Wrong Info Quotes

Not enough info makes for a lot of dead cats." "Dead cats?" "You know, 'Curiosity killed the cat.' And I have enough curiosity to start a feline genocide." "Feline genocide?" "Yeah. If you don't explain Apollo, the cat kingdom will crumble. Cats all over the world will suddenly plop down in unmoving masses of fur, their food will dry up in smelly chunks of fish, and when people call, 'Here, kitty kitty kitty,' no cats will come running; they'll just-" Walter suddenly stopped. "What's wrong?" Ashley asked. Walter stared straight ahead. "I just realized . . . if all those things happened, no one would notice the difference." ~Walter~

In other words, people who don’t know better are often wrong by accident, and people who do know better are sometimes wrong on purpose—and whenever a modern news story explodes, everyone recognizes that possibility. But we question this far less when the information comes from the past. It’s so hard to get viable info about pre-twentieth-century life that any nugget is reflexively taken at face value.

Perhaps the most exasperating cliche is about children being forced to memorize, not think. But memorization is not an abomination in itself, though the mnemic pressure on our species has dropped. Memorization is, de facto, exercise for the mind. Neuroscience shows an active hippocampus stimulates cerebral activity. We have often observed how the most profound and creative pupils are those who know the most things, though their usefulness is not always apparent. No question is more insinuating stupid than 'What good will it do to me?' In certain teaching contexts, it is not wrong to ask pupils to memorize. While it is not the only goal the idea that memorizing is useless since information is available online is also wrong and falsely self-obvious. It denotes a misunderstanding of how our mind works. Our brains are not computers, our memory can't be replaced by external HDDs. Each piece of info we memorize is integrated, albeit minimally, as living memory is active, while digital memory is passive. Strange as some may find it, memorizing can stimulate thinking as few other things can. What impairs thinking is the lack of the habit to reflect, the custom of stopping our mind's flow to go back to what we've learned.

Suddenly I realized I was standing on the hot wood of the dock, still touching elbows with Adam, staring at the skull-and-crossbones pendant. And when I looked up into his light blue eyes, I saw that he was staring at my neck. No. Down lower. “What’cha staring at?” I asked. He cleared his throat. “Tank top or what?” This was his seal of approval, as in, Last day of school or what? or, Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders or what? Hooray! He wasn’t Sean, but he was built of the same material. This was a good sign. I pumped him for more info, to make sure. “What about my tank top?” “You’re wearing it.” He looked out across the lake, showing me his profile. His cheek had turned bright red under his tan. I had embarrassed the wrong boy. Damn, it was back to the football T-shirt for me. No it wasn’t, either. I couldn’t abandon my plan. I had a fish to catch. “Look,” I told Adam, as if he hadn’t already looked. “Sean’s leaving at the end of the summer. Yeah, yeah, he’ll be back next summer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to compete once he’s had a taste of college life and sorority girls. It’s now or never, and desperate times call for desperate tank tops.” Adam opened his mouth to say something. I shut him up by raising my hand. Imitating his deep boy-voice, I said, “I don’t know why you want to hook up with that jerk.” We’d had this conversation whenever we saw each other lately. I said in my normal voice, “I just do, okay? Let me do it, and don’t get in my way. Stay out of my net, little dolphin.” I bumped his hip with my hip. Or tried to, but he was a lot taller than me. I actually hit somewhere around his mid-thigh. He folded his arms, stared me down, and pressed his lips together. He tried to look grim. I could tell he was struggling not to laugh. “Don’t call me that.” “Why not?” “Dolphins don’t live in the lake,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this were the real reason. The real reason was that the man-child within him did not want to be called “little” anything. Boys were like that. I shrugged. “Fine, little brim. Little bass.” He walked toward the stairs. “Little striper.” He turned. “What if Sean actually asked you out?” I didn’t want to be teased about this. It could happen! “You act like it’s the most remote poss-“ “He has to ride around with the sunroof open just so he can fit his big head in the truck. Where would you sit?” “In his lap?” A look of disgust flashed across Adam’s face before he jogged up the stairs, his weight making the weathered planks creaked with every step.

