Thomas: PHEW! What a funny smell! Can you smell a smell? Annie: I can't smell a smell. Thomas: A funny, musty sort of smell. Gordon: No one noticed it 'til you did. It must be yours. Narrator: Not long ago, he had fallen into a dirty ditch. Thomas enjoyed teasing him about it. Thomas: Annie, Clarabel, do you know what I think it is? It's ditch water! .
I have always been interested in family history. Chromosomes are funny things, aren't they? They may skip a generation and you can find children who resemble the grandfather, rather than either parent. Heredity is more important than environment. Blood will tell. For example, a man is either musical by heredity or he is not. You can't make a man musical by the environment. You can find a person who is very musically inclined and be puzzled because neither parents nor grandparents had any ear for music. But if you trace it back, you will find that the great-grandfather was a musician. But the environment plays a great part in the development of a man. It is significant whether a man is brought up in the city or in the country, near a lake or on the shores of the ocean. .
There are two kinds of sex, classical and baroque. Classical sex is romantic, profound, serious, emotional, moral, mysterious, spontaneous, abandoned, focused on a particular person, and stereotypically feminine. Baroque sex is pop, playful, funny, experimental, conscious, deliberate, amoral, anonymous, focused on sensation for sensation's sake, and stereotypically masculine. The classical mentality taken to an extreme is sentimental and finally puritanical; the baroque mentality taken to an extreme is pornographic and finally obscene. Ideally, a sexual relation ought to create a satisfying tension between the two modes (a baroque idea, particularly if the tension is ironic) or else blend them so well that the distinction disappears (a classical aspiration). .
... they said, "Sir, we want to tell you a joke." I said, "You don't have time to tell me a joke." They said, "Oh, you gotta hear this one." So I came in, they shut the door, and they said, "Here's"— I said, "What's the joke?" I said, "What's the joke?" They said, "9/11. Saddam Hussein. If he didn't do it, too bad. He should've! Because we're gonna get him anyway." I said, "But that's not funny." I said, "That's not very funny." They said, "It sure isn't." .
And when the music goes te-toot, The monkey acts so funny That we all hurry up and scoot To get some monkey-money. M-double-unk for the monkey, M-double-an for the man; M-double unky, hunky monkey, Hunkey monkey-man. Ever since the world began Children danced and children ran When they heard the monkey-man, The m-double-unky man. .
Marl: Oh you think it's funny do you?! You mess up the local economy with your treasure, you upset the balance of nature, you flash your magic around, and because of it maybe somebody's son thinks it's fun and goes out and gets himself killed! It's a bad example and somebody ought to kick your ass for it! Protagonist: Don't get mad at me if "somebody's son" couldn't handle being out from under mom's skirt! Should've taught him to fight instead of dirt-farming! .
And then a funny thing happened to me...except when I think about it, it wasn't very funny at all. There must be a line in all of us, a very clear one, just like the line that divides the light side of a planet from the dark. I think they call that line the terminator. That's a very good word for it. Because at that moment I was freaking out, and at the next I was as cool as a cucumber. .
It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. .
The journalist researches a story. The novelist imagines it. What’s funny is, you’d be amazed at the amount of time a novelist has to spend with people in order to create this single lonely voice. This seemingly isolated world. It’s hard to call any of my novels “fiction.” .
if a girl likes me a lot and starts getting real nervous and suddenly begins asking me funny questions and looks sad if I give the wrong answers and she says things like, "Do you think it's going to rain?" and I say, "It beats me," and she says, "Oh," and looks a little sad at the clear blue California sky, I think: Thank God, it's you, baby, this time Instead of me. .
Rimmer: [discussing his last exam] Lister, last time I only failed by the narrowest of narrow margins. Lister: You what? You walked in there, wrote "I AM A FISH" four hundred times, did a funny little dance and fainted! Rimmer: That's a total lie. Lister: No, it's not. Peterson told me. Rimmer: "No, it's not. Peterson told me." Lister, if you must know, I submitted a discourse on porous circuitry that was too... radical, too unconventional, too mould-breaking for the examiners to accept. Lister: Yeah. You said you were a fish! .
It's funny because a lot of people that know me as a dancer, don't know that I'm a singer, and a lot of people that know I can sing don't know I can dance. And so, I feel like at some point I have to show them both and really be able to display it and showcase it, and put that out there. .
The funny thing is that my husband couldn't be sweeter. He looks like this bad boy. He's got tattoos and earrings and a mohawk, but when you talk to him and he's around you, he's such a gentleman. He holds doors for ladies. He pulls out chairs. He cooks. He cleans. .
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