Offensive Humor Quotes

MS. THOMPSON, it said in heavy block letters, PLEASE KEEP YOUR FELINE OFF MY PROPERTY. IF I SEE IT AGAIN, I WILL EAT IT.

It's now very common to hear people say, 'I'm rather offended by that.' As if that gives them certain rights. It's actually nothing more... than a whine. 'I find that offensive.' It has no meaning; it has no purpose; it has no reason to be respected as a phrase. 'I am offended by that.' Well, so fucking what." [I saw hate in a graveyard -- Stephen Fry, The Guardian, 5 June 2005]

Fortunately, among werewolf women, the word "bitch" is not offensive. I was having a lot of fun with that. "Hey there, bitches!" I called as I came through the door. "What are my favorite bitches up to today?

The wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone." Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid, worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way.

They don't fit you?" V asked his roommate. "Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People." Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. "I mean, come on." "They're for fighting, not fashion." "So are kilts, but you don't see me rocking the tartan." "And thank God for that. You're too bowlegged to pull that shit off." Butch assumed a bored expression. "You can bite me.

The best defense is a confusing offense.

‎You cannot correct an old person every time they say something offensive. You would never make it through Thanksgiving dinner!

The earl shook his head, exhibiting a degree of frosty offense that could only be achieved by an aristocrat whose wishes had just been gainsaid. “I’ve never heard of a man being so eager to confess to the parent of a girl he’s just ruined,” he said sourly.

No offense, Jaron, but I don't want your life. Even locked away behind closed doors I got a taste for how awful it can be." "Did anyone try to kill you while I was gone?" "No." "Then you didn't even get a taste.

That caravan looks as if it’s all Vorin. Also, you look a little spindly for a Horneater.” “Did you just insult the princess’s weight?” Tyn asked, aghast. Storms! She was good. She actually managed to produce angerspren with the remark. Well, nothing to do but soldier on. “I am offend!” Shallan yelled. “You have offended Her Highness again!” “Very offend!” “You’d better apologize.” “No apologize!” Shallan declared. “Boots!

You mean a bad heel?" I said. "Couldn't I just, like, wear something besides sandals? No offense." -Percy

Perhaps there isn’t anything Alec is afraid of.” Magnus glanced at Alec and raised his eyebrows. “Boo,” he said. Jace was grinning. “Come on, surely you’ve got a phobia or two. What scares you?” Alec thought for a moment. “Spiders,” he said. Clary turned to Luke. “Have you got a spider anywhere?” Luke looked exasperated. “Why would I have a spider? Do I look like someone who would collect them?” “No offense,” Jace said, “But you kind of do.” “You know”---Alec’s tone was sour---”Maybe this was a stupid experiment.” “What about the dark?” Clary suggested. “We could lock you in the basement.” “I’m a demon hunter,” Alec said, with exaggerated patience. “Clearly, I am not afraid of the dark.

I've been stabbed before. Barely a week ago, in fact. AND I've been audited, AND I come from a broken home. In short - no offense, shorty - you don't scare me.

Anything designed to be inoffensive isn't worth your time -- life itself is pretty offensive, ending as it does with death.

She raised a sharp eyebrow at him. "Vlad, no offense, but look at you. If you're not a vampire, you're clearly the most anemic goth I've ever seen."... "We believed you. Because that's what friends do." pg267 October to Vlad

When the Washington Post telephoned me at home on Valentine's Day 1989 to ask my opinion about the Ayatollah Khomeini's fatwah, I felt at once that here was something that completely committed me. It was, if I can phrase it like this, a matter of everything I hated versus everything I loved. In the hate column: dictatorship, religion, stupidity, demagogy, censorship, bullying, and intimidation. In the love column: literature, irony, humor, the individual, and the defense of free expression. Plus, of course, friendship—though I like to think that my reaction would have been the same if I hadn't known Salman at all. To re-state the premise of the argument again: the theocratic head of a foreign despotism offers money in his own name in order to suborn the murder of a civilian citizen of another country, for the offense of writing a work of fiction. No more root-and-branch challenge to the values of the Enlightenment (on the bicentennial of the fall of the Bastille) or to the First Amendment to the Constitution, could be imagined. President George H.W. Bush, when asked to comment, could only say grudgingly that, as far as he could see, no American interests were involved…

Adieu, Lord Dain,” she answered without turning her head. “Have a pleasant evening with your cows.” Cows? She was merely trying to provoke him, Dain told himself. The remark was a pathetic attempt at a setdown. To take offense was to admit he’d felt the sting. He told himself to laugh and return to his… cows.

Trees are corrupting our parks. They should be arrested for loitering. For deciduous trees, add littering and indecent exposure to that list of offenses.

When you’re given the gift of truth, you spend a lot of time trying to tone it down because it is already offensive enough.

See, that’s the problem these days. No one has a sense of humor anymore. Offended at every damn thing.” Mack shook his head. “Dude, some shit was always offensive.” “No one minded in my day.” “Women did. You just decided their opinions didn’t count.

They don't fit you?" V asked his roommate. "Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People." Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. "I mean, come on." "They're for fighting, not fashion." "So are kilts, but you don't see me rocking the tartan." "And thank God for that. You're too bowlegged to pull that shit off." Butch assumed a bored expression. "You can bite me.” I wish, V thought. Butch and Vishous

I need a victim and no offense Yuki, but your carrot sticks are lacking in controversy.

Are you going to keep her?" "Yes." "Does she know it?" "Not yet." Ramsey overheard the conversation and laughed heartily. "I assume you've considered all the problems, Brodick." "I have." "It won't be an easy life for her living with—" Ramsey began. Brodick finished his sentence for him. "Living with the Buchanan clan. I know, and I worry about her adjustment." Ramsey grinned. "That's not what I was going to say. It won't be easy for her living with you. Rumor has it, you're a difficult man to be around." Brodick didn't take offense. "Gillian's aware of my flaws." "And she'll still have you?" Winslow asked. "As a matter of fact, she has refused to marry me." Knowing Brodick as well as they did, both Ramsey and Winslow began to laugh again. "So when's the wedding?" Ramsey asked.

Another thing I take issue with are people who take their dogs on "play dates," or even worse, people who choose to dress their dogs up in outfits better suited for homosexuals participating in a gay pride parade. Dog costumes are right up there with something else I find particularly offensive: sweater vests.

