Vlogger Quotes

A million years ago - some hairy bastard daubed a horse on the wall of his cave, he saw it, he drew it - well done! Flash forward: 'Hello, welcome to my vlog. Today I bought a plum

Cultivate an environment fertile for good habits to flourish

A personal budget is a manifestation of your decision to grab your finances by the balls

Shane Dawson, a leading vlogger, said, “They give Vine stars movies. What ? If you put all their content together, it’s three minutes. Vine makes me kind of sad—I’m nervous that will turn into what content is.

Far from destroying our most well-loved works of fiction, abandoning assumptions of the whiteness of our characters infinitely expands all of the fictional universes, whether it be the wizarding world or the Star Wars galaxy. As vlogger Rosianna Halse Rojas points out,10 reading Harry Potter’s Hermione as black is a whole different ball game. It brings to light the incredibly racialised language of blood purity used in the wizarding world, of mudbloods and purebloods. This is terminology that could have been easily lifted straight from Nazi Germany or apartheid South Africa. Hermione’s parents were muggles after all, and that is how states and scientists have categorised races and fuelled racism – as though some heritages are contagious and are spread through lineage and blood. A black or mixed-race Hermione enduring spat-out slurs of ‘mudblood’ from her peers, plucked from her parents, told she’s special and part of a different race altogether, might be very keen to assimilate, to be accepted. No wonder she tried so hard. No wonder she did her friends’ homework, and was first to raise her hand in class. She was the model minority. A black or mixed-race Hermione agitating to free house elves, after six or seven years of enduring racial slurs, might not have the courage to challenge her peers, and instead might have hung on to something she felt she really could change.

And then someone asks if Callum is as skilled in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen. That's when my blood turns to magma. I slam my hand on top of the metal countertop. "Listen the hell up!" My shout silences every last one of the vloggers. The high schooler looks on with a shocked expression and mutters, "Yes, ma'am." "My personal life isn't up for discussion. I'm also not interested in name-dropping any of you in a commercial when you've been harassing me and my customers every day since the festival. I'm here to cook and serve food, and you goddamn piranhas are crowding around my truck, making it impossible for my mother and me to serve our customers. Either get the hell out of the way so my customers can order, or else." There's silence, followed by soft mutters. A scrawny, white guy in the back of the crowd tucks his phone into his pocket and crosses his arms, stubborn written across his frown. "Or else what?" Leaning my head back, I puff out all the hot air pent up in my body. He's the pissant who asked about Callum's bedroom performance. I swipe a bottle of lemon-lime soda from the counter and give it a dozen of the most violent shakes I can manage. I stomp out of the truck and up to the offending vlogger. Even when I'm standing two inches from him, he has the audacity to smirk. But when I twist off the cap, a stream of soda smashes him square in the face. My frustration dissipates with each violent burst of carbonated liquid.

Mom knew everyone’s name. She’d whisper it to me before they got to the bottom of the steps. Foreign princes and dignitaries, real estate moguls and politicians, actors. There was even a famous vlogger here, a big donor for the ALS clinical trials Royaume was doing.

Everything is content these days, but I think there should be a law that forbids people from using their spouses, partners, family and children as content to further their own careers. Getting engagement, trend or to get attention. Let kids be kids. Kids or children don’t have privacy anymore. Their whole life is out there online without their concern. Old people and family don’t have privacy. There is no privacy anymore. Everywhere you go someone is holding a camera or video capturing you without your concern . They make you participate in what their doing unlawfully. Some even provoke you so they can get your reactions on tape. You should not put someone online who doesn’t want to be online. This also go to pranks as well. Internet never forgets . Once something is out there. It can make their lives hard in future. Most of the things online are taken out of context and are edited to suite a certain narrative. Do your content but respect people boundaries and privacy.

Rifiuti e oggetti abbandonati completano il paesaggio desolato e pittoresco che un urban vlogger avrebbe sicuramente monetizzato benissimo ai tempi in cui Youtube ancora valeva qualcosa. Cinque anni prima dell’apocalisse, circa. Sorrido a pensare che, se ancora esistesse internet, camminare in mezzo agli zombie sarebbe parte delle morning routine di praticamente chiunque. Mi immagino una squinzia con l’ukulele raccontare quali prodotti per mantenere morbida la pelle possono essere usati come deterrente per essere ingurgitati dai mostri. Mi sarebbe molto utile, visto come sono ridotto in questo periodo.

