it was another year or two before I discovered that drat and draft were different words. During that same period I remember believing that details were dentals and that a bitch was an extremely tall woman. A son of a bitch was apt to be a basketball player. When you're six, most of your Bingo balls are still floating around in the draw-tank" (27-8).
Not being invited in is one of the boxes on the "suspicious behavior" bingo form that every copper carries around in their head along with "stupidly overpowerful dog" and being too quick to supply an alibi. Fill all the boxes and you too could win an all- expenses-paid visit to your local police station.
Political reporters no longer get to decide what's news. The days when a minister gave briefings to a dozen lobby correspondents, and thereby dictated the next day's headlines, are over. Now, a thousand bloggers decide for themselves what is interesting. If enough of them are tickled then, bingo, you're news.
Mrs. Zuppa was coming in from bingo just as I was leaving the building. "Looks like you're going to work," she said, leaning heavily on her cane. "What are you packin'?" "A thirty-eight." "I like a nine-millimeter myself." "A nine's good." "Easier to use a semiautomatic after you've had hip replacement and you walk with a cane," she said. One of those useful pieces of information to file away and resurrect when I turn eighty-three.
It's about waking up. A child wakes up over and over again, and notices that she's living. She dreams along, loving the exuberant life of the senses, in love with beauty and power, oblivious to herself -- and then suddenly, bingo, she wakes up and feels herself alive. She notices her own awareness. And she notices that she is set down here, mysteriously, in a going world.
I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the momotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in teh hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I rememver that I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.
John asked me to dance and I nearly died. Bingo! I then amazed myself by being very cool, calm and collected outwardly-inside I was out of this world. The dance was slow and smoochy. I was aloof and John, I think, was slightly embarrassed. It was all very painful and beautiful at the same time. The remaining students were looking on with puzzled expressions at such an unlikely combination.
We called the Weather Bureau and found out what historically was the hottest day of the summer...So we scheduled the hearing that day, and bingo, it was the hottest day of record in Washington, or close to it...we went in the night before and opened all the windows...so that the air conditioning wasn't working inside the room.
People ask me if there are going to be stories of Harry Potter as an adult. Frankly, if I wanted to, I could keep writing stories until Harry is a senior citizen, but I don't know how many people would actually want to read about a 65 year old Harry still at Hogwarts playing bingo with Ron and Hermione.
J. K. Rowling
Bingo!! Once again, privatization--*total* privatization--is the best solution. Get government, and government-sanctioned business collectives, out of the health 'care' picture entirely and, just maybe, I can go back to typing the word 'care' (in relation to 'health') without the quotes. :-)
When Cynthia smiles, said young Bingo, the skies are blue; the world takes on a roseate hue; birds in the garden trill and sing, and Joy is king of everything, when Cynthia smiles. He coughed, changing gears. When Cynthia frowns - What the devil are you talking about?I'm reading you my poem. The one I wrote to Cynthia last night. I'll go on, shall I?No!No?No. I haven't had my tea.
P. G. Wodehouse
Too often, executive compensation in the U.S. is ridiculously out of line with performance. That won't change, moreover, because the deck is stacked against investors when it comes to the CEO's pay. The upshot is that a mediocre-or-worse CEO - aided by his handpicked VP of human relations and a consultant from the ever-accommodating firm of Ratchet, Ratchet and Bingo - all too often receives gobs of money from an ill-designed compensation arrangement.
Ideas are floating like fish. Desire for an idea is like a bait on a hook. If you desire an idea, it pulls and it makes a kind of a bait. Ideas will come swimming up. And you don't know them until they enter the conscious mind. And then bingo! There it is! You know it instantly. And then more come in. If you go fishing for ideas, a lot of ideas will just pop in. And one of them will make you fall in love.
Weird, isn't it Somehow in the dead of winter when its 40 below, so cold your words just freeze in the air, you think you'll never hear a robin's song again or see a blossom on a cherry tree, when one day you wake up and bingo, light coming through the mini blinds is softened with a tick of rose and the cold morning air has lost its bite. It's spring once again, the streets are paved with mud and the hills are alive with the sound of mosquitos.
