I hear a really good pop song every now and then. 'ROAR' by Katy Perry, I love that! 'Poker Face'... Oh! What a song! And 'Rolling in the Deep'... Oh!
I stopped and gazed on the little dull man who was being paid to be a teacher of teachers. I turned and walked to the door, slammed it closed with a bang, and broken glass crashed to the floor. There was uproar behind me in the class, which did not interest me at all.
I was dirt-poor. I could barely hold down a job. Eventually, though, I started getting small parts on shows like 'Smallville,' 'Supernatural'... and lots of really bad sci-fi movies. I was running around the woods in wolf contacts, covered in fake blood made out of pancake syrup, roaring.
I love hitting the ball, controlling the ball. And yeah, even the roar of the crowd. I enjoy the roar of the crowd probably less than some players and more than some. But I'm not out here to be a celebrity.
The frail, vulnerable sounds of which we are capable seem to be essential to a later ability to roar like a lion without scaring everyone to death.
Anyone who thinks hunters are just 'bloodthirsty morons' hasn't looked into hunting. If you wait through long, cold hours in the November woods with a bow in your hands hoping a buck will show, or if you spend days walking in the African bush trailing Cape buffalo while listening to lions roar, you're sure to learn hunting isn't about killing.
The world is in a constant conspiracy against the brave. It's the age-old struggle: the roar of the crowd on the one side, and the voice of your conscience on the other.
Yes, it's true - I love the roar of the crowd. When the fans are with you, their voices come together in a big booming rush of sound that you can actually feel in your body - almost like a wave that lifts you and carries you past your own limits.
Those who are preparing for the coming of Christ should be sober, and watch unto prayer, for our adversary, the Devil, goeth about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour; whom we are to resist steadfast in the faith.
In December 2014, Uber held its annual holiday party on an unfurnished floor at its swank, mood-lit headquarters in San Francisco. Employees and investors attended in flamboyant attire from the Roaring '20s and drank at an open bar into the early morning hours.
