Planetologist call it the conundrum of unforeseen ecological consequence. I call it the whack-a-mole rule of human meddling. She clasped both hands like a child hammering. WHACK! We change something here. Oops, that makes another problem pop up there where we didn't expect it. WHACK! So, we whack that mole. Oops! We're so smart that we're a menace.
Howie: "What if the whole thing was just an accident?" Jazz: "And what? Accidentally cut off three fingers postmortem? 'Oops, oh no, my girlfriend just died! Clumsy me, in trying to perform CPR, I chopped off some fingers! Guess I'll take them with me... Oh, darn, where did that middle finger go?
I dodged behind Mac for cover and refused to take the bait. I glanced at my nonexistent watch. 'Oops, look at the time. Guess I have to be going now. Let's not do this again sometime, okay?' Before I could move, Pritkin was there, jamming the medallion into the skin of my upper arm.'Ow!'He looked at me expectantly. I glared at him. 'That hurt!' What do you see?' A big red mark,
Nick demonstrated twenty-three ways of communicating without words by fanning himself with a napkin. "This one means oops, your fly is open, sir, and if you lower the fan a little and look at someone over the top of it, it means wow, I'd like to marry you. But if you do it the other way around, it means ha ha, we are now at war with Spain.
It was 1999, and we were building a way for college kids to create online profiles for the purpose of sharing... with employers. Oops. I vividly remember the moment I realized my company was going to fail. My co-founder and I were at our wits' end. By 2001, the dot-com bubble had burst, and we had spent all our money.
When we become aware of feeling low it can be a reason to rejoice. Why would we be distressed knowing that some unconscious negative belief is trying to get our attention. Let it surface. When we see what it is, it can be transformed into understanding and love. oops... yet another fearful belief has been set free. Now we can enjoy ourselves eagerly anticipating yet another great self-rediscovery.
Christians belive in a sovereign God who never says "Oops". We believe that all our days ... are divine strokes on the canvas of our lives by the Master Artist who certified his skill, his power, and his love in the Masterpiece of Calvary. If you doubt His skill in painting your life - look at the Calvary
Next time I'll just send the three of you e-mails. What was I thinking when I decided to have this meeting? (Acheron) Oh, I know. That men who are a couple of thousand years old could actually behave like grownups? (Nick) (Zarek elbowed Nick in the stomach.) Oops. Involuntary arm spasm. (Zarek)
I am worried about climate change. In one respect, I may be more worried than other people. I am worried because I have very little confidence that we know what is causing it....One of my fears is that we could reduce carbon emissions by some drastic amount, only to discover that-oops-it turns out that climate change is being caused by something else.
Is this about what happened to you and the old Sector 7?' I asked with a growl of my own. His hands tightened their grip on my shoulders. 'How did you know about that?' 'Tabby-Chan told me.' 'Freaking Meko-Chan, ' Kuroi uttered, 'I swear, that kid is gonna get it. What did she tell you, exactly?' 'She told me not to tell you that she told me what you told her.' I realized what I said. 'Oops.' ~Luna's POV, Clash of the Clans: Shinobi 7 Companion Book #1
Right now I'll just be happy if you let me know what would you like to have in breakfast." She swiftly moved from the platform to the fridge and took some bell peppers out of it. I spotted a bowl of boiled noodles. Perhaps, I would be fine with some change in my menu. "some noodles will just be fine, a glass of orange juice." I put my glass in the sink and stepped back to have a better view of her amazing body. "and a bed full of you." I added. Oops, I think that was pretty shameless. -Abstruse.
The culturally specific, in particular, the American porch play that American writers have cherished and loved for many years in terms of their new writing, has seemed to have very little relevance to a much more fast-flowing, abstract, experimental drama that has been emerging in [the UK]. The porch play, not to mention that thing of, Oops, I wasn't loved enough by my father, somehow didn't have the relevance in this country.
