“Hola, Todd. Yes, it is I - the Minister of Culture. Cler-gy. Quite a fishing shirt you got there, Todd. Real groovy. You a fisher of men? Set the hook, trawler. The fishies be nibblin’. Hook ‘em” 
“Heed the lesson of Samson and his hair, young Breckynridge. Killed an entire army with the jawbone of a donkey. A burro, k? Strength in that mane. But a lion’s mane is just dead cells. We must deforest for spring’s regrow. Cycles, man. Re-birth.”
“You feel that, young squire? There’s a cadence in this adobe tonight. An ar-rhyth-mi-a, k? Reckon there might be a sacrifice this evenin’. Full moon. What will you bring to the feast? That orange pelota is a start, but Saint Erwin haha well he wants your blood. Onward.”
<pats Gatorade cooler><chuckles>
“Y’all remember the Roman aqueducts. Provided water to the townsmen. Little Tuscan swimmin’ holes and jacuzzis. Filled the basins for the cattle, too. Flu-id-i-ty. Hydrate thyselves, cattle. Panteth for the agua.”
“Y’all remember the Roman aqueducts. Provided water to the townsmen. Little Tuscan swimmin’ holes and jacuzzis. Filled the basins for the cattle, too. Flu-id-i-ty. Hydrate thyselves, cattle. Panteth for the agua.”
“Hola, rookies, hola. This meadow - this di-amond that gushed forth from a chunk of coal - it’s an ancient Comanche burial ground. Have you listened to the meadow? Slid your soul’s hooves into the moccasins of Chief Nocona’s wisdom? The hit-and-run don’t wait for nobody, Tonto.”
"Lemme clue you baby-kissin' chieftains in on Los Lobos from Longview, Texas, k?. The Lobos had been deprived of their prey for too long - bison, pronghorn, What-a-burger, all of it, man. Los Lobos were hungry. Hambriento, comprende? The full moon pointed toward a hunt..."
“A moveable feast awaits, gladiators. A liturgical shin-dig, k? Humbly lay the thistle of the live oak in my tabernacle so that I may bless it. Once I’ve burned the bolsa verde of grass, we’ll dine upon that golden calf. Primavera cometh. Hook thee.”
“You’re a dignitary, Topher. Your surname is Tuscan, compagno. Means Son of a Count. A nobleman. The eyes of Tejas look upon thee. Collect the alms. The a-tone-ments from goddess Nike. Time waits for no man and coaching buyouts lurk like a serpent in a fishin’ hole, k?”
"Well my my look at this assailant ripe out of a Waxahachie Whataburger. What do they feed you, clodhopper? I reckon oats and game meats. Mus-co-vy ducklings. Gonna call you Failure to Launch, k? I haven't seen such non-athleticism since I greco roman rassled Kathy Bates on-set"
"Well, Vincente de Joven" [snickers to self] "The universe is gonna tell you that you can't fly. They'll hearken the mythology of Icarus. That wax in those wings will melt if you get too close to the sun. El sol, comprende? Nah nah. It's time to board this Wild Turkey. Liftoff"
"Behold, pupils. This coliseum. One big mortar and pestle. The oath is now ours. Will we husk and de-hull our wretched fears in the mortar? Will the corazóns in our torso birdcages be ground by the holy pestle into a fine powder penance for the football gods? Hook thyselves."
"You must ask yourself, virtuoso ... when is making the NIT *more* than just making the N-I-T? What or-na-men-ta-tion is your soul thirsting for? Your quin-tess-ence. We're mere pack animals, comrade. Freedom is found in the hunt. Li-ber-a, k? That's Latin. Be free."
"Well ain't you a comely dish of jam-ba-la-ya? Any valor inside that kimono, samurai? Them looks of yours might de-liver on 6th Street, but can you close on 6th-and-goal at the Cotton Bowl? El Cuenco de Algodón? Tend to the garden, seedsman."
"Whole world is defined by connections, gentlemen. Marriage. The internet. A 6-4-3 double play. In u-ter-o. A flight delay in Newark. [pauses] [begins making circular motion] Drum. Circles, k? How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Connections. Have you lost yourself in 9 innings, amigo?"
"The tally is zero-zero, Ricardo. Did you eyeball that waxing moon last night? The lunar de-i-ties had a crawfish boil and hath spoken. The time has come to pack up the hobo bindle with your snacks and head shop cache and go for a long run on that lawn over yonder, k?"
"Y'all know my hermano here Chico Fieri. We neophytes have bestowed this hash slingin swordsman with a Hollywood Star. A monolith that is a testament to culinary prow-ess. Sashimi Won-Tacos. Guy-talian Fondue Dippers. Manna from up above, I say. That's where Chico's real star is"
"Listen to me, Chico. Dial this into your righteous brain stem. You earned this. YOU parted the Sea of Donkey Sauce. Salsa de Burro, k? Greek mythology teaches us of Ambrosia. The drink of the gods delivered by doves. You're the dove Chico. Delivering we mortals Tattooed Mojitos"
"What's the frequency of your umbra, gladiators? Do your innards have the buoyancy to conquer Carthage? Ol' Julio Caesar smiles upon the warriors who bring the raw vi-tal-i-ty, k? De-liver the showmanship to el estadio. The masses thirst for sangre and Miller Lite."
"Buenas noches pupils. You've developed mastery over math. Sanskrit, maybe. The dominance hierarchy of capture-the-flag. But the real deal cat-e-chism begins tonight, estudiantes. It's called LII-FE. World is a mirror, see? A mirror reflecting a chrome dune buggy. Take the ride."
“Check it out, Samuél. Señor Sam-I-Am. There’s an orbit, k? A force. It’s centrifugal - in your bones. You’re the sun. El Sol. The brightest star. You provide warmth, sure” [pauses, smirks] “but you also scorch and singe the weak. It’s time to rise, El Sol de Samuél.”
“Dig this, kemosabe. The solstice teaches us about cultivation. Nourishment for the soil of your soul. Fall’s yield hinges upon the tender care of the terra firma in your guts. Nurture the minerals for the pilgrimage. The days are long but the harvest is fleeting. Hook the crops”
"Life'll take you on a jaunt, Stilts. The gods are now summoning you to New Amsterdam. What'll you pack for the pilgrimage? Reckon some totems and scrolls. A snake sloughs off his skin to allow for further growth. To remove par-a-sites, k? Cast off the epidermis, KD. Hook thee."
“Universe don’t wait for nobody. Doesn’t need to. It’s incumbent upon us to listen to the cosmos, gentlemen. The goddess Artemis lords over the hunt. The moon and virginity, too. Our souls are just spinnin’ on Artemis’ meat spit, hombres. Take the ride”
"I want y'all to take a look at this coat of arms. This in-sig-ni-a, k? That FC stands for Free Cannabis. This ain't some dimebag of dirtweed from Skeeter down in Uvalde. We're talkin' fertility. Lush-ness. Roots slitherin' into Mother Earth's crust. Madre Tierra. Dig the brand."
@AustinFC [chuckles to self] "I admire the valor, Young Derrius. The prow-ess, k? You must ask yourself - is your soul's compass merely pointing toward a singular game upon a grid made of iron? Or, are you playing the in-fin-ite game? You're a bengal tiger. Ripe for a poachin'" @DhaSickest
@AustinFC @DhaSickest "hola film disciples, hola. Today we're discussing cinema. Pictures, but blurred into move-ment. I reckon anything can be put to film... words, poems, drum solos, this trustfund mad scientist to my right. Tran-scen-dence, k? Now, pupils, go forth. Create the next Patch Adams."
