Twerk Quotes

She tipped her head back and started laughing, and I started picturing people twerking—everyone in the limo. Quiet Luxen Dude. Rolland. Sadi. All of them bent over, butts in the air, looking like damn fools.

Hannah hadn’t been moving suggestively when she’d belted out Lady Gaga earlier, but she sure as shit is moving suggestively now. She’s gone from Disney Channel Miley Cyrus to Full-on Twerk Mode Miley, and it’s officially time for me to put a stop to it before she moves straight to Let’s Make a Sex Tape Miley. Wait—has Miley ever made a sex tape? Fuck, who am I kidding? Of course she has.

Do I look like I know how to twerk? I'm a small blonde boy.

Let’s just put it this way: I don’t think I’ll be able to twerk my way out of this.— —Don’t know what twerk means, Melanthe.—

crawl thee. twerk for thou.

She shook off her sense of amazement, and tried to pretend she was watching a period play. There was a lot of flirting going on, plenty of fluttering of ivory fans and eyelashes. It was weird to think that in another two hundred years people would flirt by pole dancing, twerking, and sexting. The

If you feel half of what I’m feeling, then you’re so in love with me, you wouldn’t notice if she twerked on your dick in the middle of church.

I FEEL LIKE A Duck Dynasty guy living in a Miley Cyrus world. And to be perfectly honest with you, I feel like I’m getting twerked on by Washington DC.

Brooks, do you need me to explain how printers work? ’Cause twerking isn’t usually required

In a world of seven billion people, where every inch of land has been mapped, much of it developed, and too much of it destroyed, the sea remains the final unseen, untouched, and undiscovered wilderness, the planet’s last great frontier. There are no mobile phones down there, no e-mails, no tweeting, no twerking, no car keys to lose, no terrorist threats, no birthdays to forget, no penalties for late credit card payments, and no dog shit to step in before a job interview. All the stress, noise, and distractions of life are left at the surface. The ocean is the last truly quiet place on Earth.

Cunnilingus is not a three-minute twerking fad, here today junked tomorrow. It is Tchaikovsky. An overture. An operatic experience that makes you high, then takes you higher. Orgasm is the waft of smoke seen at the top of the volcano. As we know, the journey is pure pleasure, the arrival like the Big Bang that created the universe.

Pigs flying. Hell freezing over. Miley planting her twerking ass in a chair and keeping it there as a public service.

We kissed again . . . . My clit began to twerk.

Four women were twerking in my kitchen when I walked inside.

The next time you wait twenty-four hours to answer me and have me thinking all the awful fucking things that could’ve happened to you in New York, I swear I will put you over my lap and spank some goddamned sense into you.” I should probably be annoyed, but his threat turns me on more than anything. I’m also not about to let him forget how this whole situation came about. “Maybe, just maybe, you might want to think twice the next time you answer your door in a towel to a woman who wants your dick.” “I wouldn’t give a single fuck if she showed up naked at my door on her knees. The only woman I want is you.” Lust and adrenaline burn through my veins as I smile. “I know.” His eyes widen a fraction. “What do you mean, you know?” “If you feel half of what I’m feeling, then you’re so in love with me, you wouldn’t notice if she twerked on your dick in the middle of church.

There is no place for the word twerking anywhere on your college application. Ever.

Since we’re exchanging medical info and shit, I disclose my own. “By the way, I have epilepsy. So, if you see me shaking and jerking, that’s not me attempting to twerk.

It wasn't only that my feet ached and I cooked the funkiest meals (they were still so good they'd make you twerk something, but definitely off the wall: macaroni jalapeño burgers and Caribbean jerk lamb tacos).

Kimrean sighted purple caged dancers, mud wrestlers, tattooed devils, G-stringed Atlases erected like Pillars of Hercules out of a liquid crowd waving in worship of ancient twerk masters summoning cellulite tsunamis.

