Tiki Torch Quotes

I once listened to a woman describe a group of men marching toward her house with sticks lit afire, screaming things like 'git the nigger' and 'kill the nigger bitch.' Those tiki torches weren't about protest. They were about a statement. It said, 'We're still here because we never left.

the waterfall, and the tiki torches, all of these things the stuff of vacations and dreams and impossible to maintain, but then she knew—and this is what was keeping her up, her head careening with something like a toddler’s joy—that she would be going back to that place, the place where all these things happened. She was welcome there, employed there.

None of the men I had in mind were Nazis. None resembled the men who’d marched through Charlottesville with tiki torches shouting, “You will not replace us!” But there was another spin on the game, and this was the one that worried me: Who in a showdown would accept the subjugation of women as a necessary political concession? Who would make peace with patriarchy if it meant a nominal win, or defend the accused for the sake of stability? The answer was more men than I’d been prepared to believe. I’d have to work harder not to alienate them, if only to make it harder for them to sell me out.

... or literally stake your claim with a tiki-torch perimeter (aggressive, but effective).

Some used drugs or alcohol. She used books, and anyone who thought that was childish could go fuck themselves with a Tiki torch.

There are forces that have always attempted, and ultimately failed, to make America static and rigid. But America has proven to be elastic. Our ancestors have always had to push and stretch America to accommodate its many residents and communities. We now have to do our part. If any of you have been active students of US history, you know that with every two steps we march forward toward progress, we always get pushed one step back. The racially anxious men and women with hoods, tiki torches, and business suits will do everything in their power to violently chokehold and drag America back to 1953. This is the year before the Supreme Court in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka ruled that segregation in public schools was unconstitutional. I'm convinced that 1953 is also the year that many enemies of diversity and progress believe America was allegedly "great.

I don’t know what I’d been hoping for, but it was something along the lines of, ‘Sorry I held out on you all these years—Colonel Mustard did it in the chapel with a tiki torch and a bottle of lighter fluid. And, oh yeah, here’s why.’ Clearly,

At some point it’s irresponsible not to connect what a man says with what he does... “Who Goes Nazi,” Dorothy Thompson’s famous Harper’s piece from 1941, sprang to the collective mind... None of the men I had in mind were Nazis. None resembled the men who’d marched through Charlottesville with tiki torches shouting, “You will not replace us!” But there was another spin on the game, and this was the one that worried me: Who in a showdown would accept the subjugation of women as a necessary political concession? Who would make peace with patriarchy if it meant a nominal win, or defend the accused for the sake of stability? The answer was more men than I’d been prepared to believe. I’d have to work harder not to alienate them, if only to make it harder for them to sell me out.

Everyone needed an escape sometimes. Some used drugs or alcohol. She used books, and anyone who thought that was childish could go fuck themselves with a Tiki torch.

Blazing bamboo torches lit the way to the tiki hut beside Sarasota Bay at Mote Marine Aquarium. The thatch-roofed pavilion sheltered wooden picnic tables wrapped with raffia skirting and crowned with centerpieces of conch shells filled with sprays of orchids. Potted palms and red hibiscuses had been placed around the perimeter of the outdoor room. The atmosphere was redolent with roasting pork and salt air. "This is ridic!" exclaimed Piper. "We're never leaving." She scooped a watermelon margarita garnished with a paper umbrella from the tray of a passing server. Jack helped himself to a Captain Morgan on the rocks. "To us," he said, raising his glass. Trays of skewered beef teriyaki and sweet-and-sour chicken were passed.

few months into our relationship, Barack invited me to come home with him to Honolulu over Christmas, so I could see the place where he’d grown up. I immediately said yes. I’d never been to Hawaii. I’d never even imagined getting myself to Hawaii. My only conception of the place was a kind of pop-media fantasy involving ukuleles, tiki torches, grass skirts, and coconuts. My impressions were largely if not entirely derived from the Brady Bunch’s three-episode visit to Oahu in 1972, in which Greg took up surfing, Jan and Marcia wore bikinis, and Alice threw out her back learning to hula. I incorporated what I thought I knew about Hawaii into my daydreams about what spending Christmas there would be like. Barack and I were still in the fantasy stage of our new relationship, so it all felt fitting. We hadn’t yet had a fight.

Here the professor fell silent and looked again at the camera crew. They, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. In anguish, the professor threw his tiki torch to the ground, where it broke into several pieces and went out. “I have come too early, my time is not yet. They have not realized that intelligence is dead, and yet they have done it themselves.

The German philosophical tradition that so deeply informed the outlook of American reformers and intellectuals such as John Dewey and Theodore Roosevelt has in our era split into mutually hostile progressive and nationalist camps that are, in these illiterate times, incapable of understanding the significance of their common intellectual patrimony. But the fact that the lame pudwhackers marching around Portland in black masks and carrying tiki-torches through Charlotte are too bone-deep stupid to appreciate this doesn’t mean that you, dear reader, must choose to be as well.