Tuesday Funny Quotes

Instead of heading for a big mental breakdown, I decided to have a small breakdown every Tuesday evening.

I was getting tired of being in an endless succession of things called "the fight of a lifetime." Just once, I'd like to have the fight of a Tuesday afternoon.

Besides, do you think you would have come if I’d just popped into your tattoo shop one night around closing and said, ‘Hello, I’m the Prince of Darkness. Think you could help me out with a little war next Tuesday, say, sixish?

Charlie waves me on, then leans an elbow on his chair. Propping his head up with a finger by his temple. He's pissed at me. But this is Tuesday and the sky is blue. So everything is as it should be.

It was barely ten in the morning, and Tuesday was already fucked.

It was a Wednesday, I think. Yes, a Wednesday, that miserable day sandwiched between the dreadful Monday and Tuesday and the 'all right' Thursday and Friday, which ultimately gave way to what I hoped woud be a glorious weekend.

But that was last year,” I protested as we walked through school on Tuesday, three days before Halloween. “I’m serious, you know how people are. They forget about things.” “Oh, really?” Roux said, then turned and smiled at a brunette passing us. “Hey, Julia, what’s up? How are things?” “Slut,” Julia responded, and kept walking. Roux just looked back at me knowingly. “You were saying?

Instead of the calendrical terms Monday, Tuesday and so forth, we cheerfully offer the following surrogates. Use them freely and often, for their use honors us all. For Sunday, please use Sunshine. For Monday. pleasy use Monty. For Tuesday, please use Toes. For Wednesday, please use Wetty. For Thursday, please use Thurby. For Friday, please use Fribs. For Saturday, please use Satto-gatto.

Rock and roll, big band, the blues. He loved them all. He would close his eyes and with a blissful smile begin to move to his own sense of rhythm. It wasn't always pretty.

I thought you were a narcissist." Koppel burst into laughter. "I'm too ugly to be a narcissist," he said.

I don’t know how he intends on changing the world. He walks too fast. He’s not very polite. He whistles for no reason! He barely spoke to you the other time he came in here last Tuesday. He acts like he’s so important. His hair is funny. I’m not quite sure how a boy like that will change the world

When Sam told this story to Sadie, she laughed, though she barely seemed to be listening. He had framed the story in a humorous way, smoothed off some of the edges of his hostility toward the woman in the park. But as he told it, he could feel himself back in that dog park. He could feel the dry California heat and the murderous pounding of his heart. Without warning, an anecdote he had meant to be amusing did not feel amusing. Anyone, who had truly looked at Tuesday could not have possibly seen a coyote. But the woman had not truly looked, and the injustice of this hit him. Why was is it acceptable for apparently well-meaning people to see the world in such a general way? Sam was put off by Sadie's laughter. He asked her what was funny. She was confused for a moment---hadn't he wanted her to laugh?---and then she said, annoyed, "You get that this a story about you, right? That's why you lost your mind at a dog park. You're Tuesday. You're the incredibly special dog that no one can classify." It was not long after their huge argument, and things were quite strained between them. Sam told her that she was being reductive, and that her interpretation was insulting to both him and the dog. "It's a story about Tuesday," he insisted. "Maybe it's a story about L.A., too. Maybe it's a story about the kind of people that go to the dog park in Silver Lake. But it's mainly a story about Tuesday." "The text," she said, "perhaps.

Jane got tired of sitting near them and moved, closer to the jarhead. He seemed to be minding his own business, maybe he’d leave her alone. But the jarhead leaned in when she sat, a conspiratorial smile playing across his handsome features. “Didn’t know that when you built up enough seniority at the strip club, you get Tuesdays off, did you?” “Ouch,” Jane replied. “That’s kind of harsh.” The man blushed and Jane felt bad. “Harsh, but funny. They’re a trip. I hope I’m never so ridiculous in public when I decide to get married.” The

Need some help?” He reached for the books in her arms before she could object. “Hey ...” She looked like a viper ready to strike, but then her pupils dilated as she stared up at him. “I’m sorry ... do I know you?” “No.” He offered her a smile, hoping to settle her nerves. He didn’t speak to many women, but when he did, he always got that same staggered expression. “But you looked as though you needed a third hand.” “I don’t think I could manage if I were an octopus.” He laughed. Beautiful and a sense of humor. Most of the women he knew were too serious. “Funny. Are you off to another lecture?” “No ... I’m late for work. I keep telling my boss not to schedule me on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but he doesn’t listen, and then — sorry. TMI. I tend to ramble on, something the professors keep fussing at me about. Thanks. I sent the message, so I can carry my books now. I’m not up on all these new gadgets.” She waved her phone. “This is my first cell phone. I can’t afford it, but I really needed it. ” She smacked her hand over her mouth and reached for her books. “See ... I never shut up.” Derrick couldn’t help but smile. She was so cute. “I’ll walk you to your car. That way if your boss replies, you can respond quickly.” Her eyes narrowed this time, a look he wasn’t accustomed to; the few women he talked to trusted him completely. Even the female professors said he had a wonderful bedside manner. “Umm ... it’s okay. I take the T.” “Would you like a lift, then, so you aren’t late?” She shook her head. “No. Thank you. I appreciate it ... but I don’t even know you.” “Derrick Ashton.” He offered her his hand. The young woman hesitantly extended her slender, creamy-skinned hand. Her hand looked so small and delicate in his larger, olive-skinned hand. “Nice to meet you, Derrick. I’m Janelle Heskin. But still ... ” Derrick released her after a second and lifted his hands in front of him. “I’m harmless, I swear. They wouldn’t have accepted me into medical school if I had a record, and I’m here because I want to help people, and you looked like you needed help.” She

