A Quote by Zell Miller

Why is it that there's more indignation over a photo of a prisoner with underwear on his head than over the video of a young American with no head at all? — © Zell Miller
Why is it that there's more indignation over a photo of a prisoner with underwear on his head than over the video of a young American with no head at all?
I've seen the video played over and over, and it replays in my head constantly. To be able to walk in his exact footsteps is an extremely huge honor, and I did this for him as much as I did it for my family to get some closure too.
What's more American than young people speaking their mind over things they had to create over pots and pans and electronically because music was taken out of schools? What's more American than making something out of nothing? What's more gospel than rap music?
Then I heard another shot which hit him right in the head, over here, and his head practically opened up and a lot of blood and many more things came out.
Once I saw a homeless man wearing his underwear on top of his pants. Now we say, why don't the homeless just go out and get a job? If he's wearing his underwear on top of his pants, I doubt his resume is in order, and I don't think he's going to make it too far in the interview process. In fact, I'm pretty sure that McDonald's has a no underwear over your pant policy.
This is ridiculous. It's been months and for some reason I just can't get over us. I'm stronger than this. Enough is enough; no more walking around with my head down, I'm so over being blue crying over you.
I can bend over and put my head between my legs, stick my foot over my head, and stand one leg.
Would you like to assist me with my choice of underwear as well?” My sarcasm whistled right over his head. “I would be delighted. While I’d love to see you in a balconette bra, I’m afraid for this particular occasion I would have to go with a foam-lined seamless due to the tight fit of the garment across your breasts . . . Perhaps I could come over and review what you have available . . .
The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth's dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart.
I'm not afraid of doing anything. I have no fear. It's made me pretty confident in that I can have a plane flown over my head or I can go head-to-head with an alligator or with a python, and it's all okay and it's so fun.
It's like painting the same blank canvas over and over and over and over and over. Once the concept is known, you don't need to see two. And that was in the back of my head, that I was really done artistically with what I had created or pastiched.
I knew a girl so ugly that she was known as a two-bagger. That's when you put a bag over your head in case the bag over her head breaks.
You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric. “Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?” “I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?” Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.
It's difficult enough for a young person to put his soul on the line in front of a lot of drunken people without having that hanging over his head, too.
I want your hands on my head.” I nod and edge back to make room for him. “Does it calm your racing thoughts?” He shakes his head, then takes my hand and spreads it open over his wide chest, his voice textured as he traps my gaze with his. “It calms me here.
I didn't feel physically sick. But mentally. My mind was twisting in so many ways. (...) We once saw a documentary on migraines. One of the men interviewed used to fall on his knees and bang his head against the floor, over and over during attacks. This diverted the pain from deep inside his brain, where he couldn't reach it, to a pain outside that he had control over.
It has long been believed that a man who gets bald across the front of his head is a thinker while a man who gets bald on the crown of his head is a lover. It follows, certainly, that a man who gets bald all over his head thinks he's a lover.
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