Offensive Humour Quotes

Anger gets you into trouble, ego keeps you in trouble.

There was nothing ordinary about Ossie May. She was tall, sexy, smart, and pretty. Her looks and personality were her drawing cards. The flip side was her temperament. She was beauty and rage sandwiched together, and she must have invented cussing. She would unload swear word after swear word in rapid succession. There had to be a law against such offensive language.

Hmph. Yes. Him. He had the nerve to turn down our offer of immortality and tell us to pay better attention to our children. Er, no offense.” “Oh, how could I take offense? Please, go on ignoring me.

D’yer see it? This finger, laddie, could send ye to meet yer Maker!” Sgt. Deisenburger stared at the black and purple nail a few inches from his face. As an offensive weapon it rated quite highly, especially if it was ever used in the preparation of food.

No one likes sarcasm, Miss Cain. I’ve merely delayed my exit to promise you something. You took my straight razor, li’l darlin’. That I view as an unforgivable offense. So when the time comes, when you have served your purpose, I swear to you I’m gonna kill you for free.” And with that, Billy-Ray Sanguine disappeared into the ground. Then he popped his head back up. “Or at least half price.” And he was gone again.

It ought to be an offense to be excruciating and unfunny in circumstances where your audience is almost morally obliged to enthuse.

That you exist, is offense enough to arrest you.

Russ decided the best defense was a good offense. "I'm Russell Van Alstyne, Millers Kill chief of police." He held out his hand. She shook firm, like a guy. "Clare Fergusson," she said. "I'm the new priest at Saint Alban's. That's the Episcopal Church. At the corner of Elm and Church." There was a faint testiness in her voice. Russ relaxed a fraction. A woman priest. If that didn't beat all. "I know which it is. There are only four churches in town." He saw the fog creeping along the edges of his glasses again and snatched them off, fishing for a tissue in his pocket. "Can you tell me what happened, um..." What was he supposed to call her? "Mother?" "I go by Reverend, Chief. Ms. is fine, too." "Oh. Sorry. I never met a woman priest before." "We're just like the men priests, except we're willing to pull over and ask directions.

Put your vocabulary on the top shelf of your toolbox, and don't make any conscious effort to improve it... One of the really bad things you can do to your writing is to dress up the vocabulary, looking for long words because you're maybe a little bit ashamed of your shot ones. This is like dressing up a household pet in evening clothes. The pet is embarrassed and the person who committed this act of pre-meditated cuteness should be even more embarrassed. Make yourself a solemn promise right now that you'll never use 'emolument' when you mean 'tip' and you'll never say 'John stopped long enough to perform an act of excretion' when you mean 'John stopped long enough to take a shit'. If you believe 'take a shit' would be considered offensive or inappropriate by your audience, feel free to say 'John stopped long enough to move his bowels'...

There was no window, and a framed print on the wall (a vase of roses, made using a computer by someone who was dead inside) was more offensive to the eye than a bare wall.

When I was a little girl, I was the girl laughing at things that are actually funny. I wasn't one of them girls sitting in a circle giggling silently at stupid stuff. I LAUGHED and I laughed loud and wonderfully! I laughed at things that are funny and offensive and stirring and hilarious! Girls are raised to not have wit, to have no sense of humour, to only be quiet and sweet, and to be offended by everything! Girls are raised to not be people. I was born into this world determined to be a person! And I did it.

But he survived, that radio announcer. His ship and five others out of the flotilla of ten came through, a bit radioactive, but otherwise unharmed. And I understand that the first thing that happened to him when he reported back to his office after treatment was a reprimand for the use of overcolloquial language which had given offense to a number of listeners by its neglect of the Third Commandment.

The second reason - I don’t think I’m that unattractive. Alright. So I’m extremely ashen, with a jagged scar that splits my face in half from my temple to my chin. Then, there’s my disfigured nose and skin, which is like the texture of wallpaper paste (I suppose this comment is actually pretty offensive to wallpaper paste) and my crooked teeth, which would surely frighten even the likes of the Cheshire Cat. Really though, all things considered, I actually think I’m kind of hot – hotter than those Victoria Secret models for sure.

Falderson," he said quietly to Bahzell in passable Navahkan, "is as stupid as the day is long." He craned his neck to gaze up at the hradani and shook his head. "In fact, he's even stupider than I thought. You, sir, are the biggest damned hradani-no offense-I think I've ever seen.

Haw Par Villa is the nutty exception. It's mad, slightly unhinged and overwhelmingly rubbish. Without a doubt, Haw Par Villa is the Louis Tussaus House of Wax of Singapore. There is no higher compliment (...) For it's own sake, Haw Par Villa still had to be terrible, macabre, distasteful and offensive.

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 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.