I was grinding away to the climactic moan backtrack when I caught my reflection in the club’s mirror, hips rotating, booty shaking. Years later, Grace described my smooth moves as a sad epileptic white girl’s imitation of a twerk. Harsh. Could anyone look sexy dancing to lyrics that include “Sucky, sucky. Me sucky, sucky”? I don’t think so.

We ain't nothin but a nation of goddamn chickenshit horseshit tattle-tale pissy-ass whiney, fat, flabby out-of-shape Facebook-lookin damn twerk-fest, peekin out the windows and slippin around listenin in on the cell phones and spyin in the peephole and peepin in the crack of the goddamn door and listenin to the fuckin shit rock, you know Mr. Putin please, show some fuckin mercy - I mean c'mon drop the fuckin bomb won't you.

She breaks into some remixed version of the funky chicken on crack before trying to twerk. And while that dance should not be performed by anyone – man, woman, or child—Ally most definitely should never, ever try it. At first I think she’s got butt cramps. Or her ass fell asleep and she’s trying to wake it up. I can’t even begin to ask, too overcome with hilarity to form coherent words. Shit, even I’m snorting a little.

Scoping myself out in my standup mirror, I turned and gently twerked.

Title: Professional Bridesmaid for Hire—w4w—26 (NYC) Post: When all of my friends started getting engaged, I decided to make new friends. So I did—but then they got engaged also, and for what felt like the hundredth time, I was asked to be a bridesmaid. This year alone, I’ve been a bridesmaid 4 times. That’s 4 different chiffon dresses, 4 different bachelorette parties filled with tequila shots and guys in thong underwear twerking way too close to my face, 4 different prewedding pep talks to the bride about how this is the happiest day of her life, and how marriage, probably, is just like riding a bike: a little shaky at first, but then she’ll get the hang of it. Right, she’ll ask as she wipes the mascara-stained tears from her perfectly airbrushed face. Right, I’ll say, though I don’t really know. I only know what I’ve seen and that’s a beautiful-looking bride walking down, down, down the aisle, one two, three, four times so far this year. So let me be there for you this time if: — You don’t have any other girlfriends except your third cousin, twice removed, who is often found sticking her tongue down an empty bottle of red wine. — Your fiancé has an extra groomsman and you’re looking to even things out so your pictures don’t look funny and there’s not one single guy walking down the aisle by himself. — You need someone to take control and make sure bridesmaid #4 buys her dress on time and doesn’t show up 3 hours late the day of the wedding or paint her nails lime green. Bridesmaid skills I’m exceptionally good at: — Holding up the 18 layers of your dress so that you can pee with ease on your wedding day. — Catching the bouquet and then following that moment up with my best Miss America–like “OMG, I can’t believe this” speech. — Doing the electric and the cha-cha slide. — Responding in a timely manner to prewedding email chains created by other bridesmaids and the maid of honor.

du trou. Vous entrez dans un livre comme dans un lac de douleur noir et glacé. Mais au fond de celui-ci, vous surprenez soudain l’air joyeux d’une fête : tangos de cachalots, zouks d’hippocampes, twerks de tortues, moonwalks de céphalopodes géants. Au commencement est la mélancolie, la mélancolie d’être un homme ; l’âme qui saura la regarder jusqu’à son fond et la faire résonner en chacun, cette âme seule sera l’âme d’un artiste – d’un écrivain.

knew from experience that most people who met me in my itty-bitty town saw me as a representative of the entire black race from African Americans to Black Cubans. I knew anything I did wrong would be a permanent strike against the Black race. This was a lesson I learned from pretty much everywhere: media stereotypes, offhanded comments from strangers and family members, the fact that white people could get away things with black people couldn’t. A recent example would be the praise Miley Cyrus received for doing the black dance known as twerking (“dance move that involves a person shaking their hips and bottom in a sexually provocative manner”) in a video, yet the YouTube comments on videos of black girls twerking condemn them as shameful and disgraces to their races.

I tried to turn it off and he screamed his head off until it was back on. The radishes were twerking.” “How does a radish twerk?

These young folks, with that twerking, I thought, just like an old fart.

