Spoilsport Quotes

At the risk of sounding like a spoilsport, I'd say that pagans have about the same experience of otherness and isolation as anyone else. We're not special in that regard. But this is because the problem of loneliness is almost universal - and that, to my mind, makes it much more serious. ~ Brendan Myers

Much. so there is free dessert involved here." I put my hand to my forehead. "oh, that i had discovered the job first!"
Ryan laughs. "tragic."
want to hear something tragic? my dad is going to a Christian singles' retreat."
Ryan nearly spits out his coffee. "your dad?" he is shacking.
Brandon wallops him on the back a few times. Ryan holds his hands up at him, coughing. "Stop," he croaks, standing. he inhales a few times and gets his voice back. "You would have to tell me this when my mouth was full, wouldn't you?" he sits again.
I smile broadly.
a Christian singles' retreat?" he repeats
Yep," Brandon says. "Get the name: Marley's Michigan Marriage Makers."
I cover my face
Ryan's expression twists. " thats.... interesting," he says slowly
Hallie frowns. "If its a Christian retreat, why is it called Marley's?"
Its a denomination in Michigan," Brandon says. "Marlotist. I just call them Marley for fun."
I double over until my head hits the table.
There is not a denomination called Marlotist," Hallie says.
Is too. I visited one of their churches when I went to Michigan to ski one time," Brandon says.
My eyes blur with tears from laughing so hard and holding it all in. My shoulders start shaking.
Brandon levels a good kick to my shin.
Ow!" I reach for my leg.
What is the name of it, Laurie?" Ryan asks.
Meet Your Match in Michigan"
Brandon scowls at me. " Spoilsport. ~ Erynn Mangum

You're driving through the park?" Jericho cursed.

"Yeah," Breeze laughed. "Brilliant, huh? They'll think we'll use the roads but we're not. Our guys can see us from the rooftops so we're covered."

"Do you want to turn on the headlights?" Jinx pushed his head between the seats from the back. "So you don't hit a tree. Do you see that one directly in our path?"

Breeze jerked on the wheel, sending the Jeep to the right before straightening it out. "I see it. I'm not blind, and no, I'm not using headlights. Humans don't have our night vision. The point is to get there without them knowing where we are. Now shut up and sit tight. I'll have us there before - "

"The bushes!" Flame yelled.

"I see them." Breeze swerved to the left. "Isn't this fun?"

"No," True grumbled, "it's not."

"Spoilsport." Breeze chuckled. "And yes, I see the lake." She turned the wheel. "We're not going for a swim."

Jeanie closed her eyes and turned into True, grateful she couldn't see anything out in the darkness. ~ Laurann Dohner

Beldin sighed. "Since you're going to be such a spoilsport for this, Pol, I found a
group of sheephenders below the snow line."
"Shepherds, uncle," she corrected.
"It means the same thing. If you really look at it, it's even the same word,"
"Shepherd sounds nicer."
"Nicer." He snorted. "Sheep are stupid, they smell bad, and they taste worse.
Anybody who spends his life tending them is either defective or degenerate. ~ David Eddings

Josh, you saw him," Tally says, "What did he look like? Did he look nice?"
"He looked like a person," Josh grunts.
"Don't be a spoilsport," Tally says, and Caid hears her smack Josh on the arm.
"Shortish, blondish, thinish," Josh says.
"Thank you, Josh," Caid says, "Your way with words astounds me yet again."
"Well, whatever," Tally says. "What did you guys talk about? You said he's nice?"
"We talked about a lot of things. And yeah, he's - I mean, we traded numbers, so hopefully he'll call."
"I hope so, too," Tally says. "I'm glad you have somebody to hang out with now."
"Because I was such horrible company?" Josh says, voice thick and deep like he's got a mouthful of ice cream.
"I wouldn't say horrible," Caid says. "Unbearable, maybe. Like one of those YouTube videos that never loads." And with that, he shoots a shit-eating grin in Josh's direction, and shovels a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. ~ Seventhswan

You're beautiful, Evie," came his soft comment.
Having been raised by relations who had always lamented the garish color of her hair and the proliferation of freckles, Evie gave him a skeptical smile. "Aunt Florence has always given me a bleaching lotion to make my freckles vanish. But there's no getting rid of them."
Sebastian smiled lazily as he came to her. Taking her shoulders in his hands, he slid an appraising glance along her half-clad body. "Don't remove a single freckle, sweet. I found some in the most enchanting places. I already have my favorites… shall I tell you where they are?"
Disarmed and discomfited, Evie shook her head and made a movement to twist away from him. He wouldn't let her, however. Pulling her closer, he bent his golden head and kissed the side of her neck. "Little spoilsport," he whispered, smiling. "I'm going to tell you anyway." His fingers closed around a handful of the chemise and eased the hem slowly upward. Her breath caught as she felt his fingers nuzzling tenderly between her bare legs. "As I discovered earlier," he said against her sensitive throat, "there's a trail inside your right thigh that leads to - "
A knock at the door interrupted them, and Sebastian lifted his head with a grumble of annoyance. "Breakfast," he muttered. "And I wouldn't care to make you choose between my lovemaking or a hot meal, as the answer would likely be unflattering. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Stand-up came naturally to me because people in Ireland talk. But that's not talking on panel shows; it is structured fun. It reminds me of some tragic aunt clapping her hands and bouncing into a room and announcing we should all play games ... and if we don't we are all a rotten spoilsport. ~ Dylan Moran

But here's a bit of spoilsport historical reality: It wasn't the finches that inspired Darwin, it was the Mockingbirds. ~ David Quammen

Coz it's big business, baby,
and its smile is hideous.
Top-down violence.
Structural viciousness.