Eventually my dad got home from work and set his briefcase down. 'So. How was practice?' he asked 'It was good. Why? Did you hear it wasn't?' I said, trying to keep my cool. 'Son, no offense, but you play Little League. It's not the Yankees. I don't get daily reports about who's hitting the shit out of the ball

Lack of education," old Mrs. Sharpe said thoughtfully, "is an extraordinary handicap when one is being offensive. They had no resources at all.

People who are easily offended should live on an island to avoid offenses!

Are you calling me stupid?"says Emby. "I think I just did." Hayden laughs. "Hey, the Mouth Breather's right-unwinding does help people. If it wasn't for unwinding, there would be bald guys again-and wouldn't that be horrible?

But it’s tempting to be Cool Girl. For someone like me, who likes to win, it’s tempting to want to be the girl every guy wants. When I met Nick, I knew immediately that was what he wanted, and for him, I guess I was willing to try. I will accept my portion of blame. The thing is, I was crazy about him at first. I found him perversely exotic, a good ole Missouri boy. He was so damn nice to be around. He teased things out in me that I didn’t know existed: a lightness, a humor, an ease. It was as if he hollowed me out and filled me with feathers. He helped me be Cool Girl – I couldn’t have been Cool Girl with anyone else. I wouldn’t have wanted to. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy some of it: I ate a MoonPie, I walked barefoot, I stopped worrying. I watched dumb movies and ate chemically laced foods. I didn’t think past the first step of anything, that was the key. I drank a Coke and didn’t worry about how to recycle the can or about the acid puddling in my belly, acid so powerful it could strip clean a penny. We went to a dumb movie and I didn’t worry about the offensive sexism or the lack of minorities in meaningful roles. I didn’t even worry whether the movie made sense. I didn’t worry about anything that came next. Nothing had consequence, I was living in the moment, and I could feel myself getting shallower and dumber. But also happy.

Essentially, the whole time I’d been here, the security staff hadn’t been paid. I would have been harassing the management too, though I probably would have started with a discussion and not so much jumping straight to peeing on someone’s bed. You have to work up to that sort of thing. Still, I had essentially staged a hostile takeover, which did kind of explain why they’d been going on the offensive.

Bradley shook his head in amusement, "For twins, you and your brother are nothing alike. I used to wonder what it would be like to have a twin, but now... No offense, but I'm rather glad I came by myself.

Canada?" Ash said. "You didn't say it was in Canada. "I said Ontario." (Maya) "I thought you meant Ontario, California." "Seriously?" Tori said,rolling her eyes. "A helicopter to California? You may be hot,but your sister clearly inherited all the brains in the family." "Did she call me hot?" Ash whispered to me, looking more annoyed than he ever did when someone called him a jerk. "She hasn't been on a date in six months", Derek rumbled behind us. "No offense, but as long as aren't related to her, you're fair game. Hell, even--" Tori spun on him. "I didn't know." "Um, wait a sec," Corey said. "So Ash is hot and I'm seriously cute? Is there a difference?" "Yes," Hayley said, and propelled him through the line.

He laughed, a low, sexy growl, as she moaned in obvious frustration. “Patience is a virtue,” he said. “Torture is a federal offense,” she replied.

It may not seem like much, but grand theft auto is still a pretty serious offense.

It's not cold in here, you're just dying.

I’m tempted to kill the general first, then his staff officers. Sometimes you just want to eat pudding early. All the same, I make myself wait.

New Rule: A dog is the only animal that can get you laid. No offense, parrot guy, but it's not gonna happen. When women see you, they're not thinking, "I bet that guy is interesting," they're thinking, "That bird better not shit on my dress.

Mister Rob Anybody and sundry others?" said one of the figures in a dreadful voice. "There's naebody here o' that name!" shouted Rob Anybody. "We dinna know anythin'!" "We have here a list of criminal and civil charges totaling nineteen thousand, seven hundred and sixty-three separate offenses-" "We wasna there!" yelled Rob Anybody desperately. "Isn't that right, lads?" "-including more than two thousand cases of Making an Affray, Causing a Public Nuisance, Being Found Drunk, Being Found Very Drunk, Using Offensive Language (taking into account ninety-seven cases of Using Language That Was Probably Offensive If Anyone Else Could Understand It), Committing a Breach of the Peace, Malicious Lingering-" "It's mistaken identity!" shouted Rob Anybody. "It's no' oour fault! We wuz only standing there an' someone else did it and ran awa'!" "-Grand Theft, Petty Theft, Burglary, Housebreaking, Loitering with Intent to Commit a Felony-" "We wuz misunderstood when we was wee bairns!" yelled Rob Anybody. "Ye're only picking on us 'cause we're blue! We always get blamed for everythin'! The polis hate us! We wasna even in the country!

There is no better way of defending yourself against unkind words than to treat them as a joke. I know someone personally who laughingly passed off such remarks as said in fun, and silenced his enemies with a witty rejoinder. They soon lost their bad temper and made light of what they had said in earnest. The humble know all these tactics, but the proud take offence at everything and are never at peace.

I am quite scandalous, you see. I come packaged with unpredictable moments, brutal honesty, calamitous outbursts, the ghastly need for love, a fiendish lack of filter, the horrific need to question everything, nauseating affection, offensive kindness, indecent spirituality, obscene beauty, monstrous creativity, barbaric embellishments, contemptuous passion, sinful childhood traumas, unscrupulous hobbies, vexatious caring, abominable sensitivity, reprehensible humor, hideous sarcasm, displeasing feelings, unpalatable confidence, offensive compassion, villainous inspiration and a devilish wit. I am quite grotesque in my imperfectness and I am not ashamed to admit it.