Thanks to you, I now know what twerking is, and I deeply long for my OWN time when a flash of ankle was considered lewd.

She’s gone from Disney Channel Miley Cyrus to Full-on Twerk Mode Miley, and it’s officially time for me to put a stop to it before she moves straight to Let’s Make a Sex Tape Miley. Wait—has Miley ever made a sex tape? Fuck, who am I kidding? Of course she has.

At first I was excited to go, because I thought I’d been invited to a net twerking event. Imagine how surprised everyone at the networking event was when I showed up in short shorts and fishnet stockings. Still, I walked away with a lot of new contacts—and a wad of dollar bills stuffed in my thong.

Twerk” can be found in the Oxford English Dictionary since 1820.

But the best part—and I say best with utter and unmistakable disgust—is me tearing around the stage screaming, ‘No more wire hangers,’ while the cast twerks in terror.” Finally I’d rendered them mute. They didn’t laugh. They didn’t snicker. They didn’t go for their balls. The cats simply stared in shock.

Don't needlessly draw attention to yourself. If you're twerking on the beach, a circling pteracuda could mistake you for a wounded animal.

So, let’s assume for a moment that you’re a typical American voter: you care more about Miley Cyrus twerking on the Video Music Awards than you do about the vagaries of Obamacare. Let’s assume all you’ve really seen about the elections is the coverage in the mainstream press and what the candidates said about each other during the debates.

Alyssa shrugged. “I think we know the routine.” “You do, but there’s still a…stiffness because y’all aren’t completely comfortable with it, and it shows in your dancing.” Ashton held up a finger. “Everyone close your eyes, relax your shoulders, and just feel the breeze that’s blowing across the field right now.” Ashton closed her eyes and waved her arms around slowly. “You’re a tree, and the gentle wind is swaying your branches. Let it sway you.” What Ashton didn’t know was that no one did as she instructed. The girls and Patty stood there watching Ashton sway her arms. “Coach, you look like the inflatable tube man they have at the new carwash, and you’re scaring me,” Sophie said, looking disturbed. Ashton’s eyes flew open. “I better see some people doing the inflatable tube man pretty darn quick.” The girls all threw up their arms and flopped them around violently, and Ashton said, “Y’all are killing me. Show me how y’all would dance if you were at a party.” She covered her face with both hands when they all started twerking. “Okay, just stop. Gemma, run them through the moves again.” “What were you trying to accomplish with all that?” Patty asked with a grin. “I was trying to get them to loosen up,” Ashton said and glanced at her watch. “This day is creeping by.” “You should’ve dusted off your snake and showed them that. If you can do a smooth snake, you can make any dance move smooth. Check my snake.” Ashton shook her head. “That’s not a full-on snake. You have to roll your body from your head to your hips, use your neck like this.” “You were always better at this one than I was,” Patty said as she mimicked Ashton’s moves. “You couldn’t touch my Cabbage Patch though.” Ashton snorted. “That sounded so dirty. Come on, Patty, neck and shoulders, work them.” Ashton turned when the music stopped and realized the girls had stopped practicing to watch her and Patty. “What’re y’all doing?” Gemma asked with a laugh. “This is dancing,” Patty retorted. “Back in the day, we moved our entire bodies instead of rhythmically humping the air like y’all do. Tell you what, if y’all can learn to do the snake, I’ll buy y’all shakes at Molly’s.” Every girl on the team executed the dance move perfectly, and Gemma grinned. “Momma, we know old school moves.” Melody nodded. “Yeah, we know all those old-timey dances. Can we go to Molly’s now?” “What were you trying to accomplish with this plan?” Ashton asked Patty with a grin. “Apparently, bankruptcy.” ******* “How many times are you gonna change your clothes?” Jet asked that evening as she watched Shawna go back into her closet. Shawna groaned. “Everything I put on is pissing me off.” “Wear jeans and your light blue V-neck T-shirt. You’re just going to her house, you don’t have to dress up.” Jet sprawled out on Shawna’s bed and toyed with the TV remote.