The trainers run so fast sometimes they even run out of their shoes! Caterpie likes to wear the shoes on his head and that can even make grumpy Weedle laugh. I spend most of my time in this big cave where I practice lifting rocks with my mind and telling funny stories to Caterpie and Weedle. Well that’s all the writing I’m going to do today, diary, mostly because it’s only the start of the week! Here’s hoping this week is the most fun it’ll ever be!     Tuesday

Lily pushed up the window and took careful aim at the man who had probably shot Caleb—the fat man with the funny hat. “Drop that gun and let him pass,” she said clearly, “or I’ll blow you into pieces so small they’ll be able to sweep you up and carry you off in that hat of yours.” Caleb grinned at that, despite his wound. When the bandit dropped his rifle into the dust Caleb dismounted, strode over to collect it, and entered the house through the back door. If the others were looking on, they were apparently afraid to move—Lily couldn’t see them from where she stood. Caleb glanced at Baker, still lying unconscious on the floor, his hands bound behind him with a cloth that had part of the word Tuesday embroidered on it. “What happened to him?” “He met up with the big skillet,” Lily answered, peering at Caleb’s wound. “Let me have a look at that.” “It’s nothing,” Caleb answered, shuffling her aside. “How many are there?” “Four, I think,” Lily answered, frowning thoughtfully. “Besides this fellow and the fat man, I mean.” “What do they want?” “Me,” Lily said succinctly. “Can’t blame the poor bastards for that,” Caleb remarked with a wry grin, striding to the gun cabinet and taking out a rifle. “Too bad I’m going to have to kill them.” “Caleb, you’re hurt—let me take care of you.” “That’ll have to wait,” Caleb answered, going to the front window to stand just to one side of it, looking out. “Get out of the middle of the room, Lily, before they take a potshot at you.” Lily ducked behind the wing-backed chair, her teeth biting into her lower lip. The glass in the window shattered in the next instant, and Caleb fired. “Never pays to stand out in the open!” he called to his victim. “Is he dead?” Lily’s fingers were digging into the leather of Caleb’s favorite chair. “No, but his mama will probably never have grandchildren.

Tuesday Man by Stewart Stafford He was only a superhero on Tuesdays, And the rest of the time was his own, Tuesday was the villains' day of rest, Then crime sprees just like Al Capone. He tried to make his Tuesdays longer, By pulling some gruelling all-nighters, But he knew that to be more effective, He'd have to be a 7-day crime-fighter. So, he rearranged his calendar totally, To take the fight to all the baddies, He was on-call from then on, 24/7, Or relaxed playing golf with his caddy. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.

Acknowledgments You hold this book in your hands ◆ because Bonnie Nadell and Austen Rachlis, no matter how many bananas drafts they read (and boy were they bananas), saw what this book could be, and helped me to see it too. Because Naomi Gibbs saw it and brought it fully into itself, and was a joy to work with, like everyone at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt: Larry Cooper, Chrissy Kurpeski, Liz Anderson, Michelle Triant, among others, who took my weird visions and made them manifest, and beautiful. And because Andrea Schulz, years ago, when she first heard about my day job, said, Oh, you should definitely write about that. Thank you, Kayla Rae Whitaker and Amber Sparks, for your words and your kindness. You hold this book because I lived in Boston for eleven years and worked in both fundraising and finance, and had a LOT to process. Thank you, MGH and the Prospect Research Team (2010–2014), especially Angie Morey. I loved the work, but I loved working with you all even more. You are an astounding group of human beings. Thank you, Michael and Deanna Sheridan, Wendy Price, Barry Abrams, Heather Heald, and Eddie Miller, for the years before MGH, the days of RFPs and BlackBerrys (those who know, know). I didn’t always love the work itself, but working with you was a gift, and it changed my life. Thank you, Grub Street, which I am thrilled to work for still; thank you to Michelle Hoover, Alison Murphy, and Chris Castellani, and to all the thoughtful, visionary, funny, and immensely talented writers and people in the Grub universe.

of Business.*11 They’ve completed their humor audits (just as you will—read on!), and now they’re ready to start paying attention to the nuances of humor in their lives—where they see it in the world, what they find funny, who brings it out in them, and how they most naturally express it. Over the course of the semester, our students experience a profound shift. What begins as a sobering, often (very) unfunny first class (remember: “On Tuesday, I did not laugh once. Not once. Who knew a class about humor could be so depressing?”) ends with students reporting significantly more joy and more laughter in their lives. This shift is about more than their becoming funnier: They become more generous with their laughter. They notice opportunities for humor that would otherwise pass them by. The mindset of looking for reasons to be delighted becomes a habit. In a very real way, they learned how to move a little more fluidly, how to exercise with better form, and play their favorite (amateur) sport with better results—just as you will. When you walk around on the precipice of a smile, you’ll be surprised how many things you encounter that push you over the edge. So, repeat after us: “I promise to laugh more. Even on Tuesday.” THE HUMOR AUDIT*12 WHAT DOES HUMOR LOOK LIKE IN MY LIFE? This exercise is intended to spark self-awareness about various aspects of your unique sense of humor, so you can more