Quotes About Humor

Well, when you're being held at gunpoint by a geriatric madman in a metal skirt, you've kind of hit rock bottom anyway. It can't really get much worse.

Me, I was still in the pygmy hippo in a skirt, singing lusty songs about Solomon's private life and a giant stone back and forth through the air as I climbed out of the quarry at the edge of the site.

George,' I croaked, 'are you okay?' 'No. Someone's buttocks are flattening my foot.' I shifted my position irritably.

His face was uniquely slapable - a nun would have ached to punch him - while his backside cried out to heaven for a well-placed kick.

I was having dark thoughts about waffles.

Has anyone got any bandages? I've just split my sides laughing.

Stanley went on, "highly dangerous, fanatical and additictied to violence'- Blimey Fred, is it your mother writing this? They seem to know you so well

That didn't last long, of course. "Oh Bartimaeus, could you just irrigate the Fertile Cresent?""Could you just divert the Euphrates HERE and HERE?""Look, while you're at it, do you mind just planting a few million wheat seeds up and down the flood plain? Thanks." Didn't even give me a dibble. By the time I got to Ur I wasn't surging with any of that terrible joy, oh no. My back was KILLING me.

George had his faraway look, the one that made him look like a constipated owl.

The object that was pinning me haplessly to the ground, like a butterfly on a collector's tray, was of twentieth-century origin and of very specific function. Oh, all right, it was a public lavatory.

The short, fat fingers moved like dancing sausages across the strings;

Mum's dead." "I'm sorry," Lockwood said. A shrug of bony shoulders. "The good news is, she hasn't risen again. So far." There was a silence. "Try the cake," George said. "It's good.

Well, when you're being held at gunpoint by a geriatric madman in a metal skirt, you've kind of hit rock bottom anyway," George said. "It can't really get much worse.

One eye was black and closed. I allowed myself a smile. Despite my predicament, there were still a few things left in life to enjoy.

I'd been having dark thoughts about waffles

Yet malice never was his aim;He lash'd the vice but spar'd the name.No individual could resent,Where thousands equally were meant.His satire points at no defectBut what all mortals may correct;For he abhorr'd that senseless tribeWho call it humor when they gibe.

He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put in vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw inclement summers.

Men are happy to be laughed at for their humor, but not for their folly.

For conversation well endu'd;She calls it witty to be rude;And, placing raillery in railing,Will tell aloud your greatest failing.

Satire is a sort of glass wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own; which is the chief reason for that kind reception it meets with in the world, and that so very few are offended with it.

Pity, I've learned, is like a fart. You can tolerate your own, but you simply can't stand anyone else's.

THERE IS NOTHING more pathetically optimistic than the morning erection. I am depressed, unemployed, unloved, basement-dwelling, and bereaved, but there it is, every morning like clockwork, rising up to greet the day, poking out of my fly cocksure and conspicuously useless. And every morning, I face the same choice: masturbate or urinate. It's the one time of the day where I feel like I have options.

The last time I saw Wade, I attacked him with an office chair. The time before that, I jammed a lit cheesecake up his ass and almost burned his balls off. So it's understandable that his first reaction upon seeing me is to flinch and assume a defensive posture.

I'm physically completely mal-coordinated. My best friend used to make me run for the bus just to give herself a quick, cheap laugh because I definitely don't have that sophisticated cool thing down.