Media-type blogs The type of media they use to express their thoughts online defines these blogs. For instance, a blog that consists of content in the form of photographs is called as a photoblog. A vlogger is a blogger who uses videos to share his/her thoughts. An artblog consists of sketches and other artwork by the blog owner. Blogs that express content in the form of comics are called comic blogs.

Hello diary Bart here. I bought this diary at a village auction. The price was 8 emeralds and I bought it. I am just a lonely wandering trader travelling the overworld by myself. I am always running away from mobs, but I want to attack them and kill them. Anyways I am in this small mountain biome village and I found an inn. It was only bright morning, so I decided to find a blacksmith to trade an iron sword for. I was walking around the village and I finally found a blacksmith setting up a stall in case a player came by so he could sell his goods.

it’s my amazing boyfriend Gale. Ta-dah! [I got a guy from Emma’s theatre group who could play ‘Gale’ at short notice. He’s actually called Callum

In one life she was a travel vlogger who had 1,750,000 YouTube subscribers and almost as many people following her on Instagram, and her most popular video was one where she fell off a gondola in Venice. She also had one about Rome called 'A Roma Therapy'. In one life she was a single parent to a baby that literally wouldn't sleep. In one life she ran the showbiz column in a tabloid newspaper and did stories about Ryan Bailey's relationships. In one life she was the picture editor at the National Geographic. In one life she was a successful eco-architect who lived a carbon-neutral existence in a self-designed bungalow that harvested rain-water and ran on solar power. In one life she was an aid worker in Bostwana. In one life a cat-sitter. In one life a volunteer in a homeless shelter. In one life she was sleeping on her only friend's sofa. In one life she taught music in Montreal. In one life she spent all day arguing with people she didn't know on Twitter and ended a fair proportion of her tweets by saying 'Do better' while secretly realising she was telling herself to do that. In one life she had no social media accounts. In one life she'd never drunk alcohol. In one life she was a chess champion and currently visiting Ukraine for a tournament. In one life she was married to a minor Royal and hated every minute. In one life her Facebook and Instagram only contained quotes from Rumi and Lao Tzu. In one life she was on to her third husband and already bored. In one life she was a vegan power-lifter. In one life she was travelling around South Corsican coast, and they talked quantum mechanics and got drunk together at a beachside bar until Hugo slipped away, out of that life, and mid-sentence, so Nora was left talking to a blank Hugo who was trying to remember her name. In some lives Nora attracted a lot of attention. In some lives she attracted none. In some lives she was rich. In some lives she was poor. In some lives she was healthy. In some lives she couldn't climb the stairs without getting out of breath. In some lives she was in a relationship, in others she was solo, in many she was somewhere in between. In some lives she was a mother, but in most she wasn't. She had been a rock star, an Olympics, a music teacher, a primary school teacher, a professor, a CEO, a PA, a chef, a glaciologist, a climatologist, an acrobat, a tree-planter, an audit manager, a hair-dresser, a professional dog walker, an office clerk, a software developer, a receptionist, a hotel cleaner, a politician, a lawyer, a shoplifter, the head of an ocean protection charity, a shop worker (again), a waitress, a first-line supervisor, a glass-blower and a thousand other things. She'd had horrendous commutes in cars, on buses, in trains, on ferries, on bike, on foot. She'd had emails and emails and emails. She'd had a fifty-three-year-old boss with halitosis touch her leg under a table and text her a photo of his penis. She'd had colleagues who lied about her, and colleagues who loved her, and (mainly) colleagues who were entirely indifferent. In many lives she chose not to work and in some she didn't choose not to work but still couldn't find any. In some lives she smashed through the glass ceiling and in some she just polished it. She had been excessively over- and under-qualified. She had slept brilliantly and terribly. In some lives she was on anti-depressants and in others she didn't even take ibuprofen for a headache. In some lives she was a physically healthy hypochondriac and in some a seriously ill hypochondriac and in most she wasn't a hypochondriac at all. There was a life where she had chronic fatigue, a life where she had cancer, a life where she'd suffered a herniated disc and broken her ribs in a car accident.