Bingo pup. It's a lesson best learned early. They're all afraid of us." He strolled over to Derek. "You're trying to be a good kid, aren't you? You think that'll show them they're wrong. So how'd that working out for you? Guess what? They don't care. To them, you're a monster, and nothing you do--or don't do--will change their minds. My advice? Give 'em what they want. It's a short, brutal life." He smiled. "Live it up." Derek stared straight ahead, patiently waiting. "He can't hear a word I'm saying, can he?" Liam said. "Nope.
Taylor clapped her hands three times for attention. "Ladies! Ladies! My stars! That's enough. Now. We all know Miss Arkansas's girls are fake, miss Ohio's easier than making cereal, and Miss Montana's dress is something my blind meemaw would wear to bingo night. And Miss New Mexico - aren't you from the chill-out state? Maybe you can channel up some new-age-Whole-Foods-incense calm right about now, because we have a big job ahead called staying alive.
Can anyone capable of genuinely appreciating Mozart and Mizoguchi possibly say that he is not, in that respect, immeasurably better off than someone whose cultural horizon is limited to bingo and The Black and White Minstrel Show? The assimilation will not necessarily make him a better person (a common, and obviously fallacious, assumption), but it will open to him possibilities that are closed to his less fortunate fellow humans. If that is what is meant by an "elite, " then I for one shall not willingly sacrifice my membership of it in the name of some perverse and destructive egalitarianism: to put it succinctly, nothing is ever going to come between me and The Magic Flute. It is not, however, an elite from which I would wish anyone to feel excluded: on the contrary, I would like to share my advantages with as many others as possible. That is why I am a teacher.
Robin Paul Wood
Amy hated-hated-the way the grown-ups her parents had surrounded themselves with were so quick to offer prayers and so low to actually do anything. Old women who barely left the house for anything but bingo and congratulated themselves on never drinking alcohol or saying dirty words, thinking God created humans to stay home and watch televangelists and just run out the clock until the day they die. Well, Amy figured you don't need more than five minutes on this planet to figure out that one thing we know about God-maybe the only thing-is that he favors those who act. David also believed that, through he didn't realize it.
A journalist's job is to collect information, " Ovid said to Pete. "Nope, " Pete said. "That's what we do. It's not what they do." Dellarobia was unready to be pushed out of the conversation just like that. "Then what do you think the news people drive their Jeeps all the way out here for?" "To shore up the prevailing view of their audience and sponsors." "Pete takes a dim view of his fellow humans, " Ovid said. "He prefers insects. Dellarobia turned her chair halfway around to face Pete, scraping noisily against the cement floor. "You're saying people only tune in to news they know they're going to agree with?" "Bingo, " said Pete.
I'M ON A HOLLY DAVID I'M ON A CHOPPA NEMESIS I GOT A LOT OF BABIES THEY GO FOR 34 A PIECE I FEEL LIKE TOM BIRDY I GOT THEM NINES IN MY FEET, NIGGA SHOW 'EM I'M ON A HIGH SPEED CHASE I AIN'T GON' LED UP LED UP TAKE THE PENITENTION FUSS TRYNA RUN UP ON MY FUN YOUNG THUGGA PIMPING BITCH FEEL LIKE FUCKING DOUGH OFF AND THE CLOCK TALK LANGUAGE KAMIKAZE ON THE LIMBO I TRAIT MY HOODIE ON SHE SAY SEE ME, SHE NO BINGO I SPIT GEL LIKE BIRD MAN PUT MY STEERING WHEEL IN MIRROR THE KIDS WHO GOT MY SPY FIELD ON WITH BUILDS'ZLS, CAN YOU DIZL? MY DK GOT MY SPOT FILLED WITH BITCHES, CAN YOU DIZL? YOU TALK A MILLION DOLLARS, WHERE YOU PAPER AND YO PISTOL?
