Quotes About Humor

Soon a whole guild of low-priced shrine keepers around Europe named their own pope - Boldface the Relatively Shameless, Discount Pope of Prague. The price war was on [...] The Retail Pope would offer cheesy bacon toppings on the Host with communion and the Discount Pope would counter with topless nun night for midnight mass.

Your puny worm god weapons are useless against my superior Christmas Kung Fu.

I could stand on my head and flick the bean right there at the dinner table and my mom would be all, Honey, Christmas is family time, we should be together and make me finish in front of everyone.

Careful crossing the street, Tommy called back to her as he crossed. [Jody is drunk] Ha! Jody said. I am a finely tuned predator. I am a superbeing. I -- And at that point she bounced her forehead off a light pole with a dull twang and was suddenly lying on her back, looking at the streetlights above her, which kept going out of focus, the bastards.

Henceforth and from now on, I decree that whenever something bad happens to me, there shall be bunnies around. So it shall be written.

Not yet! said she [Goneril], trying to roll me over and get back to smacking my bum. She honked my codpiece. You honked my codpiece. Aye, give it up, fool. [...]

He preferred to not think of his mother as having hips. He preferred to not think of her as a woman at all, more as a traveling mass of loving annoyance - a mother-shaped storm that inhabited the bakery and, in bringing rain for the growth of the living things over which she hovered, didn't mind scaring the piss out of them with a few thunderbolts from time to time.

It was an eight-harlot inn, if that's how you measure an inn. (I understand that now they measure inns in stars. We are in a four-star inn right now. I don't know what the conversion from harlots to stars is.)

The dull always seek to be clever at the fool's expense, to somehow repay him for his cutting wit, but never are they clever, and often they are cruel.

One day the good times had to keep on rolling, and all of life's horseshit would turn to circuses.

Yeah, and don't think it's easy finding Ray-Bans in a fruit-bat medium.

When your best friend is the son of God, you get tired of losing every argument.

Do not bonk the Juliette

after Sammy struggles to unhook Stilton's bra] She rolled onto her face to give him a good shot at the hook in the back. Free my people! I will. I am the Harriet Tubman of your breasts.

You know what? You know what? You know what?' I was waving my finger under her nose. 'You scratched the Son of God. That's your ass, that's what.

Abby Von Normal - And I'm like, Don't change the subject, Kung Pao, what I want to know is if you're ready to spend some up-close and personal time with ninety pounds of barbarian woman-flesh! Sorry, I don't know how much that is in kilos.

About to be hanged is my status quo, not a condition that requires your repair.

He tapped into the Zen of ignorance, the enlightenment of absurdity.

You can't just go around blurting out the truth like a prophet with Tourette's syndrome.

Andrew Lloyd Webber's version of the Kool-Aid jingle is at once chilling and evocative. Donny Osmond is brilliant as James Jones.

Abby to Tommy and Jody who are hugging] So I'm like, Cold-faced killers on the clock, bitches, we don't have time for your bonery right now. --The Chronicles of Abby Normal

You whoreson scalawag! said I. You flesh-turd dropped stinking from the poxy arsehole of a hare-lipped harlot!

Wiggly Charlie lived in a big house with his friends Audrey and Big Charlie. He liked mozzarella cheese sticks, chasing his tennis ball, and putting his purple wizard hat on his willy and pretending they were friends.

Charlie found himself affecting the Emperor's formal speech patterns, as if somehow he had been transported to a royal court where a nobleman was distinguished by the crumbs in his beard and the royal guard were not above licking their balls.