I know, 0 Caesar, that thou art awaiting my arrival with impatience, that thy true heart of a friend is yearning day and night for me. I know that thou art ready to cover me with gifts, make me prefect of the pretorian guards, and command Tigellinus to be that which the gods made him, a mule-driver in those lands which thou didst inherit after poisoning Domitius. Pardon me, however, for I swear to thee by Hades, and by the shades of thy mother, thy wife, thy brother, and Seneca, that I cannot go to thee. Life is a great treasure. I have taken the most precious jewels from that treasure, but in life there are many things which I cannot endure any longer. Do not suppose, I pray, that I am offended because thou didst kill thy mother, thy wife, and thy brother; that thou didst burn Eome and send to Erebus all the honest men in thy dominions. No, grandson of Chronos. Death is the inheritance of man; from thee other deeds could not have been expected. But to destroy one's ear for whole years with thy poetry, to see thy belly of a Domitius on slim legs whirled about in a Pyrrhic dance; to hear thy music, thy declamation, thy doggerel verses, wretched poet of the suburbs, — is a thing surpassing my power, and it has roused in me the wish to die. Eome stuffs its ears when it hears thee; the world reviles thee. I can blush for thee no longer, and I have no wish to do so. The howls of Cerberus, though resembling thy music, will be less offensive to me, for I have never been the friend of Cerberus, and I need not be ashamed of his howling. Farewell, but make no music; commit murder, but write no verses; poison people, but dance not; be an incendiary, but play not on a cithara. This is the wish and the last friendly counsel sent thee by the — Arbiter Elegantiae.

Minor offenses at best. Nothing to deserve death by potato.

You made me laugh at your jokes. You made me cry at your criticism. You made me shout at your lies. Then I noticed how in every case someone else was present, hearing you without laughter or tears or anger. I alone reacted. I see now; you never made me laugh or cry or rage. I chose to find humor. I chose to take offense. I chose to feel scorned. The truth is, you never had power over me.

A genius he may be, but he is still a habitual meddler and magnet for trouble.” The bodyguard winked at Artemis. “No offense, young sir, but you could turn a Sunday picnic into an international incident.

The second time, I had a freakin’ vampire at my back.” I froze. Oh shit. “No offense, Mr. Moreau,” I quickly added. “None taken, Agent Fraser. During the course of my lengthy life, I have been called many things, but ‘freakin’’ has never been one of them. I’ll consider it a novelty.

And you expect us to take the word of your … very pregnant wife, over a DNA test? No offense, but pregnancy tends to lower a female’s IQ.” Burnett turned to the warlock, but before he could add his two cents— which didn’t look as if it would be pleasant— Holiday added her own. “That’s funny,” she said, but without humor. “I’ve heard it also makes us vicious if provoked. And for your information, I’d be happy to put my IQ up against yours, pregnant or not.” Hunter, C. C. (2014-05-20). Reborn (Shadow Falls: After Dark) (p. 336). St. Martin's Press. Kindle Edition.

Wrath: look at how their folklore portrays our species. There's Dracula for Christ's sake, an evil bloodsucker who preys on the defenseless. There's piss-poor B movies and porn. And don't get me started on the whole Halloween thing. Plastic fangs. Black capes. The only thing the idiots got right are that we drink blood and that we can't go out in daylight. The rest is bullshit, fabricated to alienate us and stimulate fear in the masses. Or just as offensive, the fiction used to create some kind of mystique for bored humans who think the dark side is a fun place to visit.

In the United States and Canada, many young people are currently being raised on the idea of “safe spaces”. Ideas that fall outside of the framework of Political Correctness are seen as so offensive that hearing these ideas is believed to be psychologically damaging. The young generation should therefore get ‘protected’ from these opposing ideas. It is hard to come up with a more effective way to create a generation of idiots. Besides being deeply and intensely indoctrinated with Political Correctness, these young people have an additional tendency to connect Western values and principles to the concept of “white supremacy”. Western values and principles are thus “racist” and Western Civilisation is “oppressive”.

Danny was a matador. Other cast members included a chubby Italian chef, a mime, and, for some reason, a mummy. I found that offensive on behalf of living Egyptian people, but I also knew that Parker McHune’s mother couldn’t sew, so wrapping her son in Ace bandages was the best she could do.

The notion that inspired play (even when audacious, offensive, or obscene) enhances rather than diminishes intellectual vigor and spiritual fulfillment, the notion that in the eyes of the gods the tight-lipped hero and the wet-cheeked victim are frequently inferior to the red-nosed clown, such notions are destined to be a hard sell to those who have E.M. Forster on their bedside table and a clump of dried narcissus up their ass. Not to worry. As long as words and ideas exist, there will be a few misfits who will cavort with them in a spirit of *approfondement*–if I may borrow that marvelous French word that translates roughly as ‘playing easily in the deep’–and in so doing they will occasionally bring to realization Kafka’s belief that ‘a novel should be an ax for the frozen seas around us’.

The busybody (banned as sexist, demeaning to older women) who lives next door called my daughter a tomboy (banned as sexist) when she climbed the jungle (banned; replaced with "rain forest") gym. Then she had the nerve to call her an egghead and a bookworm (both banned as offensive; replaced with "intellectual") because she read fairy (banned because suggests homosexuality; replace with "elf") tales. I'm tired of the Language Police turning a deaf ear (banned as handicapism) to my complaints. I'm no Pollyanna (banned as sexist) and will not accept any lame (banned as offensive; replace with "walks with a cane") excuses at this time. If Alanis Morrissette can play God (banned) in Dogma (banned as ethnocentric; replace with "Doctrine" or "Belief"), why can't my daughter play stickball (banned as regional or ethnic bias) on boy's night out (banned as sexist)? Why can't she build a snowman (banned, replace with "snow person") without that fanatic (banned as ethnocentric; replace with "believer," "follower," or "adherent") next door telling her she's going to hell (banned; replaced with "heck" or "darn")? Do you really think this is what the Founding Fathers (banned as sexist; replace with "the Founders" or "the Framers") had in mind? That we can't even enjoy our Devil (banned)-ed ham sandwiches in peace? I say put a stop to this cult (banned as ethnocentric) of PC old wives' tales (banned as sexist; replace with "folk wisdom") and extremist (banned as ethnocentric; replace with "believer," "follower," or "adherent") conservative duffers (banned as demeaning to older men). As an heiress (banned as sexist; replace with "heir") to the first amendment, I feel that only a heretic (use with caution when comparing religions) would try to stop American vernacular from flourishing in all its inspirational (banned as patronizing when referring to a person with disabilities) splendor.

Jericho stopped him before he left. He slid the ring off his finger and handed it to him. "Take this." Asmodeus curled his lip as he shrank back from it. "I'm not about to marry your ugly ass, boy. No offense, but you ain't my type. I like my dates with less body hair... and with female parts attached by nature." Jericho let out an aggravated growl. "It's not a wedding ring, asshole. It's Berith's ring. You get into trouble you can summon him to help you get out of there." That completely changed his attitude. "Oh, hey, that could be worth an engagement to you." Asmodeus grinned as he palmed it. "If I'm back in a few hours... well, I don't want to think about that. I might change my mind about doing this. I'm thinking happy thoughts. Creamed dog innards and rotten steak. Yeah. Yum." He vanished.