OH WHAT THE F*CK YOU THINK THIS IS I'M F*CK ME IN MY WHIP AND BITCH I DRINK THE DITCH I CALL TO F*CK THE SLEEP FIRST..I THINK IS HUMP WHAT THE F*CK YOU THINK BITCH COULD YOU DO MY THING BRO WHAT THE F*CK MY ..KID MY F*CKING FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK EM F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH HELLO BITCH SEE YELLOW BITCH MY MONEY COCAINE THE DIAL BITCH I'M STEAL YOUR BITCH KILL YOUR BITCH AND FEEL YOUR BITCH AND I'M YELLOW BITCH WE LIVE FOR THE GANG ..GONNA CHANGE I'M..BABY TO DO THIS THING ..NOW YOU KNOW WHEN I'M GROWN MY FAME I MOVE MY.. WELL IT'S A LOT OF BITCHES IT AIN'T THE..NIGGAS LOVE ME THEY SAY I I'M F*CKING WITH THE DEVIL BUT AS IT..UGLY YEAH BITCH, IS NO TIME FOR SOME PRIVACY THEN THIS TIME FOR THE STUDIO AND YOU NIGGAS BOTTOM ME YOU CAN FIGHT..THIS IS I'M STRUCK IN MY WEED AND BITCH YOU DRINK THAT DITCH I'M..F*CK GOT O SLEEP FIRST ..WHAT THE F*CK YOU DO BITCH TRYIN TO DO MY THING BRO WHAT THE F*CK OUR ..KID WHAT THE F*CK ARE FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH, F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH I'M..F*CKING TEAM BRO I DO THE..FOR SOME CLEAR THOUGH LET'S SOME SAY A BINGO ..IN THE ASH IS BEING NEAR FRIENDS THEY GET DOLLAR BLUR ..IS BEING REAL I FEEL LIKE IS MY F*CKING TURN TIRED OF ..IT'S ONLY GET TO MAN I TOLD THE THEN I GOT EM THE VIEW FORM THE TOP IS AWESOME BUT I'VE MADE A..TO BOTTOM SO F*CK THEM WHEN THEY I'MA KEEP IT DIME KNEW THE THIS SHE MY BITCH AND I AIN'T F*CKED AND DO IT THIS WHAT THE F*CK YOU THINK THIS IS I F*CK EM IN MY WEED AND BITCH I'MA DRINK MY.. WHAT BUG YOU .. GONNA DO MY THING BITCH F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH, F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH F*CK EM, F*CK EM, F*CK YOU FEELINGS THOUGH
There was no Disney World then, just rows of orange trees. Millions of them. Stretching for miles And somewhere near the middle was the Citrus Tower, which the tourists climbed to see even more orange trees. Every month an eighty-year-old couple became lost in the groves, driving up and down identical rows for days until they were spotted by helicopter or another tourist on top of the Citrus Tower. They had lived on nothing but oranges and come out of the trees drilled on vitamin C and checked into the honeymoon suite at the nearest bed-and-breakfast. "The Miami Seaquarium put in a monorail and rockets started going off at Cape Canaveral, making us feel like we were on the frontier of the future. Disney bought up everything north of Lake Okeechobee, preparing to shove the future down our throats sideways. "Things evolved rapidly! Missile silos in Cuba. Bales on the beach. Alligators are almost extinct and then they aren't. Juntas hanging shingles in Boca Raton. Richard Nixon and Bebe Rebozo skinny-dipping off Key Biscayne. We atone for atrocities against the INdians by playing Bingo. Shark fetuses in formaldehyde jars, roadside gecko farms, tourists waddling around waffle houses like flocks of flightless birds. And before we know it, we have The New Florida, underplanned, overbuilt and ripe for a killer hurricane that'll knock that giant geodesic dome at Epcot down the trunpike like a golf ball, a solid one-wood by Buckminster Fuller. "I am the native and this is my home. Faded pastels, and Spanish tiles constantly slipping off roofs, shattering on the sidewalk. Dogs with mange and skateboard punks with mange roaming through yards, knocking over garbage cans. Lunatics wandering the streets at night, talking about spaceships. Bail bondsmen wake me up at three A.M. looking for the last tenant. Next door, a mail-order bride is clubbed by a smelly ma in a mechanic's shirt. Cats violently mate under my windows and rats break-dance in the drop ceiling. And I'm lying in bed with a broken air conditioner, sweating and sipping lemonade through a straw. And I'm thinking, geez, this used to be a great state. "You wanna come to Florida? You get a discount on theme-park tickets and find out you just bough a time share. Or maybe you end up at Cape Canaveral, sitting in a field for a week as a space shuttle launch is canceled six times. And suddenly vacation is over, you have to catch a plane, and you see the shuttle take off on TV at the airport. But you keep coming back, year after year, and one day you find you're eighty years old driving through an orange grove.