An hour later, I’m on my way home when I can’t fucking stand it any longer. I haven’t a clue what I’ll say to Magnolia if she picks up, but I want to try one last time. I pull over to the side of the road and, with my heart in my throat, dial her name. Four rings later, someone picks up. “Maggie, don’t hang up. Please hear me out.” A deep, masculine voice clears his throat. “Is this Michael?” “Who the fuck is this?” He snickers. “Just a friend. Listen, Imma do you a solid. This is not Maggie’s number.” I freeze and try to process his words. I double-check who I dialed, and sure enough, it’s Maggie’s contact info on the screen of my phone. “What do you mean? I’ve left her a million messages. Were they all going to you?” “Yup. And I gotta say, your night sounded hot as hell.” He lets out a whistle. “But I think your girl Maggie got her one-and-done and ghosted ya.” I’m going to be sick. “She didn’t give me her number.” “See? Case in point.” “No, that’s not what I mean. Her brother gave me her number. And I guess… I guess I punched it in wrong. Or I misheard. I don’t fucking know except it’s been weeks now. Jesus, if she wasn’t pissed at me before, she is now.

Spammers and Scammers [Verse] Woke up this mornin' with an email surprise, "Congrats, you’ve won!” Oh, ain't that a prize, Click the link, give your info, they say, But I smelled a rat from a mile away. [Verse 2] Scammers in shadows, lurkin' online, Promisin' riches and love so divine, But I'm not foolin', I know their game, One click away from financial shame. [Chorus] Spammers and scammers, they're all over the net, They’ll steal your money and break your heart, you bet, So if you get a message, remember this song, We're callin' out the tricksters, they ain't winning, they’re wrong. [Verse 3] Got a DM from a prince in despair, Send him cash and he’ll show you he cares, But I ain't buyin' his sob story plot, Keep your jewels, buddy, and your royal yacht. [Chorus] Spammers and scammers, they're all over the net, They’ll steal your money and break your heart, you bet, So if you get a message, remember this song, We're callin' out the tricksters, they ain't winning, they’re wrong. [Bridge] Ain't no free lunch or sudden windfalls, If it sounds too good, you know what’s the call, We’re savvy folks in this digital age, Not a fool to fall for another fake page.

Let’s have a bet, then. If I’m right, you kiss me,” he says. “And if I’m right?” “Name it.” It’s like taking candy from a baby. Mr. Macho Guy’s ego is about to be taken down a notch, and I’m all too happy to be the one to do it. “If I win you take me and the class project seriously,” I tell him. “No teasing me, no making ridiculous comments.” “Deal. I’d feel terrible if I didn’t tell you I have a photographic memory.” “Alex, I’d feel terrible if I didn’t tell you I copied the info straight from the book.” I look at the research I’d done, then flip open to the corresponding page in my chem book. “Without looking, what does it need to be cooled at?” I ask. Alex is a guy who thrives on challenges. But this time the tough guy is going to lose. He closes his own book and stares at me, his jaw set. “Twenty degrees. And it needs to be dissolved at one hundred degrees, not seventy,” he answers confidently. I scan the page, then my notes. Then back at the page again. I can’t be wrong. Which page did I--“Oh, yeah. One hundred degrees.” I look up at him in complete shock. “You’re right.” “You gonna kiss me now, or later?” “Right now,” I say, which I can tell shocks him because his hands go still. At home, my life is dictated by my mom and dad. At school, it’s different. I need to keep it that way, because if I have no control in every aspect of my life I might as well be a mannequin. “Really?” he asks. “Yeah.” I take one of his hands in mine. I’d never be this bold if we had an audience, and am thankful for the privacy of the nonfiction titles surrounding us. His breathing slows as I sit up on my knees and lean into him. I’m ignoring the fact that his fingers are long and rough and that I’ve never actually touched him before. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, though. I’m the one in control this time. I can feel him restraining himself. He’s letting me make the move, which is a good thing. I’m afraid of what this boy would do if he let loose. I place his hand against my cheek so it cups my face and I hear him groan. I want to smile because his reaction proves I have the power. He’s unmoving as our eyes meet. Time stops again. Then I turn my head into his hand and kiss the inside of his palm. “There, I kissed you,” I say, giving him back his hand and ending the game. Mr. Latino with the big ego got bested by a ditzy, blond bimbo.