I knew I had one last shot to win this battle. It was risky, but it’s all I had left. The Tri-Beam Offensive. A last-resort tactic I had developed over the years, in which I attack from three different angles: Sympathy, Health, and Education. It had a low success rate, but at this point I was desperate. 'It’s not like I’m gonna get better anyway, plus I have a headache, and I have a lot a lot of homework!

I mean-- no offense, Leonard, but you really don't like to climb ropes, and get into the Marine Corps, and kill your countriy's enemies, do you?" I said that it wasn't one of the big goals of my life. "Well, maybe you'd like me to get you into this corrective gym class, where you can study toe dancing, and grow up to be a little Commie, sissy boy," Mr. Jerris said. I told him I would like that just fine…

Chicken Soup for the Soul". You've heard of these books, am I right? We've all heard of them. But I wonder if you're aware of just how many "Chicken Soup" books exist on the planet. No offense, but I doubt it. I doubt it because in the time it would take you to come up with a number, the number would have become obsolete. Even as you read this, in some quiet, fecund place, another "Chicken Soup" book is being born.

Noble starets, tell me, are my high spirits offensive to you or not?" Fyodor Pavlovich suddenly exclaimed, gripping the arms of his chair with both hands and appearing ready to leap out of it, depending on the reply.

Before trying to be funny, remember The Offended, and then don’t say anything at all. You can’t even make fun of yourself these days, because at just one person, you are the tiniest minority—and therefore a protected species.

There's a lot of pointing. A festival of pointing and at very close range to other people's eyes, given the width of the space. Also detracting from the exhibit's potential tranquility is the display cabinet of pinned specimens along one wall. I found this disturbing from the start. You don't see a whole lot of stuffed polar bears in the polar bear exhibit at the zoo, for instance. And butterflies have phenomenal vision so it's not like they can't see the mass crucifixion in their midst. I was offended on behalf of the butterflies and thus pleased with my offense. Let the empathizing begin! This volunteering thing was working already. I am a good person, hear me give!

This is the first time I was ever asked my opinion by a footman. Thank you, but I believe I shall decline my share of this . . ." He thought for a moment, before settling on the most offensive word in his vocabulary. ". . . democracy.

Can I cuddle up with you when you sleep?” Sma stopped, detached the creature from her shoulder with one hand and stared it in the face. “What?” “Just for chumminess’ sake,” the little thing said, yawning wide and blinking. “I’m not being rude; it’s a good bonding procedure.” Sma was aware of Skaffen-Amtiskaw glowing red just behind her. She brought the yellow and brown device closer to her face. “Listen, Xenophobe—” “Xeny.” “Xeny. You are a million-ton starship. A Torturer class Rapid Offensive Unit. Even—” “But I’m demilitarized!” “Even without your principle armament, I bet you could waste planets if you wanted to—” “Aw, come on; any silly GCU can do that!” “So what’s all this shit for?” She shook the furry little remote drone, quite hard. Its teeth chattered. “It’s for a laugh!” it cried. “Sma, don’t you appreciate a joke?” “I don’t know. Do you appreciate being drop-kicked back to the accommodation area?” “Ooh! What’s your problem, lady? Have you got something against small furry animals, or what?” Look Ms. Sma, I know very well I’m a ship, and I do everything I’m asked to do—including taking you to this frankly rather fuzzily specified destination—and do it very efficiently, too. If there was the slightest sniff of any real action, and I had to start acting like a warship, this construct in your hands would go lifeless and limp immediately, and I’d battle as ferociously and decisively as I’ve been trained to. Meanwhile, like my human colleagues, I amuse myself harmlessly. If you really hate my current appearance, all right; I’ll change it; I’ll be an ordinary drone, or just a disembodied voice, or talk to you through Skaffen-Amtiskaw here, or through your personal terminal. The last thing I want is to offend a guest.” Sma pursed her lips. She patted the thing on its head and sighed. “Fair enough.” “I can keep this shape?” “By all means.” “Oh goody!” It squirmed with pleasure, then opened its big eyes wide and looked hopefully at her. “Cuddle?” “Cuddle.” Sma cuddled it, patted its back. She turned to see Skaffen-Amtiskaw lying dramatically on its back in midair, its aura field flashing the lurid orange that was used to signal Sick Drone in Extreme Distress.

I don't know what happened, but in a pre-emptive strike, I'm offended on behalf of people who may have been offended even though that wasn't the intention. I'm also offended on behalf of people who may be allergic to apologies. Some people are probably offended by what I've written and I'm also offended on behalf of those people against myself.

Wait." Walter went to the basket, taking what was a gray sleeve, drawing it out fro the middle of the heap. "Oh," He said. He held the shapeless wool sweater to his chest. Joyce had knit for months the year Daniel died, and here was the result, her handiwork, the garment that would fit a giant. It was nothing more than twelve skeins of yarn and thousands of loops, but it had the power to bring back in a flash the green-tiled walls of the hospital, the sound of an ambulance trying to cut through city traffic in the distance, the breathing of the dying boy, his father staring at the ceiling, the full greasy bucket of fried chicken on he bed table. "I'll take this one," Walter said, balling up the sweater as best he could, stuffing it into a shopping bag that was half full of the books he was taking home, that he was borrowing. "Oh, honey," Joyce said. "You don't want that old scrap." "You made it. I remember your making it." Keep it light, he said to himself, that's a boy. "There's a use for it. Don't you think so, Aunt Jeannie? No offense, Mom, but I could invade the Huns with it or strap the sleeves to my car tires in a blizzard, for traction, or protect our nation with it out in space, a shield against nuclear attack." Jeannie tittered in her usual way in spite of herself. "You always did have that sense of humor," she said as she went upstairs. When she was out of range, Joyce went to Walter's bag and retrieved the sweater. She laid it on the card table, the long arms hanging down, and she fingered the stitches. "Will you look at the mass of it," she exclaimed. "I don't even recall making it." ""'Memory -- that strange deceiver,'" Walter quoted.