I LOOK OUT MY WINDOW AND SEE MY NEIGHBOR TWERKING

The way they isolate, control, and twerk the booty is revolutionary.

Bet ya’ moms woulda twerked for MLK if he came down 138th and the Grand Concourse.

Girl, you better put on your best thong and twerk on that dick. Fuck that hoe!" This girl started gyrating in her chair, and we fell out laughing, not realizing that Shawn and Cannon both were in the room as he held Aniya in his arms.

Four months ago I might have come with you Touya. But I have been taught a lot since then. I have learned about friendship, and jokes..." He smiled, slightly starting Dabi. "Conspiracy theories, LGBTQ... memes, coffee, twerking... I was shown what love truly was..." Shoto turned to look into those icy blue eyes. "I have lived more in the last four months than I have in the rest of my life... and there is so much more to it than punishing our father. Izuku and I will take him down, and the corrupt system that allowed him to do what he did to me, and to you. But even if he somehow gets away from that... I will still stand by the people who love me... who got my heart beating again, who got me to laugh for the first time in so long-" He stopped when Dabi laughed and ruffled his hair. "What?" The older man grinned. "You've made my year Shoto... I know I'll never be able to make up for never coming back for you. But I am so happy you've found where you belong." Shoto swallowed, his eyes felt tingly but he blinked rapidly and it went away. "I have.

I weigh a hundred and eighty pounds. This weighs less than a quarter of Hector. Do you remember why we use the backpack for training?" She looked sidelong. “Because you’re a fatass?” I mock-scowled, and reached back to grab my butt. “I’ll have you know that my ass is a supple, perky marvel of nature, young lady.” Karalti play-bowed to me, tail lashing with mirth. “Yeah! Because it’s fat!” I narrowed my eyes. “If you want to make your stand on that hill, be prepared to die on it, because I will twerk on you.” Dragons were intensely visual creatures, and the rant made Karalti squeal with laughter and cover her eyes. How she knew what twerking was, I’ll never know. “Aaaaghhh, whyyy??!” “Me and my perfect ass have no shame whatsoever, and you will regret ever questioning the mass and might of my posterior. Now, unless you want to see Uncle Hector crack walnuts with his buttcheeks, try again,” I said.

Anyone who drinks coffee craves it, needs it, and shakes, scratches, jerks, and twerks for it every minute it’s not coursing through their collapsed veins.

A naked clown could have twerked half a meter away from her face and the only way she could have guessed would have been that it smelled funny.

I like Tango. Why? People who tango don’t do it from the place of ego. They do not come to show off like people who twerk. My point is, finding people in the truth and integrity of their sensuality is very rare. There’s so much performative sensuality today and it’s empty.

Muslim Women Play Bingo IF YOU’RE A MUSLIM woman playing this special version of bingo, you’ve probably heard it all before. The Why can’t you drink wine? It must be so hard to be you to the Oh. My. God. So-and-so said you drink wine. You will burn in hell, sister. But I’ll pray for you. If you’re not a Muslim woman, welcome to our world. From the Islamophobic to the absurd—and often an asinine mixture of the two—Muslim women endure ignorant comments the world over. Sometimes they come from our own, sometimes they come from non-Muslims who harbor misconceptions about what it means to be a Muslim woman and assume we are oppressed and overheated beneath our chadors and hijabs, or else wildly rebellious and confusing (to them) when we twerk in booty shorts on the dance floor.

Spoken word performer Prince Ea remarked, “Kids don’t play tag, they play twerk videos. The average person watches five hours of television a day. And it’s more violence on the screen than ever before. Technology has given us everything we could ever want. And at the same time stolen everything we really need.”734

What are you NOT working on that you should?

Twerking to obscene lyrics and advertising a romance book between you and a deranged killer. It’s like you’re begging to be raped.

Come on, love. Dance with me,” she stated, bending over and twerking in my face. “I will, but first, I need to show my appreciation for this view.