Bolo Bloodsport Quotes

Democracy does not have to be a bloodsport, it can be an honorable enterprise that advances the public interest. ~ William J. Clinton

When I was fighting, I would look to excite the crowds with a bolo punch or something taunting. Looking back, they were legal - but not sportsmanlike. I don't recommend another boxer try them. But we looked more to make the robot fights dramatic first and realistic second. ~ Sugar Ray Leonard

Poor Mr. Pickwick! ... If he played a wrong card, Miss Bolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider which was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throw herself back in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as much as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin. ~ Charles Dickens

She was going to kill him. As soon as this was over. As soon as the crowd left. She would tighten that bolo tie until his face went tomato red. No. She would hold him under the falls until he begged for mercy. ~ Denise Hunter

Prince Bolo, who didn't like his Pages to say, 'I told you so,' snapped back: 'What's this, Blabbermouth? Are you a girl?'
You /noticed/, sire,' said Blabbermouth. 'No point /pretending/ any /more/.'
'You tricked us,' said Bolo, blushing. 'You tricked /me/.'
Blabbermouth was outraged by Bolo's ingratitude. 'Tricking you isn't exactly /difficult/, excuse /me/,' she cried. '/Jugglers/ can do it, so why not /girls/? ~ Salman Rushdie

Let's all start wearing bolo ties, and when they become hip again, we'll all say we were kidding. ~ Dana Gould

Once you get involved with bloodsport litigation, you can not only get drunk on your own greed but start to believe your own lies. ~ Jello Biafra

Ah yes, a great victory, this 'sport'. I am sure El Toro appreciates the applause

Jumping in the Puddles of Life ~ Loretta Livingstone

Then, at the end of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance and reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or led through the honour, or brought out the ace, or played up to the king, or some such thing; and in reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this time forgotten all about the game. ~ Charles Dickens

You want to know, companions of my youth,
How much has changed the wild but shy young poet
Forever writing last poem after last poem;
You hear he's dark as earth, barefoot,
A turban round his head, a bolo at his side,
His ballpen blown up to a long-barreled gun:
Deeper still the struggling change inside. ~ Emmanuel F. Lacaba

I size him up. A pasty jumble of limbs in latex-tight sharkskin slacks with three inches of white socks showing at the ankles above two-tone patent leather, a jacket matching the slacks stretched over narrow shoulders and an embroidered cowboy shirt with silver caps on the points of the collar, a bolo tie featuring a cockroach frozen in amber snug around his throat. ~ Charlie Huston