The Western stereotype of Africa and its black citizens as devoid of reason and, therefore, subhuman was often shared by white master and black ex-slave alike.
You can find virtually everybody black back as far as the 1870 census. Why 1870? That's when the ex-slaves first have surnames. But if you find your great-great-grandfather in 1870 and it says he's 50, that means he was born in 1820 and you're back to 1820 already. For an American that's pretty damned good, you know?
I can always get better. A lot of my ex-girlfriends don't think I'm funny.
I can still love an ex as a person, regardless if the breakup was bad. I would never wish anything negative on them. It takes more energy to hate them than to wish them well.
I put on fifteen pounds of muscle, so that was a lot of eating chicken and a high protein, low-carb diet. Also a lot of heavy lifting and a very different kind of training with an ex-navy SEAL guy who wanted to kill me every time I got with him. In a good way.
Everyone has the bully or the mean girl or the ex-boyfriend who tried to bring them down.
I play, in real life, Kim, who is actually Marshall Mathers ex-wife as of now. She lies and says she is pregnant because she really wants to keep him and he figures her out.
I don't write songs in order to stick it to my exes. I don't release underground dis tracks.
For 70 nights, right across America, I've been getting out there with two ex-lovers and we've been playing songs which are so specific about each of us, you just wouldn't know. We're friends now but we can't forget what happened between us.
We have to change public perception of ex-convicts. Most Canadians don't realize that when you come out of prison, you're a complete pariah. You can't get a car loan or money from a bank to start a business. So most end up back in prison within 24 months. It's just so wrong. We need to fix this problem.
I still love my former wife, I won't call her my ex-wife.
Someone called all the newspapers in New York and told them I'd died. I've been told by almost everyone it was an ex-wife - I've had a few so it's hard to pinpoint which one - but who knows for sure?
I believe the poor fierce-eyed child had figured out that with a mere fifty dollars in her purse she might somehow reach Broadway or Hollywood - or the foul kitchen of a diner (Help Wanted) in a dismal ex-prairie state, with the wind blowing, and the stars blinking, and the cars, and the bars, and the barmen, and everything soiled, torn, dead.
Please don't worry. It's a psychological complaint, common amongst ex-librarians. You see, she thinks she's a coffee table edition.
It is so strange, to encounter an ex. It's as if you're in a foreign film, and what you're saying face-to-face has nothing to do with the subtitles flowing beneath you. We are so careful not to touch, although once upon a time, I slept plastered to him in our bed, like lichen on a rock. We are two strangers who knows every shameful secret, every hidden freckle, every fatal flaw in each other.
I need some kind of... like... last minute, poorly-set-up deus ex machina!!
I saw my ex-husband in the street. I was sitting on the steps of the new library. Hello, my life, I said. We had once been married for twenty-seven years, so I felt justified. He said, What? What life? No life of mine.
Most everybody had made at least one bad, drunken decision in their lives. Called an ex at two in the morning. Or perhaps has a little too much to drink on a second date and wept inconsolably while revealing how simply damaged one was, while nonetheless retaining an uncommonly large capacity for love. That kind of thing was, while regrettable, at least comprehensible. But waking up with someone generationally inappropriate, like your grandfather's best buddy?
Yes," I said. "My name is seven-five-nine-nine-three-nine-ex-dash-one. Junior.
They like their coffee like they like their ex-boyfriends: bitter.
What are you gonna say?" Emma asked. " 'I'm not sure I want you back, but I'm sure I don't want your ex-con ex-girlfriend to have you, either'? Yeah. That'll start this little triangle off on the right foot.
Look at the ex-demon with his big boy pants on now.
My ex—may he soon discover tiny worms have invaded his body and are slowly eating him alive—once told me God made men so perfect because He'd wanted to make up for the inadequacies of women.
Should've thought of that before you told my ex-girlfriend I eat live kittens for breakfast." A tiny twinge of guilt. Then the cat wondered what Riley would think of her last successful "shoo-away." "Who knew she'd believe me?" [Mercy responded.] "Oh no? When you 'accidentally' opened the cupboard to expose my 'kitten cage' full of the poor, sad kitties I was going to snack on?" A raised eyebrow. "Wasn't the cage next to my special 'kitten defurring' tools?" "They were obviously fake." Bas just stared at her.
The skanky vamp biting for bucks on the dark end of state street is your ex boyfriend?" William asked. The look on William's face implied he hoped I washed after interacting with Parrish
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