He straightened up. “Your chief trouble,” he said, not offensively, “is that you think you’ve got a sense of humor. It confuses people, and you ought to get over it. Things strike you as funny. You thought it would be funny to have a talk with Rackham, and it may be all right this time, but someday something that you think is funny will blow your goddam head right off your shoulders.” Only after he had gone did it occur to me that that wouldn’t prove it wasn’t funny.

Humor is so subjective, not everyone is going to get what you are peddling. Others will be offended when what you meant no offense whatsoever. Those are the stakes. You have to be able to stand up for yourself and what you’ve written. Comedy pushes limits, makes people uncomfortable, and is a natural reaction to the environment. Otherwise, as I said, it is forced. Let it flow and give your characters permission to cross a line or two, but only if you can take the heat afterward.

No offense, doll, but that’s not something I’m willing to share. I’d prefer to live a long and happy life if it’s all the same to you.” “You can’t just throw out vague allegations and then say nothing else!” “See, that’s the good thing about being a fugitive like me. I can do what the hell I like, and I’m not answerable to anyone.” Stepping away from the bars, he stands with his legs stretched out wide. His stance matches his grin. “Sure looks like that’s working out well for you,” I say, piercing him with a scornful look.

If Makar Denisych was just a clerk or a junior manager, then no one would have dared talk to him in such a condescending, casual tone, but he is a 'writer', and a talentless mediocrity! People like Mr Bubentsov do not understand anything about art and are not very interested in it, but whenever they happen to come across talentless mediocrities they are pitiless and implacable, They are ready to forgive anyone, but not Makar, that eccentric loser with manuscripts lying in his trunk. The gardener damaged the old rubber plant, and ruined lots of expensive plants, and the general does nothing and goes on spending money like water; Mr Bubentsov only got down to work once a month when he was a magistrate, then stammered, muddled up the laws, and spoke a lot of rubbish, but all this is forgiven and not noticed; but there is no way that anyone can pass by the talentless Makar, who writes passable poetry and stories, without saying something offensive. No one cares that the general's sister-in-law slaps the maids' cheeks, and swears like a trooper when she is playing cards, that the priest's wife never pays up when she loses, and the landowner Flyugin stole a a dog from the landower Sivobrazov, but the fact that Our Province returned a bad story to Makar recently is know to the whole district and has provoked mockery, long conversations and indignation, while Makar Denisych is already being referred to as old Makarka. If someone does not write the way required, they never try to explain what is wrong, but just say: 'That bastard has gone and written another load of rubbish!

Another misfortune was, that he was a bachelor. Ladies think, and I, for one, think that ladies are quite right in so thinking, that doctors should be married men. All the world feels that a man when married acquires some of the attributes of an old woman—he becomes, to a certain extent, a motherly sort of being; he acquires a conversance with women's ways and women's wants, and loses the wilder and offensive sparks of his virility. It must be easier to talk to such a one about Matilda's stomach, and the growing pains in Fanny's legs, than to a young bachelor.

I think this is simultaneously the most ridiculous and most serious conversation we've ever had," I said. "I don't like Jell-O and you wear stripes, and I think that is far more offensive, but I'll still marry you despite the stripes." I pushed myself off of the couch and went to bed. As I lay there, listening to Luke moving around the kitchen, I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling. We just had a conversation about marriage using stripes and gelatin as a cover up for the fact that we were talking about marriage. Luke proposed through Jell-O and I accepted through stripes. The idiocy of it all had me shaking with excited, silent laughter.

THE HERO CODE 1. I will always strive to be COURAGEOUS; to take one step forward as I confront my fears. 2. I will work to be HUMBLE; to recognize the limits of my intellect, my understanding, and my power. 3. I will learn to SACRIFICE by giving a little of my time, my talent, and my treasure to those in need. 4. I will be a person of INTEGRITY; every decision I make and every action I take will be moral, legal, and ethical. 5. I will be kind and COMPASSIONATE to at least one person every single day and expect nothing in return. 6. I will never give up on matters that are important to me, my family, my country, or my faith. I will PERSEVERE. 7. Whatever job I am given, whatever DUTY I am bound by, I will do it to the best of my ability. 8. I will use my unique talents to inspire others and give them HOPE that tomorrow will be a better day. 9. I will use HUMOR to comfort others, and never be afraid to laugh at myself. 10. No matter how great or small the offense against me, I will try to FORGIVE. I will be the victor, not the victim.

A few chimes ago, however, the screams had fallen mysteriously silent. “Do you think the torture masters have tired themselves out?” Gaelen pondered with black humor. “More likely, we’re next, and they’ve just gone to sharpen their blades,” Tajik said. Locked up in the room with them, Farel gave a grunting laugh of amusement. “Could be. They’ve been using them enough.” “You know,” Gil announced, “as rescues go, I have to say, this one pretty much scorches rultshart turds.” About a man length from the source of Gil’s voice came Rijonn’s rumbling agreement. “Tairen turds.” “I told you,” Gaelen said, “I had backups. I don’t know what happened to them.” A metallic scraping sound came from the direction of the door, and they all fell silent. The scraping sound was followed by the distinctive click of the latch lifting free. The door swung inward, and a sliver of light—the first in bells—spilled into the cell, widening rapidly as the door opened more fully. Two armored silhouettes stood in the doorway. “Well, aren’t you a sorry sight,” a familiar Fey voice drawled. “Kieran?” Gaelen sat up straight. There wasn’t much in life that could surprise him, but the appearance of Kieran vel Solande in the heart of Boura Fell definitely did. “What are you doing here? “ “Apparently, uncle, I’m saving you from a very nasty demise, though gods know, I’m sure it won’t take me long to regret it.” Gaelen grinned, too pleased to take offense at his nephew’s cheek. “Well, it took you long enough,” Bel groused, holding up his hands as Kiel ran over with a key to unlock his sel’dor manacles. “I was starting to get worried.” Gaelen turned on Bel in disbelief. “You knew they were coming? “ Bel arched a brow. “You think the High Mage is the only one who plans backups for his backups?” Rijonn laughed, slow and deep.