Let's have a bet, then. If I'm right, you kiss me," he says. "And if I'm right?" "Name it." It's like taking candy from a baby. Mr. Macho Guy's ego is about to be taken down a notch, and I'm all too happy to be the one to do it. "If I win you take me and the class project seriously," I tell him. "No teasing me, no making ridiculous comments." "Deal. I'd feel terrible if I didn't tell you I have a photographic memory." "Alex, I'd feel terrible if I didn't tell you I copied the info straight from the book." I look at the research I'd done, then flip open to the corresponding page in my chem book. "Without looking, what does it need to be cooled at?" I ask. Alex is a guy who thrives on challenges. But this time the tough guy is going to lose. He closes his own book and stares at me, his jaw set. "Twenty degrees. And it needs to be dissolved at one hundred degrees, not seventy," he answers confidently. I scan the page, then my notes. Then back at the page again. I can't be wrong. Which page did I- "Oh, yeah. One hundred degrees." I look up at him in complete shock. "You're right." "You gonna kiss me now, or later?" "Right now," I say, which I can tell shocks him because his hands go still. At home, my life is dictated by my mom and dad. At school, it's different. I need to keep it that way, because if I have no control in every aspect of my life I might as well be a mannequin. "Really?" he asks. "Yeah." I take one of his hands in mine. I'd never be this bold if we had an audience, and am thankful for the privacy of the nonfiction titles surrounding us. His breathing slows as I sit up on my knees and lean into him. I'm ignoring the fact that his fingers are long and rough and that I've never actually touched him before. I'm nervous. I shouldn't be, though. I'm the one in control this time. I can feel him restraining himself. He's letting me make the move, which is a good thing. I'm afraid of what this boy would do if he let loose. I place his hand against my cheek so it cups my face and I hear him groan. I want to smile because his reaction proves I have the power. He's unmoving as our eyes meet. Time stops again. Then I turn my head into his hand and kiss the inside of his palm. "There, I kissed you," I say, giving him back his hand and ending the game. Mr. Latino with the big ego got bested by a ditzy, blond bimbo.

Many people will be confused when they hear about security officers in Los Angeles, CA, and security guards. The general public believes that these are different names for the same function. This is completely wrong because the two have different professions and there are many big differences between guards and security officers in Los Angeles, CA. As we know, in developing countries it is said to be security guards, but in developed countries, you can hear people calling security officers. From this point of view, we can make it clear that the civilian population thinks two words about the same thing. Although the security guard and the security officer have the same responsibilities, including protecting people, property, and information, there are differences in salary, responsibilities, requirements, and experience. Contact information 11500 W. Olympic Blvd. Suite 400, Los Angeles, CA, 90064 (888) 990-0002 Info@ges.net

Perhaps the most exasperating cliche is about children being forced to memorize, not think. But memorization is not an abomination in itself, though the anemic pressure on our species has dropped. Memorization is, de facto, exercise for the mind. Neuroscience shows an active hippocampus stimulates cerebral activity. We have often observed how the most profound and creative pupils are those who know the most things, though their usefulness is not always apparent. No question is more insinuating stupid than 'What good will it do to me?' In certain teaching contexts, it is not wrong to ask pupils to memorize. While it is not the only goal the idea that memorizing is useless since information is available online is also wrong and falsely self-obvious. It denotes a misunderstanding of how our mind works. Our brains are not computers, our memory can't be replaced by external HDDs. Each piece of info we memorize is integrated, albeit minimally, as living memory is active, while digital memory is passive. Strange as some may find it, memorizing can stimulate thinking as few other things can. What impairs thinking is the lack of the habit to reflect, the custom of stopping our mind's flow to go back to what we've learned.

