You Are My Mvp Quotes

Are you really moving that again?” he asked. “I don’t know. Do you think it looked better where it was before?” “Yeah, I do, considering there’s already holes in the wall where it was.” I narrowed my eyes. “Kidding…put it wherever it makes you happy.” “Sebastian,” I said, stomping my foot. “Ysabelle,” he mocked, stomping his foot. “You haven’t helped at all and every time I ask you for your opinion you don’t care.” He smiled. “You’re right, I don’t.” I glared at him. “Ysa, I have a dick, which means I don’t give a fuck where anything goes. Do what makes you happy.” I

Our youngest writer was Donald Glover. He had just graduated from NYU’s writing program and was still living in a dorm and working as an RA. Donald was our only African American writer at the time, but his real diversity was that he was our only “cool young person” who could tell us what the “kids were listening to these days.” Also, because he came from a large family in Georgia, he was very helpful in writing for the character Kenneth the Page. MVP joke: a scene where Jenna (Jane Krakowski) is trying to teach Kenneth (Jack McBrayer) how to brag about himself in a passive-aggressive way. JENNA Not even a “back door” brag? KENNETH What’s a “back door” brag? JENNA It’s sneaking something wonderful about yourself into everyday conversation. Like when I tell people, “It’s hard for me to watch ‘American Idol,’ because I have perfect pitch.” KENNETH Oh… ew. JENNA Now you try. KENNETH It’s hard for me to watch “American Idol” ’cause there’s a water bug on my channel changer. It’s hard for me to pinpoint what I like most about that joke. Is it that Kenneth is truly incapable of bragging? The revelation that Kenneth’s apartment is crawling with water bugs? No, I think it’s the use of the grandmotherly expression “channel changer.

By the way, congratulations, Mr. M.V.P.” “What?” I cross my arms. “I didn’t win MVP, Zach. You did.” “I know.

We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” The statement was vague, but Ilya understood. “Yes. If you want to try this, I will do what I need to do.” “I will too. Anything. I want this. I want us.” Ilya brushed Shane’s hair out of his eyes. “Then I am moving to Ottawa, I think.” “And we’re starting a charity.” “And we will become friends.” “And we’ll see each other all the time. As much as possible. And spend the summers together. Here.” “Yes.” They kissed again. Ilya couldn’t believe they had solved this impossible problem. Maybe it wouldn’t go as smoothly as they imagined, but it was a plan. “And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—” “The hell you will.” “And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...” Shane laughed. “Okay.” “Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...” “That sounds like a fire hazard.” “Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.” “Oh, is it a clear night?” “Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—” “Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’” Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.” “And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.” “No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.” - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry

We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” The statement was vague, but Ilya understood. “Yes. If you want to try this, I will do what I need to do.” “I will too. Anything. I want this. I want us.” Ilya brushed Shane’s hair out of his eyes. “Then I am moving to Ottawa, I think.” “And we’re starting a charity.” “And we will become friends.” “And we’ll see each other all the time. As much as possible. And spend the summers together. Here.” “Yes.” They kissed again. Ilya couldn’t believe they had solved this impossible problem. Maybe it wouldn’t go as smoothly as they imagined, but it was a plan. “And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—” “The hell you will.” “And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...” Shane laughed. “Okay.” “Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...” “That sounds like a fire hazard.” “Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.” “Oh, is it a clear night?” “Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—” “Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’” Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.” “And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.” “No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.

Martin let himself out of his seatbelt and quickly stood in the back seat, holding on to the back of my chair. I felt his cold little lips at my cheek. “Thanks for dinner, shawtie. You da real MVP, Ms. Kenny.” My