I heard the fear in the first music I ever knew, the music that pumped from boom boxes full of grand boast and bluster. The boys who stood out on Garrison and Liberty up on Park Heights loved this music because it told them, against all evidence and odds, that they were masters of their own lives, their own streets, and their own bodies. I saw it in the girls, in their loud laughter, in their gilded bamboo earrings that announced their names thrice over. And I saw it in their brutal language and hard gaze, how they would cut you with their eyes and destroy you with their words for the sin of playing too much. “Keep my name out your mouth,” they would say. I would watch them after school, how they squared off like boxers, vaselined up, earrings off, Reeboks on, and leaped at each other. I felt the fear in the visits to my Nana’s home in Philadelphia. You never knew her. I barely knew her, but what I remember is her hard manner, her rough voice. And I knew that my father’s father was dead and that my uncle Oscar was dead and that my uncle David was dead and that each of these instances was unnatural. And I saw it in my own father, who loves you, who counsels you, who slipped me money to care for you. My father was so very afraid. I felt it in the sting of his black leather belt, which he applied with more anxiety than anger, my father who beat me as if someone might steal me away, because that is exactly what was happening all around us. Everyone had lost a child, somehow, to the streets, to jail, to drugs, to guns. It was said that these lost girls were sweet as honey and would not hurt a fly. It was said that these lost boys had just received a GED and had begun to turn their lives around. And now they were gone, and their legacy was a great fear. Have they told you this story? When your grandmother was sixteen years old a young man knocked on her door. The young man was your Nana Jo’s boyfriend. No one else was home. Ma allowed this young man to sit and wait until your Nana Jo returned. But your great-grandmother got there first. She asked the young man to leave. Then she beat your grandmother terrifically, one last time, so that she might remember how easily she could lose her body. Ma never forgot. I remember her clutching my small hand tightly as we crossed the street. She would tell me that if I ever let go and were killed by an onrushing car, she would beat me back to life. When I was six, Ma and Dad took me to a local park. I slipped from their gaze and found a playground. Your grandparents spent anxious minutes looking for me. When they found me, Dad did what every parent I knew would have done—he reached for his belt. I remember watching him in a kind of daze, awed at the distance between punishment and offense. Later, I would hear it in Dad’s voice—“Either I can beat him, or the police.” Maybe that saved me. Maybe it didn’t. All I know is, the violence rose from the fear like smoke from a fire, and I cannot say whether that violence, even administered in fear and love, sounded the alarm or choked us at the exit. What I know is that fathers who slammed their teenage boys for sass would then release them to streets where their boys employed, and were subject to, the same justice. And I knew mothers who belted their girls, but the belt could not save these girls from drug dealers twice their age. We, the children, employed our darkest humor to cope. We stood in the alley where we shot basketballs through hollowed crates and cracked jokes on the boy whose mother wore him out with a beating in front of his entire fifth-grade class. We sat on the number five bus, headed downtown, laughing at some girl whose mother was known to reach for anything—cable wires, extension cords, pots, pans. We were laughing, but I know that we were afraid of those who loved us most. Our parents resorted to the lash the way flagellants in the plague years resorted to the scourge.

A throat cleared. “Earth to Arik. Come in, boss.” With brows drawn, Arik glared at his beta. “What?” “I was asking what had your boxers in a knot.” “You know I go commando.” “Usually, but something obviously has your panties in a twist. Spill.” Oh, he spilled all right. Arik yanked off the hat and flung it against the wall and then swiveled his chair to get it over with. Indrawn breath. A snicker. A full-on guffaw. Arik swirled again and tossed deadly visual daggers at his second. “I fail to see the humor in my butchered mane.” “Dude. Have you seen it? It is bad. What did you do to piss Dominic off? Seduce one of his daughters?” “Actually one of his granddaughters did this to me!” He couldn’t help the incredulous note. The effrontery of the act still got to him. A thump and a shake of the wall as Hayder hit it, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “A girl did that to you?” His beta convulsed with mirth, not at all daunted by Arik’s glower and tapping fingers. “This is not amusing.” “Oh, come on, dude. Of all the people to have a hair mishap, you are the worst.” “I look like an idiot.” “Only because you didn’t let her finish hacking the rest off.” His fingers froze as he took his gaze off the screen for a moment to address the travesty. “Cut off my mane?” Was his beta delusional? “Well, yeah. You know, to even it out so it doesn’t show.” A growl rumbled forth, more beast than man, his lion not at all on board with any more trimming. “Okay, if you’re not keen on that, then what about a hair weave? Maybe we could get you a platinum one, or pink for contrast since you’re being such a prissy princess about it.” That did it. A lion could take only so much. Arik dove over his desk and tackled his beta. Over they went with a thump and a tangle of limbs. As he was slamming Hayder’s head off the floor, snarling, “Take it back!” to his beta’s chortled, “We’ll get your nails done while they’re weaving,” Leo strode in. A giant of a man, he didn’t even have to strain as he grabbed them each by a shoulder and yanked them apart. But he didn’t stop there. He slammed their heads together before shoving them down. Arik and Hayder sat on the carpeted floor, nursing robin’s eggs, united in their glare for the pride’s omega, also known as the peacemaker. Of course, Leo’s version of peace wasn’t always gentle, which was why he was perfect for the pride. The behemoth with the mellow outlook on life took a seat in a chair, which groaned ominously. “You do know that the staff two floors down can hear the pair of you acting like ill-behaved cubs.” “He started it!” Arik stabbed a finger at his beta. He had no problem assigning blame. Delegation was something an alpha did well. Hayder didn’t even deny his guilt. “I did. But can you blame me? He was pissing and moaning about this precious mane. All I did was offer a solution, and he took offense.” “I assume we’re talking about the missing chunk of hair on our esteemed leader’s head?” Leo shook his neatly trimmed dark crown. “I keep telling you that vanity is your weakness.” “And chocolate chip ice cream is yours. We all have our vices,” Arik grumbled as he heaved himself off the floor and into his leather-padded seat— with built-in heating pad and massager because a man in his position did enjoy his luxuries. “My vice is beautiful women,” Hayder announced with a grin, adopting a lounging pose on the floor. Felines were king when it came to acting as if embarrassing positions weren’t accidental at all. “Don’t talk to me about women right now. I’m still angry at the one who did this.” “I think I’m missing a key point,” Leo stated. It didn’t take long to bring Leo up to speed. To his credit, the pride omega didn’t laugh— long.

We have gotten so use to humor being something nasty and offensive that we started to believe that was the only way to get a laugh.