Holiday grinned. "Rumor has it you were the cause of some friction down by the lake." "What friction?" Della asked. "Between Steve and Chris," Holiday said, and wiggled her brows... "No." Della shook her head, sending her shoulder-length black hair swinging. "It wasn't over me. You just heard it wrong." Holiday half grinned and shrugged. "If you say so." She paused and grinned like she knew something no one else did. "Come on. Let's get the dining room whipped into shape for the reception." She draped an arm around each of their shoulders and started walking toward the dining hall. They took about three steps when Della came to a sudden stop. "Really?" she asked Holiday. "It was over me? Chris and Steve were upset with each other over me?" "I told you Steve liked you." Kylie almost chuckled at Della's shock. But Della wasn't listening to Kylie. "You're not shitting me?" Della continued, focusing on Holiday, her head tilted slightly as if listening to see if she was lying. "I swear." Holiday grinned. "My heart won't lie." "They were fighting-?" "I said friction," Holiday corrected. "They're frictioning over me?" She chuckled and then stopped as if to let that piece of info sink in. "No. Not me. It has to be a mistake." But Della's eyes lit up with a spark of self-confidence.

As an instructor, when making such a decision for someone else, you always ask yourself, would I work with that dog? I asked it now, knowing the qualities I look for. I want a dog who is brave, indefatigable and obedient, but also one with enough will and personality to make some decisions themselves. I want a dog who’ll have the confidence to tell me when I’m wrong. Who’ll keep pulling on even when I’m trying to pull the other way because some well-meaning human has given me duff info. In short I’d want a Finn. A dog who never walked in a perfectly straight line for any trials judge but who I knew would protect me till his very last breath. A dog who’d drag me through rivers and streams, thick mud and tangled undergrowth – drag me anywhere, if it meant we’d get our man.

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Taking my hand, she walked out of the room where we found Vaughn and Judd playing pool in the dining room. The guys were deep in silent competition, so we admired their hot bodies quietly. Our giggling finally drew their attention. “Where are we eating?” Vaughn asked, hitting a ball. “We should eat somewhere that preggos can’t enjoy,” I suggested and Tawny grinned. “I think they can’t eat deli meat, but I don’t want that crap.” Tawny searched info on her phone then smiled. “Sushi is supposed to be iffy.” “Barf,” Vaughn said and Judd grimaced. “We should go to a fish place and share a little sushi to celebrate our powerful birth control.” Judd smiled at this comment. “Poor Aaron.” “Screw Aaron,” I grunted. “Lark’s the one carrying two babies.” Vaughn and Judd looked at each other then burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” “He hooks up with a chick whose birth control is defective and ends up with twins,” Vaughn said, walking to me. “Dumb fuck probably didn’t know what hit him.” “He gets to spend his life with an amazing person. Fuck you for laughing at his good luck.” “Don’t go big sis on me, daffodil. One day, I’m knocking you up with twins too. No harm in making double the hot kids.” “I’m still mad.” “Wanna make a baby right now?” he whispered in my ear. “Sushi first.” “Barf.” “We’ll see.” Thirty minutes later, Vaughn proved me wrong. He hated sushi and nearly threw up after trying a bite. Watching him freak-out nearly killed me. I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Tawny was also in hysterics. Like any good friend would, Judd took a picture of a gagging Vaughn with his phone. “Sent it to the crew. You’re welcome.” “Jackass,” Vaughn said, wiping his tongue with a napkin. Calming my laughter, I stroked his ponytail. “Poor baby. I’ll make it up to you later.” Vaughn’s horrified expression immediately shifted into a smirk. “Yeah, you will.

I never got over the shock of discovering that it was basically impossible to burn a blog. No matter how many time I had been caught leaking bad info, spinning, spamming, manufacturing news, it never changed anything. The same bloggers continued to cover my stories and bite when I created the news. They dont mind be deceived, not at all. In fact. it often made for a bonus story behind how we got the story wrong post.

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