#scrubs quotes

[pancakey-haley]

Cranky man

[bnha-prompts]

Incorrect quotes #1

Mic walks in: You should lock your door, there's horrible people out there

Aizawa: There's horrible people in here.

[tyrionsonoftywin99]

this video did so bad on tiktok but i wanted to show my appreciation for elliot 🤧 shes my girl and i love her sm 🥲 i feel like shes CRIMINALLY underrated also i rewatched "Her Story" today and shes SO lesbian coded??? LIKE ITS NOT EVEN SUBTLE I FEEL LIKE I COULD MAKE A WHOLE POST ABT IT but no one would read it rip

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Abort the plan! Abort the balloons! Abort the babies…

EVERYBODY RUN!

im just laying down but NOT for a nap guys i swear im getting comfy cozy but im NOT GOING TO FALL ASLEEP my ass is NOT laying my head to rest bro im just getting snug as a bug in a rug. FOR NO REASON. ill be awake the whole time bro i swear. me and my stuffed animals are just hanging out dude i PROMISE ill be awake im not sle

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Alternative Titans Tower scene

Jason, wearing his original Robin suit (that’s sized up to ‘fit’ him: Do you remember me?

Tim: Did you seriously think I was gonna be scared seeing you wear panties?

Jason: what?

Tim: Like Jesus Christ I’m 13. I don’t want to see you wearing underwear. I can see the outline of your di-

Jason: wait no-

Tim: Like everything just hanging there. Did you even look in the mirror before coming here?

Jason: No- that’s not the point.

Tim: God dude. I looked up to you and now I have to see this? It’s gonna be in my goddamn brain forever. I’m gonna close my eyes and it’s gonna be you in those fucking short-

Jason: Can we move on?

Tim: I don’t even think I can. It’s just stuck in my brain now. I’m not gonna look at Robin the same way now and I’m goddamn Robin. God. Do I start avoiding my reflection now? Dr. Freeze is gonna be a nightmare. It’s gonna be like one of those mirror mazes but with pictures of your di-

Jason: Are you done?

Tim: God no. They warned you never meet your hero’s but never because you had to see them in some scaly panties. Seriously I can see you asscrack from he-

Jason, cocking riffle: Okay you’re done.

[donnabe111]

Shining Elegance: Pewter Scrubs for Timeless Style

Pewter Scrubs: Elevate your medical attire with our elegant and practical scrubs. The rich pewter hue exudes sophistication while ensuring comfort and durability. Experience style and professionalism in every shift with Pewter Scrubs.

[incorrectbatfam]

Dick: Okay, we have to find a way out of here.

Jason: Burn down the building.

Tim: I have an idea, but we’re going to need a tugboat.

Dick: Tugboats and arson, that’s all I ever get from you guys.

[eiraeths]

[in a church]

ghost: i’m gonna kill you

soap: [looks up] you hear that? he said he’s gonna kill me. get his ass

[textsfromthetva]

Incorrect Loki Quotes [266/?]

[incorrectquotesfromthelighthouse]

Rook: Okay, we have to find a way out of here. Spite: Burn down. The building. Lucanis: I have an idea, but we're going to need a wyvern. Rook: Wyverns and arson, that's all I ever get from you two.

[incorrectgliyeraba]

Glinda: I think I need to be alone right now. Glinda, turns to Elphaba: Thanks for being alone with me, Elphie.

[pancakey-haley]

I've actually used this line myself a few times IRL. It's pretty effective

[bnha-prompts]

Incorrect quotes #5

Izuku: Sticks and stones may break my bones

Bakugou: Bitch!

Izuku: but words will hurt forever...

[kermit-the-hag]

Steve: Why are we lying on the ground?

Dustin: You got knocked unconscious so I lay down next to you so everyone would just think we were chillin’.

[dc-comics-enjoyer]

Diana : You can deny you like him all you want. But, I know for a fact, that every time you guys are done "playing racquetball" or "having a conversation" or whatever it is you crazy kids are calling it, you like nothing more than to just lie next to Bruce and watch him sleep.