You are it, Mollie,” he whispered. “You are exactly the sort of woman I have always wanted to find. The city can burn to the ground, but you don’t lose your head. You are passion and intelligence and beauty, and I love you to the bottom of my soul.” Mollie’s breath froze in her lungs. She wasn’t ready for this. Zack was a wild, unpredictable force of nature, while she lived in an orderly world of ticking watches and production schedules. She wasn’t ready for this, but there was no stopping Zack. “I want you out of that church and into someplace safe,” he said. “I want to marry you, Mollie. Say yes.” She couldn’t even draw a breath. Her life had been swept up into a whirlwind, smashed into pieces, and then reassembled into a wild and exciting world with which she had no experience. She risked a glance at his face. “You know this terrifies me, right?” His gaze did not waver; it only became more tender as he caressed the side of her face. “I’m betting you’ll brave it out.” She wanted to, but this wild, impulsive urge was frightening. She needed time to process the disordered jumble of feelings that were so unfamiliar to her. “I need to get back to the workshop and see about getting diamond powder.” He cocked a brow at her. “I lay my soul at your feet and you want to talk about buying supplies?” He smiled as he leaned down to touch his forehead to hers again. “I want to marry you, Mollie. Say yes. Say yes, and we’ll be one for the ages.” “I can’t. Not yet.” “When I get back from New York.” “Not then either. Zack, I’m not impulsive. You can’t rush me into something like this.” Zack winked down at her. “How about I rush you into lunch, then?” If he took offense at her refusal to budge on the proposal, he gave no sign of it as he strode down the street, whistling in good humor.

Applied war is where the money's at. I don't mean that figuratively. Defense is 140% of the UVE budget. Offense is twice that. This is possible because there is no budget for math education.

We what? Walk around the city seven times in seven days and blow our trumpets? Forgive me, my Commander, but what is that going to do, kill them with laughter?” The other commanders snickered. Joshua chose not to be angry. He thought it was rather silly himself. “Our god has quite a sense of humor, does he not? But nevertheless, he did tell me that is what we should do. So, unless you have a better idea than Yahweh, Salmon, I suggest we obey him and see his salvation.” Salmon was duly chastised. “Forgive my offense, commander.” Joshua said with a smile, “You are forgiven, Salmon. You are too good of a spy.” Caleb was impressed with Joshua’s temperament. His sense of holiness would normally be offended at remarks like that. Perhaps he was beginning to appreciate Yahweh’s sense of humor after all. Joshua ended his remarks, “And remember, Commanders, avoid the home with the scarlet rope. Caleb and Salmon, you will be responsible for Rahab’s deliverance.

Aw, but Percy, you whine (get it, whine?), it looks like the satyrs had so much fun drinking wine. It may sound that way, kids, but satyrs can be pretty stupid. (Again, no offense to my satyr buddy, Grover)

Ranulf could imagine few crosses heavier to bear than that of blindness, and it followed, then, that those so stricken would be lost souls, drowning in darkness, tragic and pathetic and helpless. He still thought Rhiannon's plight was tragic. But she was certainly not pathetic, nor was she helpless. She startled him with occasional flashes of wry humor, for humor and blindness seemed utterly incompatible to him. She puzzled him by her stubborn insistence upon doing things for herself when it would have been so much easier to let others help. She made him feel self-conscious, for he had to keep censoring himself, lest he inadvertently say something she might find hurtful or offensive. And again and again she amazed him by her eerie ability to act as if she were sighted.

I wish I could say that my life is a joke, but I can’t because jokes have a meaning.

After my wife died, I couldn't even look at another woman for 10 years. But now that I'm out of jail, I can honestly say it was worth it!

The key with a question offense is to move your freak from the emotional state to the rational one. I know I know and I know how good it feels when you’re stressed out to attack the source of that stress in what looks like a rational manner, but, um, you’re yelling, pointing your finger at me, and jumping up and down. Do you want me to react to the yelling or to the facts?

What do you think, Doc?" The patient's question penetrated Auster's reverie. "I think you're doing about as well as you're going to do, Mr. Johnston. You're not going to play ball for the Yankees, but you're not going to drop dead anytime soon either. You'll probably still be fishing when they bury me." Johnston gave a little laugh. "I hope so, no offense. But I was thinking, Doc, you know. . . . I might need some tests." Auster looked back in puzzlement. Johnston had the tone of a patient who'd read some article on preven tive medicine in [i]Reader's Digest[/i]. He probably wanted a goddamn sixty-four-slice CAT scan of his heart.

And if your going to be kind to a person who is offensive to everyone with a brain and a heart, maybe your mouth deserves a carnival of giving from my fist." -Timothy

My parents never swore in front of me. Not then. The fuck is mine, added for emphasis, a lie that tells the truth.

when your spirit is guiding the way, your body feels relaxed and open, even expansive, like you have a little more internal room to breathe. You also tend to feel somewhat playful and spontaneous. Your mind is generally quiet, and you feel at ease and fully present. You are not focused on the future or the past. You can easily see the humor in things and laughing comes easily. Because your heart is open, you also tend to be more forgiving, tolerant, and compassionate toward others, and don’t easily take offense. You quickly tune in to solutions to problems or at least have confidence that solutions will show up. Even when your spirit warns you of a need to change course or alerts you to danger, you tend to be calm and centered instead of feeling agitated, confused, or ambivalent.

I’m glad you showed restraint,” I say. He looks up, eager to take offense but not sure if there’s an angle to. “Ears. You could have chosen pricks.” “Thought about it. Gender biased and too heavy. Golds, you know.” He’s not joking. “Once I got into an armory and got my hands on antipersonnel mines, it started getting real fun. Best one was pulling a fire alarm in the mess and seeing all those Grays run out. Got fifty-one that day.

Oh, you savvy conversationalist, you know it! Communication is like a magnet for connection—pulling in all the witty banter, charming dialogue, and engaging repartees. It's the language of attraction, the charm offensive, that turns heads and keeps the sparks flying! So, let those words dance on your tongue, and watch how your irresistible charisma steals the show!

Phil has confused being lumpenly offensive with a great sense of humor and big personality.

Truth is anti-fragile. It is not brittle. It does not shatter into a million pieces because of an -offensive and hurtful- joke. An individual with a strong personhood can laugh at others (in a playful manner) and laugh at himself. Humor is a test of anti-fragility and non-brittleness in a person and in a society. A society that can’t laugh at others and at itself in a good-humored way is on its way out.