He peeled out the banknotes from inside a billfold held on a chain and paid her. Andy Jackson's eyes were X'd out. For an edgy instant she wondered if his money was counterfeit. She also noted his missing middle finger, and a skull tattoo decorated his sinewy wrist. She put down the card key. 'You're in Seven, straight down the courtyard.' He slid the card key off, but it fell to the floor. "Oops. I haven't gotten used to this high gravity.' 'I beg your pardon?' 'Nothing. I'm just punchy from all the driving.
Only someone as puffed up and demented as John Maynard Keynes, every left wing fascist's sainted mentor in this connection, could manage to convince himself that taxing America's Productive Class can restore it to prosperity. In point of fact, it's like screwing for chastity, guzzling alcohol for sobriety, or gorging to fight gluttony. It's like killing indiscriminately for peace oops, Democrats, Republicans and their moral and spiritual ilk have devoutly believed that particular bit of perverse nonsense since at least the War of 1812.
L. Neil Smith
In one universe, they are gorgeous, straight-teethed, long-legged, wrapped in designer fashions, and given sports cars on their sixteenth birthdays. Teacher smile at them and grade them on the curve. They know the first names of the staff. They are the Pride of the Trojans. Oops - I mean Pride of the Blue Devils. In Universe #2, they throw parties wild enough to attract college students. They worship the stink of Eau de Jocque. They rent beach houses in Canceºn during Spring Break and get group-rate abortions before prom.
Laurie Halse Anderson
Susan... it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which meant "oops, we wanted a boy." But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances, and could reliably look after other people's children. It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere. And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, and it sounded as though you danced on tables for a living. You could put in a Z and a couple of Ns and an E, but it still looked like a name with extensions built on. It was as bad as Sara, a name that cried out for a prosthetic H.
But you can't be a scientist if you're uncomfortable with ignorance, because scientists live at the boundary between what is known and unknown in the cosmos. This is very different from the way journalists portray us. So many articles begin, 'Scientists now have to go back to the drawing board.' It's as though we're sitting in our offices, feet up on our desks-masters of the universe-and suddenly say, 'Oops, somebody discovered something!' No. We're always at the drawing board. If you're not at the drawing board, you're not making discoveries. You're not a scientist; you're something else. The public, on the other hand, seems to demand conclusive explanations as they leap without hesitation from statements of abject ignorance to statements of absolute certainty.
Neil deGrasse Tyson
One of the most meaningful things that's happened to me since I've been the governor - the president - governor - president. Oops. Ex-governor. I went to Bethesda Naval Hospital to give a fellow a Purple Heart, and at the same moment I watched him-get a Purple Heart for action in Iraq - and at that same - right after I gave him the Purple Heart, he was sworn in as a citizen of the United States - a Mexican citizen, now a United States citizen.
George W. Bush
Curran snarled and hurled the rock against the mountain. The boulder flew, hit like a cannon ball, and rolled back down. Curran chased it, pulled another smaller rock out of the dirt, and smashed it against the first one. Wow. He was really pissed. Astamur's eyes were as big as plates. "I can get him to put those back after he's done, " I told him. "No, " Astamur said slowly. "It's fine." Curran picked up the smaller rock with both hands and threw it onto the larger boulder. The boulder cracked and fell apart. Oops. "Sorry we broke your rock." Atsany took the pipe out of his mouth and said something. "Mrrrhhhm, " Astamur said. "What did he say?" "He said that the man must be your husband, because only someone we love very much can make us this crazy.
Procrastination is not the problem. It is the solution. It is the universe's way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. Listen to the music. Whoa whoa, listen to the music. Because music makes the people come together, it makes the bourgeois and the rebel. So come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody try to love one another. Because what the world needs now is love, sweet love. And I know that love is a battlefield, but boogie on reggae woman because you're gonna make it after all. So celebrate good times, come on. I've gotta stop I've gotta come to my senses, I've been out riding fences for so long... oops I did it again... um... What I'm trying to say is, if you leave tonight and you don't remember anything else that I've said, leave here and remember this: Procrastinate now, don't put it off.
Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations.' said Hermione. 'Don't pretend you didn't see him. He wasn't exactly hiding it, was - ?' The door behind them burst open. To Harry's horror, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand. 'Oh, ' he said, drawing up short at the sight of Harry and Hermione. 'Oops!' said Lavender, and she backed out of the room, giggling. There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron, who refused to look at her. She walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking relieved that nothing worse had happened. 'Oppugno!' came a shriek from the doorway. Harry spun around [... ] The little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach. 'Gerremoffme!' he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before it slammed.
I Will Not Tease Rebecca Grimes I have to write one hundred times: "I will not tease Rebecca Grimes." Okay, that's one. I'm far from done. (This isn't gonna be much fun.) "I will not tease Rebecca Grimes." That's two. I'm paying for my crimes. It's all because I pulled her hair And put spaghetti on her chair. Because I gave her goofy looks And squirted mustard on her books, I have to write one hundred times: "I will not tease Rebecca Grimes." That's three. Whoopee. It's going slow. Just ninety-seven more to go. "I will not tease" (I'm keeping score.) "Rebecca Grimes." (Now that makes four.) I'm soaked with sweat. My shirt is damp. I think I'm getting writer's cramp. "I will not, will not, will not tease Rebecca Grimes!" Can I stop, please? The teacher frowns, and that means no. I still have sixty-six to go. "I will-will-will not-not-not-not Tease-tease-tease-tease... " It's getting hot. "I will not tease Rebecca Grimes." That's ninety-nine. The school bell chimes. Just one more line and I'll be through. Rebecca Grimes, this one's for you! My final line will rhyme with "Grimes": "I will not tease Rebecca... Slimes!" Rebecca Slimes! Ha ha! That's great! I'd better hide it. Oops! Too late! The teacher sees what I wrote down. She takes my paper with a frown. I now must write one thousand times: "I will not tease Rebecca Grimes.
I like eggs and bacon, ' George tells me. 'But'-his face clouds-'do you know that bacon is'-tears leap to his eyes-'Wilbur?' Mrs. Garrett sits down next to him immediately. 'George, we've been through this. Remember? Wilbur did not get made into bacon.' 'That's right.' I bend down too as wetness overflows George's lashes. 'Charlotte the spider saved him. He lived a long and happy life-with Charlotte's daughters, um, Nelly and Urania and-' 'Joy, ' Mrs. Garrett concludes. 'You, Samantha, are a keeper. I hope you don't shoplift.'I start to cough. 'No. Never.' 'Then is bacon Babe, Mom? Is it Babe?''No, no, Babe's still herding sheep. Bacon is not Babe. Bacon is only made from really mean pigs, George.' Mrs. Garrett strokes his hair, then brushes his tears away.'Bad pigs, ' I clarify.'There are bad pigs?' George looks nervous. Oops.'Well, pigs with, um, no soul.' That doesn't sound good either. I cast around for a good explanation. 'Like the animals that don't talk in Narnia.' Dumb. George is four. Would he know Narnia yet? He's still at Curious George.But understanding lights his face. 'Oh. That's okay then. 'Cause I really like bacon.
Hopefully not another employee stealing credit cards, Brooke mused. Or any sort of headache-inducing 'oops moment, ' like the time one of the restaurant managers called to ask if he could fire a line cook after discovering that the man was a convicted murderer. 'Jeez. How'd you learn that?' Brooke had asked. 'He made a joke to one of the waiters about honing his cooking skills in prison. The waiter asked what he'd been serving time for, and he said, 'Murder.'' 'I bet that put an end to the conversation real fast. And yes, you can fire him, ' Brooke had said. 'Obviously, he lied on his employment application.' All of Sterling's employees, regardless of job position, were required to answer whether they'd ever been convicted of a crime involving 'violence, deceit, or theft.' Pretty safe to say that murder qualified. Ten minutes later, the manager had called her back. 'Um... what if he didn't exactly lie? I just double-checked his application, and as it turns out, he did check the box for having been convicted of a crime.' Brooke had paused at that. 'And then the next question, where we ask what crime he'd been convicted for, what did he write?' 'Uh... 'second-degree murder.'' 'I see. Just a crazy suggestion here, Cory, but you might want to start reading these applications a little more closely before making employment offers.' 'Please don't fire me.
