Time hath a wallet at his back, wherein he puts. Alms for oblivion, a great-sized monster of ingratitudes.
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Why shouldn't I work for the NSA? That's a tough one. But I'll take a shot. Say I'm workin' at the NSA and somebody puts a code on my desk, somethin' no one else can break. Maybe I take a shot at it and maybe I break it and I'm real happy with myself cause I did my job well, but maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East and once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels are hiding, fifteen hundred people I never met, never had no problem with get killed.
Now the politicains are sayin' 'Oh send in the marines to secure the area, cause they don't give a shit, won't be their kid over there gettin' shot just like it wasn't them when their number got called cause they were all pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some kid from Southy over there takin' shrapnel in the ass. He comes back to find that the plant he used to work at, got exported to the country he just got back from, and the guy that put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job cause he'll work for 15 cents a day and no bathroom breaks.
Meanwhile, he realises the only reason he was over there in the first place was so that we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price, and ofcourse the oil companies use a little skirmish over there to scare up domestic oil prices, a cute little ancilliary benefit for them, but it ain't helpin' my buddy at 2.50 a gallon. Their takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, of course maybe they even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martini's and fuckin' play slolum with the icebergs. It ain't to long til he hits one, spills the oil, and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic... so now my buddy's out of work, he can't afford to drive, so he's walkin' to the fuckin' job interviews which sucks cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him cronic hemroids and meanwhile, he's starvin' cause everytime he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special their serving is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State....
so what did I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. I figure fuck it, while Im at it why not just shoot my buddy, take his job, give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe, and join the National Guard. I could be elected President.
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Tomorrow comes to us at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives, and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we've learnt something from yesterday.
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Charlie Dad, how can you hate The Colonel Stuart Because he puts an addictive chemical in his chicken that makes ya crave it fortnightly, smartass
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It's just like when you've got some coffee that's too black, which means it's too strong. What do you do? You integrate it with cream, you make it weak. But if you pour too much cream in it, you won't even know you ever had coffee. It used to be hot, it becomes cool. It used to be strong, it becomes weak. It used to wake you up, now it puts you to sleep.
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Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.
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'A truck driver was driving along on the freeway. A sign comes up that reads, ' Low Bridge Ahead.' Before he knows it, the bridge is right ahead of him and he gets stuck under the bridge. Cars are backed up for miles. Finally, a police car comes up. The cop gets out of his car and walk s to the truck driver, puts his hands on his hips and says, 'Got stuck, huh?' The truck driver says, 'No, I was delivering this bridgeand ran out of gas.'
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Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday.
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'A truck driver was driving along on the freeway. A sign comes up that reads, ' Low Bridge Ahead.' Before he knows it, the bridge is right ahead of him and he gets stuck under the bridge. Cars are backed up for miles. Finally, a police car comes up. The cop gets out of his car and walk s to the truck driver, puts his hands on his hips and says, 'Got stuck, huh?' The truck driver says, 'No, I was delivering this bridgeand ran out of gas.'
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We love the guy to death. He's a great coach and a great mind. He's done so much for this defense and helped us out tremendously with his wisdom and knowledge. When he puts together a game plan we feel like, if we execute it, we have a great chance to win the game.
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We worship not the Graces, nor the Parcae, but Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head monkey at Paris puts on a traveler's cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same.
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Quarterbacks get paid to win, ... That's how I evaluate him. It's a bottom-line business. It's about winning. . . . We played in a very tight game. I think that's good for you. It puts anxiety in your gut, and we needed that.
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If I refuse My study for their politique, Which at the best is trick, The angry Muse Puts confusion in my brain.
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Unless a man believes in himself and makes a total commitment to his career and puts everything he has into it - his mind, his body, his heart - what's life worth to him
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With crayons the child draws a rigid house and a winding pathway. Then the child puts in a man with buttons like tears
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I had to go for it and try to go for a birdie or, best part, eagle, ... Then he puts the ball on the green on 17 and it was over.
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The most durable thing in writing is style, and style is the most valuable investment a writer can make with his time. It pays off slowly, your agent will sneer at it, your publisher will misunderstand it, and it will take people you have never heard of to convince them by slow degrees that the writer who puts his individual mark on the way he writes will always pay off.
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Suicide may also be regarded as an experiment -- a question which man puts to Nature, trying to force her to answer. The question is this: What change will death produce in a man's existence and in his insight into the nature of things? It is a clumsy experiment to make; for it involves the destruction of the very consciousness which puts the question and awaits the answer.
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Ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing is performed in the same posture with creeping.
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Be peaceful, be courteous, obey the law, respect everyone but if someone puts his hand on you, send him to the cemetery.
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If you lose a game you're not going to sleep, or even if you win sometimes because there's always the next game. It's a lot of wear and tear on your mind. Some of the series you could be down or facing elimination, and that puts stress on you. You have to bear down with it and prepare yourself for your next shift.
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Be peaceful, be courteous, obey the law, respect everyone; but if someone puts his hand on you, send him to the cemetery.
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Just a hurried line...to tell a story which puts the contrast between *our* feast of the Nativity and all this ghastly Xmas racket at it's lowest. My brother heard a woman on a 'bus say, as the 'bus passed a church with a Crib outside it, Oh Lor' They bring religion into everything. Look- they're dragging it even into Christmas now
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How amazing it is to be alive Anyone who lives and breathes and puts both feet on the ground, What possible reason could he have for envying the gods
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I believe we are still so innocent. The species are still so innocent that a person who is apt to be murdered believes that the murderer, just before he puts the final wrench on his throat, will have enough compassion to give him one sweet cup of water.
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If the report contains expert assessment, there will be nothing left to worry about. However, if the report comes out and somehow puts pressure on Iran or speaks with a language of threats, naturally Iran will not abandon its rights and it is prepared for all possible situations and has planned for it.
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Being plied with fine food always puts me in mind of the slammer, cause the food was jumpin' in there too--high in fat but nice and salty. You know what the worst deprivation in there was My music. Radio belonged to my cell mate, the Blonde Hammer. He was into that jazz-fusion thing at the time. I tell you what, enough Spyro Gyra and you're hoping you'll get killed in a knife fight.
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Experiences are savings which a miser puts aside. Wisdom is an inheritance which a wastrel cannot exhaust.
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The government (is) extremely fond of amassing great quantities of statistics. These are raised to the nth degree, the cube roots are extracted, and the results are arranged into elaborate and impressive displays. What must be kept ever in mind, however, is that in every case, the figures are first put down by a village watchman, and he puts down anything he damn well pleases.
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Life baffles and seems almost to mock. It refuses long to remain consistently one thing or another and it seldom puts us into one mood without...
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