden ear-ring and a bandana with a bunch of blue stripes on it!   “Come out, come out, little Pokémon!” the man had said as he shined his flashlight around the cave. It was the funniest thing to see him searching around on his hands and knees, looking for Pokémon under rocks even!   I thought it would be fun to scare him even more than normal, so I decided to float upside down right behind him and tap him on the shoulder.   When he turned around he shouted super loud and ran off as fast as he could, leaving his bandana and earring behind too! That made me laugh for hours and hours.

What was the very FIRST GAME Mario appeared in? a) Super Mario Bros. b) Donkey Kong c) Super Smash Bros. d) Super Mario World. What is the newest Mario game out today? a) New Super Mario Bros. b) Super Mario Galaxy. What does Luigi say when he wins a race on Mario Cart 64? What is Mario’s last name? a) Costanza b) Italiano c) Mario d) Luigi. Who is the LAST person you play in Mario Party 3 (64 version)? a) Millennium Star b) Waluigi c) Daisy d) Bowser. Correct answers: b b Letsa go (let’s go, here we go) c a. Results: 0 out of 5 – did you play any Mario game at all? The game itself isn’t very complicated. Start playing and you’ll definitely get a higher score. Right now, this is bad. These answers make Mario question his own abilities to do something right. 1 out of 5 – you have probably played Mario games, when someone made you. Come on, you can do way better than this. Even Koopas can get a higher score and you’re way smarter than them. Plus, Princess Peach is most certainly not impressed with this score. 2 out of 5 – well, you’re not totally bad, but you’re also far away from an expert. Let’s just assume you hurried to answer as faster as possible and you made a couple of mistakes. You know what they say, everything gets better with practice. 3 out of 5 – you’re in the middle; still a long way to go to become an expert, but you’re not an amateur at the same time. However, Princess Peach doesn’t want someone who’s going to be happy being “in the middle”. What does this tell you? To do your best, achieve a greater score and, of course, to improve your overall game style as well. 4 out of 5 – very good. You are just one step away from being an expert. If you continue like this, you would be able to do a better job than Mario. You know the game quite well and you would gladly go on an adventure in Super Mario style. 5 out of 5 – expert. Congratulations! You love the game, your favorite pastime is playing Super Mario and let’s face it; you’d give Mario run for his money. You know the game “inside and out” and unlike Mario, you’d actually find princess in the right castle. But, don’t let this get into your head. Always strive to do better. Conclusion Thank you again for downloading this book!  I hope you find the third volume of Super Mario joke book as equally entertaining as previous two volumes. In case you haven’t read Super Mario joke book volumes 1 and 2, this is the perfect opportunity to get those books and see what jokes, memes, and other useful and entertaining info you missed out on. Throughout this book, you got to see various jokes, memes, comics, and read about interesting Mario fun facts you didn’t know before. Besides that, the book also included quiz where you had the opportunity to test your knowledge of Mario games. Hopefully, you got the top score and even if you didn’t, you can always retake the test. This joke book is ideal for all people who love Super Mario and it’s impossible to hate this little, chubby guy. With good humor, funny memes, interesting comics, and special Princess Peach section, this book is everything you need whenever you feel sad, bored, or in the mood for a good laugh. I hope this book was able to help you understand the importance of Super Mario as well as to understand

This stupid toaster is ruining my life!

Eternity is not a super-abundance of time, but timelessness.

that I wasn’t going to make it into the club that day by not getting all my spelling words right. At the time I couldn’t see the humor in it, but now I think about it, I guess it was sort of funny. “Right grade fivey wivies, the last lesson before lunch is a super spelling bee. Everyone gets one word and they need to get it right,” he said. Yuk! I hate spelling. Mom always makes me do these sight words before I’m allowed to go outside and wrestle Fletch, my next door

​“You were with men too long,” I said. “You haven’t found the right woman. Take the dominatrixes at Enthrall. They’re true babes in every sense of the word. They’re smart and funny and sassy and super sexy. Why, I’ll introduce you to one of them, if you like. Not lady Penny, though. She’s married. You might like Mistress Scarlet. She scares the hell out of me, but I think you’d like her.” His gaze stayed on me for the longest time. “You’re the funniest thing I’ve ever met.

In a funny way, you could say he taught me how to write super-hero comics. He said, “What you do is you take a soap opera, and you take out all the sex scenes and replace them with people punching each other. That’s it. It’s the same structure.

But there is another variety of the older child that gets ugly. This is the child who is being resistant in an “eff you” kind of way. This child will look right at you while he’s peeing on the floor. You will know if you have this variety. It will feel aggressive, and you will feel hostage to your child. This behavior needs to be addressed head on. This is not funny and can lead to serious issues later on. You must deal with this as behavior and behavior only. Do whatever you would do as if he looked you right in the eyes and said, “Eff you.” ’Cause that’s kind of what he’s doing. I highly suggest contacting a family therapist if this is happening. This actually is not at all about potty training. I do think it’s serious, and I do think you should seek help and not take it lightly. Bottom line: when you have a child over three, potty training needs to be addressed in a very straightforward manner. It needs to be done, and done now, at almost any cost. The child over three is much more likely to have bigger problems. I know so many parents are fearful of seeming “hard-core”—they don’t want to traumatize their kid. I get that, totally. I never want to see a kid traumatized, either. But in my humble opinion, getting kicked out of kindergarten for potty training issues is a lot more traumatizing than having parents who are super strict now.

The majority of boys think the highest form of creativity is weeing a pattern into snow.

The comedian Jon Stewart, who was more than willing to jump on the Big-Food-is-bad bandwagon, remarked that pink slime should instead be called “ammonia-soaked centrifuge-separated by-product paste.”15 He was working off a popular narrative. He could have instead featured the harm to a family-owned business that was innovating to make food safer and more affordable by preventing food waste. But that’s not very funny.

I WAS INTIMIDATED BY YOU, AND I DONT KNOW WHY I'm an Anxious Idiot™ but your super funny and I wish I weren't shy so we could talk.