Get comfortable with each other’s bodies? I’m not sure how much more comfortable I can be with his. “But you’ve seen me naked, Mathiras.” At my words, he looks shocked. “What? No, I haven’t.” Now I’m confused. “But we showered together on the station. Every time. We showered a lot. You held my hand when I got scared about being in there alone.” “Ah.” Realization dawns on him. “Yes, well, you might have been naked, but I didn’t look.” Now I’m really confused. “Why wouldn’t you look? I looked at you.” Mathiras’s mouth quirks in an almost-smile, like he’s fighting it. “Did you? What did you think?” I don’t want to hurt his feelings and point out that his male parts were floppier than I imagined. “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss this after all.” He tilts his head, his horns catching one of the flickering lights from a server’s necklace and gleaming. Mathiras squeezes my fingers. “Wait, no. We’re talking about everything, remember? This is part of the process. What did you think of my naked body? Did you find it offensive?” “It wasn’t offensive,” I reassure him. “And I’m sure your penis will work just fine, no matter the size.” His face contorts, and I can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or if he’s choking. “My penis? You had a problem with my penis?” “Yours wobbles a bit more than the ones in the vids. And it’s not nearly as big or hard.” Mathiras’s shoulders hunch and jerk, and I worry he’s going to start crying.

The seven bad-humored and unfunny devils who eat ourselves and our narratives alive are Pretentiousness, Pomposity, Presumption, Pontificality, Pavoninity or Peacockery, Pornography, and Pride, these seven offenses to all life. They have oozed out from under the iron doors and then they have inflated themselves immeasurably.

I know I'm asking a lot. You'd need to start talking, stop growling, and bathe. No offense meant, but you look like a crazy man the way you are.

I was hoping Lady Anders might do me the honor of the supper waltz,” Hazlit said. The smile he aimed at Helene dazzled, for all it didn’t reach his eyes. “I promised this set to my brother,” Lady Helene replied, her show of regret equally superficial. “Perhaps you’d lead Miss Windham out in my stead? She’s been sitting here this age, good enough to keep a widow company amid all this gaiety.” Maggie glanced at her friend but saw only devilment in Helene’s eyes. “Lady Magdalene?” Hazlit held out a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?” The smile dimmed on his handsome face, and his gaze held hers. As much to get away from his inspection as anything, Maggie put her hand in his and rose. “I would be honored.” “Lady Helene, my thanks,” he said, holding up his left hand for Maggie to place her fingers over his knuckles. And it would be a blasted waltz. “You do not look honored,” he said, leading her to a position on the floor. “You look like you’re plotting the end of an association with Lady Anders.” “Helene has a peculiar sense of humor, but she knows I will retaliate at some point. I’ll make her dance with His Grace or perhaps with Deene.” “That would set tongues wagging.” He held out his left hand for Maggie to place her right in it. When she hesitated, he put her left hand on his shoulder, and took her right in his. “Really, Lady Magdalene, am I so offensive as all that? Your parents allow me under their roof, and your sister was happy enough to marry my half brother.” His hand at her waist was warm, even through her gown and stays. “You enjoy being difficult,” Maggie said as the orchestra began the introduction. “It isn’t becoming in a grown man. I’d take offense but I suspect you’re like this with most everybody.” “I can be charming.” “When it suits your purpose,” she said as the music began. “That isn’t charm, Mr. Hazlit. That is guile.” His

In the broadest sense, there are at least two ways to use the danger of norms for comedic effect. The first is to feint across the norm boundary, but then retreat back to safety without actually violating it. The second way is to step across the boundary, violating the norm, and then to realize, like a child jumping into snow for the first time, “It’s safe over here! Wheee!” Here, for example, is a joke that flirts with, but doesn’t actually consummate, a norm violation: MARY: What do you call a black man flying a plane? JOHN: Uh . . . I don’t know… . MARY: A pilot. What did you think, you racist?! The humor here plays off the norm against racism. After Mary’s setup, John starts to squirm uncomfortably, afraid his friend is about to tell an offensive joke. But when Mary delivers the punchline, it’s sweet, safe relief. She wasn’t telling a racist joke after all. She was just playing! And a hearty chuckle ensues.42

Can anyone be arrested for being such an asshole as him? Should they pass a law, legislate for just such things, make it a criminal offense you could be detained for being such an asshole? But then most of the world's men would be behind bars serving life term sentences, without parole.

I find myself in social situations often where I think of a response to something someone has just said and it’s just too good not to say it. More often than not, it’s something rude or offensive or disturbing. Always funny or poignant, though. And very rarely something I actually feel.

Alaska’s like two thousand miles away from anywhere cultured. No offense, Canada.

When Humor Falls Flat “Humor is not a "one-size fits all" guarantee. What is hilarious to one person may be offensive to another. By being emotionally intelligent and self-aware, you can discern how, when, why, or where to be funny . . . or not. You might be walking on thin ice and risk making a damaging first impression if you use humor that is: • At the expense of others. • Thoughtless sarcasm. • Belittling or condescending. • Hitting below the belt. • Creepy or profane. • Raunchy humor with sexual innuendo. • Politically incorrect. • Mean-spirited.

This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me,” he told Amelia. “Oh, not at all, I’m sure I’ve done worse things to you.” Leo considered that, running through a long list of remembered offenses in his mind. “Never mind, you’re right. But to be clear … I’m only tolerating this to humor you.” “Yes, I know. I do hope you’ll humor me further, and find someone to marry so you can produce an heir before Vanessa Darvin and her mother take possession of our home.” He gave his sister a narrow-eyed glance. “One could almost infer that the house means more to you than my future happiness.” “Not at all. Your future happiness means at least as much to me as the house.” “Thank you,” he said dryly.

Yes, Fraulein,' he said to Hannah. 'How gauche of you to have been born in another county. It is almost a capital offense. Here in this house we believe that one must be severely punished for the happenstance of one's birth.' His face was a jester's mask of mockery, but there was a tightness about his eyes, a tense set to his smile. 'What a dilemma for the English, though- we agree with Germany on so many things, including the patent inferiority of anyone who is not US. Darling Mum, did it ever occur to you that to the rest of the world, WE are foreigners?' 'The very idea!' Lady Liripip said with a nervous titter.