The cookie-cutter liberal, the standard operating procedure liberal, is really a giant ignoramus. I mean that seriously. They're really ignorant.
What are you doing here?” [ndr prison] Selling Girl Scout cookies,” I said. “Want some? The Samoas are terrific.” (Max II to Max)
I cannot read a fortune cookie without breaking down and crying. I am sensitive.
As we're standing there I realize we're almost exactly the same height. We must look like the dark and light side of an Oreo cookie, and I think how just as easily it could have been the other way around. She could be blocking my path; I could be trying to slip around her into the dark.
I got one entire song from fortune cookies (Land of Sunshine). On another one, I took words from different Frank Sinatra songs and pasted them together. Another one, I was just driving around and there was a piece of paper on the ground, so I stole it.
this blue shirt i have is practically the same color as my jeans, and looking all-blue is something only cookie monster can pull off.
I will not eat cakes or cookies or food. I will be thin, thin, pure. I will be pure and empty. Weight dropping off. Ninety-nine... ninety-five... ninety-two... ninety. Just one more to eighty-nine. Where does it go? Where in the universe does it go?
Did I mention I've finally decided on a nickname for you?" "I didn't know you were looking." Well, I've given the matter some serious thought." "And what have you come up with?" "Cookie," I anounced proudly. Xavier scrunched up his face. "No way." "You don't like it? What about Bumblebee?" "Worse." "Snookie-Wookie?" "Do you have any cyanide?" "Well, some of us are just a bit hard to please.
I looked at the canine companion. “Me cookies. You stay.
I've got a library copy of Gone with the Wind, a quart of milk and all these cookies. Wow! What an orgy!
Hey, thanks for stopping by," Howard said. "I'd offer you some tea and cookies, but all we have is boiled mole and artichokes. Plus, we kind of have a dead girl in the living room.
I eat anything, especially sweets. Chocolate, cookies, and I love mint-chip ice cream.
Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The colour of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their death count.
To be born a Southern woman is to be made aware of your distinctiveness. And with it, the rules. The expectations. These vary some, but all follow the same basic template, which is, fundamentally, no matter what the circumstance, Southern women make the effort. Which is why even the girls in the trailer parks paint their nails. And why overstressed working moms still bake three dozen homemade cookies for the school fund-raiser. And why you will never see Reese Witherspoon wearing sweatpants. Or Oprah take a nap.
This is like a cookie, it tastes like a cookie having sex with a doughnut.
It's gotten to the point where if I throw a cookie in the garbage, I have to douse it in Cascade. Otherwise, why wouldn't I take it out and eat it?
A cookie has no soul, it's just a cookie. But before it was milk and eggs. And in eggs there's the potential for life.
People ask me how I stay thin, and I'm like, 'When you go to the grocery store, buy more bananas than cookies.'
At this young age I am already sold on the idea of the dog. One of God's absolutely greatest inventions and one that needs no more tinkering. The dog is the perfect beast, companion, friend, shoulder to lean on, and scapegoat when too many cookies are missing. And a dog won't hold that against you, either. I am at peace sitting in silence with a dog.
Valentine's Day is a sham created by card companies to reinforce gender stereotypes. [..] I'll buy some cookies, but NOT for Valentine's Day. These cookies celebrate the February 14th birthday of Anna Howard Shaw, famed American suffragette.
And, in the future, while the dumb show of bohemianism plays itself out in the cookie cutter shape of the politically correct martyr/victim, aesthetic terrorists will not involve themselves in the dubious rewards of celebrity. The best of them will work alone, already a part of the enemy camp, and in chameleon-like style master the fifth-column algorithms to subvert the ancient regime. We won't know them by their name but their compensation will be to affect the outcome of the planet. Until then, there's a lot of work to be done.
To me there’s no real difference between a fortune teller or a fortune cookie and any of the organized religions. They’re all equally valid or invalid, really. And equally helpful.
Kuh-laire, Is cam a fattening Girl Scout Cookie layered with peanut butter and a chocolate coating? No. Then dont make him a tagalong!
Man, he deserves a hero cookie. (Selena)
What about desserts?" I asked. "If the world comes to an end, I'm going to want cookies.
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