Honest to God, I hadn't meant to start a bar fight. 'So. You're the famous Jordan Amador.' The demon sitting in front of me looked like someone filled a pig bladder with rotten cottage cheese. He overflowed the bar stool with his gelatinous stomach, just barely contained by a white dress shirt and an oversized leather jacket. Acid-washed jeans clung to his stumpy legs and his boots were at least twice the size of mine. His beady black eyes started at my ankles and dragged upward, past my dark jeans, across my black turtleneck sweater, and over the grey duster around me that was two sizes too big. He finally met my gaze and snorted before continuing. 'I was expecting something different. Certainly not a black girl. What's with the name, girlie?' I shrugged. 'My mother was a religious woman.' 'Clearly, ' the demon said, tucking a fat cigar in one corner of his mouth. He stood up and walked over to the pool table beside him where he and five of his lackeys had gathered. Each of them was over six feet tall and were all muscle where he was all fat. 'I could start to examine the literary significance of your name, or I could ask what the hell you're doing in my bar, ' he said after knocking one of the balls into the left corner pocket. 'Just here to ask a question, that's all. I don't want trouble.' Again, he snorted, but this time smoke shot from his nostrils, which made him look like an albino dragon. 'My ass you don't. This place is for fallen angels only, sweetheart. And we know your reputation.' I held up my hands in supplication. 'Honest Abe. Just one question and I'm out of your hair forever.' My gaze lifted to the bald spot at the top of his head surrounded by peroxide blonde locks. 'What's left of it, anyway.' He glared at me. I smiled, batting my eyelashes. He tapped his fingers against the pool cue and then shrugged one shoulder. 'Fine. What's your question?' 'Know anybody by the name of Matthias Gruber?' He didn't even blink. 'No.' 'Ah. I see. Sorry to have wasted your time.' I turned around, walking back through the bar. I kept a quick, confident stride as I went, ignoring the whispers of the fallen angels in my wake. A couple called out to me, asking if I'd let them have a taste, but I didn't spare them a glance. Instead, I headed to the ladies' room. Thankfully, it was empty, so I whipped out my phone and dialed the first number in my Recent Call list. 'Hey. He's here. Yeah, I'm sure it's him. They're lousy liars when they're drunk. Uh-huh. Okay, see you in five.' I hung up and let out a slow breath. Only a couple things left to do. I gathered my shoulder-length black hair into a high ponytail. I looped the loose curls around into a messy bun and made sure they wouldn't tumble free if I shook my head too hard. I took the leather gloves in the pocket of my duster out and pulled them on. Then, I walked out of the bathroom and back to the front entrance. The coat-check girl gave me a second unfriendly look as I returned with my ticket stub to retrieve my things-three vials of holy water, a black rosary with the beads made of onyx and the cross made of wood, a Smith and Wesson.9mm Glock complete with a full magazine of blessed bullets and a silencer, and a worn out page of the Bible. I held out my hands for the items and she dropped them on the counter with an unapologetic, 'Oops.' 'Thanks, ' I said with a roll of my eyes. I put the Glock back in the hip holster at my side and tucked the rest of the items in the pockets of my duster. The brunette demon crossed her arms under her hilariously oversized fake breasts and sent me a vicious sneer. 'The door is that way, Seer. Don't let it hit you on the way out.' I smiled back. 'God bless you.' She let out an ugly hiss between her pearly white teeth. I blew her a kiss and walked out the door. The parking lot was packed outside now that it was half-past midnight. Demons thrived in darkness, so I wasn't surprised. In fact, I'd been counting on it.