Clark : It would be impossible for me to lie next to Bruce. He sleeps hanging from a ramp in the ceiling, wrapped in a cocoon of his own wings.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

"Pandora, Worrying About What She Is Doing, Finds a Way into the Valley through the Scrub Oak," from Always Coming Home by Ursula K. Le Guin

Look how messy this wilderness is. Look at this scrub oak, chaparro, the chaparral was named for it and consists of it mixed up with a lot of other things, but look at this shrub of it right here now. The tallest limb or stem is about four feet tall, but most of the stems are only a foot or two. One of them looks as if it had been cut off with a tool, a clean slice across, but who? what for? This shrub isn’t good for anything and this ridge isn’t on the way to anywhere. A lot of smaller branch-ends look broken or bitten off. Maybe deer browse the leafbuds. The little grey branches and twigs grow every which way, many dead and lichened, crossing each other, choking each other out. Digger-pine needles, spiders’ threads, dead bay leaves are stuck in the branches. It’s a mess. It’s littered. It has no overall shape. Most of the stems come up from one area, but not all; there’s no center and no symmetry. A lot of sticks sticking up out of the ground a little ways with leaves on some of them—that describes it fairly well. The leaves themselves show some order, they seem to obey some laws, poorly. They are all different sizes from about a quarter of an inch to an inch long, but each is enough like the others that one could generalise an ideal scrub-oak leaf: a dusty, medium dark-green color, with a slight convex curve to the leaf, which pillows up a bit between the veins that run slanting outward from the central vein; and the edge is irregularly serrated, with a little spine at each apex. These leaves grow irregularly spaced on alternate sides of their twig up to the top, where they crowd into a bunch, a sloppy rosette. Under the litter of dead leaves, its own and others’, and moss and rocks and mold and junk, the shrub must have a more or less shrub-shaped complex of roots, going fairly deep, probably deeper than it stands aboveground, because wet as it is here now in February, it will be bone dry on this ridge in summer.

There are no acorns left from last fall, if this shrub is old enough to have borne them. It probably is. It could be two years old or twenty or who knows? It is an oak, but a scrub oak, a low oak, a no-account oak, and there are at least a hundred very much like it in sight from this rock I am sitting on, and there are hundreds and thousands and hundreds of thousands more on this ridge and the next ridge, but numbers are wrong. They are in error. You don’t count scrub oaks. When you can count them, something has gone wrong. You can count how many in a hundred square yards and multiply, if you’re a botanist, and so make a good estimate, a fair guess, but you cannot count the scrub oaks on this ridge, let alone the ceanothus, buckbrush, or wild lilac, which I have not mentioned, and the other variously messy and humble components of the chaparral. The chaparral is like atoms and the components of atoms: it evades. It is innumerable. It is not accidentally but essentially messy. This shrub is not beautiful, nor even if I were ten feet high on hashish would it be mystical, nor is it nauseating; if a philosopher found it so, that would be his problem, but nothing to do with the scrub oak. This thing is nothing to do with us. This thing is wilderness. The civilized human mind’s relation to it is imprecise, fortuitous, and full of risk. There are no shortcuts. All the analogies run one direction, our direction. There is a hideous little tumor in one branch. The new leaves, this year’s growth, are so large and symmetrical compared with the older leaves that I took them at first for part of another plant, a toyon growing in with the dwarf oak, but a summer’s dry heat no doubt will shrink them down and warp them. Analogies are easy; the live oak, the humble evergreen, can certainly be made into a sermon, just as it can be made into firewood. Read or burnt. Sermo, I read; I read scrub oak. But I don’t, and it isn’t here to be read, or burnt. It is casting a shadow across the page of this notebook in the weak sunshine of three-thirty of a February afternoon in Northern California. When I close the book and go, the shadow will not be on the page, though I have drawn a line around it; only the pencil line will be on the page. The shadow will be then on the dead-leaf-thick messy ground or on the mossy rock my ass is on now, and the shadow will move lawfully and with great majesty as the earth turns.

The mind can imagine that shadow of a few leaves falling in the wilderness; the mind is a wonderful thing. But what about all the shadows of all the other leaves on all the other branches on all the other scrub oaks on all the other ridges of all the wilderness? If you could imagine those for even a moment, what good would it do? Infinite good.

-- Ursula K. Le Guin, Always Coming Home (273-5)