Your kids are doped up
on prescriptions and sedatives.
But don't worry 'bout that, man,
Worry 'bout
terrorists.

The water level's rising!
The water level's rising!
The animals -
the polar bears
the elephants are dying.
STOP CRYING START BUYING!!

But what about the oil spill?

Shh.
No one likes a party-pooping spoilsport.

Massacres massacres massacres/new shoes
ghettoised children murdered in daylight
by those employed to protect them.
Porn live-streamed to your pre-teens bedrooms.
Glass ceiling. No headroom.
Half a generation live beneath the breadline -
oh but it's Happy Hour on
the high street!

- Europe is Lost ~ Kae Tempest

Oh, don't be a spoilsport. Gossip is sexy. Gossip is good. Not everybody does it, but everybody should! ~ Cecily Von Ziegesar

Keynes eliminated economic theory's ancient role as spoilsport for inflationist and statist schemes, leading a new generation of economists on to academic power and to political pelf and privilege. ~ Murray Rothbard

Except in a few well-publicized instances (enough to lend credence to the iconography painted on the walls of the media), the rigorous practice of rugged individualism usually leads to poverty, ostracism and disgrace. The rugged individualist is too often mistaken for the misfit, the maverick, the spoilsport, the sore thumb. ~ Lewis H. Lapham

Ooh!" Willy pipes up. "Maybe he'll write a story about Santa and Mrs. Claus getting caught with their pants down with other people. If we get lucky, maybe he'll kill-"

"Don't finish that sentence, elf."

"Randy, you're such a spoilsport. You can't say you haven't conjured up that scenario in your big head a time or a dozen. Continue. Maybe I'll write that story."

"No, you won't. Your idea of a good story is nothing but sex, sex, and more sex. You'd never make it through writing a chapter because you'd have to stop and jerk off a half dozen times."

"Ew! Not about Santa and Mrs. Claus. Yuck," Willy comes back at him with a sour look on his face. "That's not even funny, Randy. ~ Candi Kay

I made decaf," he said. "Caffeine isn't good for you."
"Thank you, Mama Lane."
He made a face at her. "Tate and I used to share everything. Let him go off in a snit. I'll share his baby. If he doesn't come back, I'll appropriate it, and you."
"That's one area where all your commando skills will fail, dear man," she said affectionately. "I like you very much, and you can be baby's godfather. But I'm raising this child myself."
"Godfather." He was savoring the word when the toast popped up.
"Bad choice of words," she murmured. "I wouldn't want to give you any bad ideas. I don't want my child outfitted in a fedora and a machine gun."
"Commando godfathers are a different breed."
"Black bags and camo gear aren't much better," she informed him.
"Spoilsport. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Hanging in the shower trying to dry out. ~ Diana Palmer

Momo would have been delighted, except that most of the newcomers had no idea how to play. All they did was sit around looking bored and sullen and watching Momo and her friends. Sometimes they deliberately broke up the other children's games and spoiled everything. Squabbles and scuffles were frequent, though these never lasted long because Momo's presence had its usual effect on the newcomers, too, so they soon started having bright ideas themselves and joining in with a will. The trouble was, new children turned up nearly every day, some of them from distant parts of the city, and one spoilsport was enough to ruin the game for everyone else. But there was another thing that Momo couldn't quite understand - a thing that hadn't happened until very recently. More and more often these days, children turned up with all kind of toys you couldn't really play with: remote-controlled tanks that trundled to and fro but did little else, or space rockets that whizzed around on strings but got nowhere, or model robots that waddled along with eyes flashing and heads swiveling but that was all. They were highly expensive toys such as Momo's friends had never owned, still less than Momo herself. Most noticeable of all, they were so complete, down to the tiniest detail, that they left nothing at all to the imagination. Their owners would spend hours watching them, mesmerized but bored, as they trundled, whizzed, and waddled along. Finally, when that palled, they would go back to the famili ~ Michael Ende, Momo

From 1914 to 1918 a generation of German schoolboys daily experienced war as a great, thrilling, enthralling game between nations, which provided far more excitement and emotional satisfaction than anything peace could offer; and that has now become the underlying vision of Nazism. That is where it draws its allure from: its simplicity, its appeal to the imagination, and its zest for action; but also its intolerance and its cruelty towards internal opponents. Anyone who does not join in the game is regarded not as an adversary but as a spoilsport. Ultimately that is also the source of Nazism's belligerent attitude towards neighboring states. Other countries are not regarded as neighbors but must be opponents, whether they like it or not. Otherwise the match must be called off! ~ Sebastian Haffner