Et le lecteur ? Il a, en apparence, la vie facile : il achète les bons livres et ignore les autres. En fait son rôle est beaucoup plus important. Toute la stratégie que l’écrivain emploie pour écrire son livre, et le censeur pour le contrôler repose sur la complicité du lecteur ; aucun régime, sauf le parfait stalinisme des années « 50, ne peut s’en passer. En deuxième lieu, le lecteur agit directement sur la littérature en tant que critique littéraire. Il faudrait écrire un grand chapitre — je ne peux ici que l’esquisser — sur le rôle très important qu’a joué la critique littéraire en Roumanie en freinant à grands coups de bride par son esthétisme militant — le galop du censeur. La qualité esthétique des livres, réelle ou amplifiée par la complicité, a été tout le temps défendue comme étant constitutive de la littérature, mais en fait la critique traduisait maintes fois en code esthétique ce qu’elle ne pouvait formuler en code politique. L’esthétisme a sauvé la littérature, tout en dépolitisant la culture et la société roumaine, et en « mandarinisant » ses écrivains qui ont obtenu le droit de se retirer pour écrire dans leur ghetto — l’île des bienheureux — où ils traduisent en fiction les luttes qu’ils ne peuvent pas, ou qu’ils n’osent pas, porter, là-bas sur la terre ferme où l’on se meurt du désespoir d’être trahi par les élites et oublié par les dieux. Le lecteur est important, en troisième lieu, comme représentant d’un espace de liberté irréductible : la vie privée. On peut obliger le citoyen à applaudir ses maîtres mais non pas à jouir des livres qui leur déplaisent. La lecture reste un fait privé. D’où l’immense effort du stalinisme dans les années cinquante aussi bien que du néo-stalinisme actuel à réduire l’espace privé de l’individu et même à l’intégrer dans sa vie publique. Les mesures les plus aberrantes des autorités roumaines pendant les années quatre-vingt semblent obéir à une telle logique : le contrôle du nombre des enfants d’une famille : la socialisation du sexe ; la réduction à trois heures par jour du programme de télévision dédié presque intégralement au Grand Maître : la socialisation de l’amusement ; les moyens immenses accordés au festival propagandistique « Le Chant de la Roumanie » aux dépens des tirages d’œuvres littéraires de valeur : la socialisation de la consommation de l’art etc. Face à cette offensive de l’État contre la société, celle-ci peut concevoir deux stratégies de défense : soit elle met sur pied sa propre organisation, en marge et contre les mécanismes étatiques, soit elle privatise la plupart des activités. Face à un immense appareil de répression, la société roumaine s’est trouvée dans l’impossibilité de s’organiser en tant que société civile. Elle a dû choisir, pour son grand malheur, la deuxième stratégie : la privatisation. Pas de solidarité syndicale, mais de l’entraide au sein de la famille et des amis, aucune gaieté dans les rues, mais la fête et l’hospitalité à la maison, pas d’action de protestation, mais le retrait dans l’allusion et l’humour, dans l’érotisme et dans la consommation et la production de culture. La privatisation de la lecture — la chasse aux livres nouveaux, la lecture passionnée des livres empruntés correspond à la mandarinisation de l’écriture qui absorbe rapidement les techniques occidentales, l’érudition et l’étendue des connaissances ; les deux vont dans le sens d’une restriction de la vie sociale. (pp. 144-145, « Une culture de l’interstice : la littérature roumaine d’après-guerre », article publié dans « Les Temps modernes », Paris, n° 522, janvier 1990)

Franklin conceded error in printing the line. He knew what “black gowns” referred to, although he said he had never encountered “sea hens” before. Could he do the thing over, he would refuse to print the notice. “However, ’tis done and cannot be revoked.” In his defense he adduced some mitigating factors: that he harbored no ill will toward those allegedly slandered, and in fact claimed customers and friends among the Anglican clergy; that he had printed more than a thousand advertisements since opening shop, and this was the first that had given such offense; that if he had intended injury against the clergy, this was an exceedingly foolish way to accomplish it, as the backlash demonstrated; and—not incidentally—“that I got five shillings by it” and “that none who are angry with me would have given me so much to let it alone.” He recited a fable illustrating his predicament: A certain well-meaning man and his son were travelling towards a market town, with an ass which they had to sell. The road was bad, and the old man therefore rid [rode], but the son went afoot. The first passenger they met asked the father if he was not ashamed to ride by himself and suffer the poor lad to wade along through the mire; this induced him to take up his son behind him. He had not travelled far when he met others, who said they were two unmerciful lubbers to get both on the back of that poor ass, in such a deep road. Upon this the old man gets off and let his son ride alone. The next they met called the lad a graceless, rascally young jackanapes to ride in that manner through the dirt while his aged father trudged along on foot; and they said the old man was a fool for suffering it. He then bid his son come down and walk with him, and they travelled on leading the ass by the halter; till they met another company, who called them a couple of senseless blockheads for going both on foot in such a dirty way when they had an empty ass with them, which they might ride upon. The old man could bear no longer. My son, he said, it grieves me much that we cannot please all these people. Let us throw the ass over the next bridge, and be no farther troubled with him. Franklin noted that should the old man have been seen acting on this resolution, he would have been judged even more the fool for trying to please everyone. “Therefore, though I have a temper almost as complying as his, I intend not to imitate him in this last particular. I consider the variety of humours among men, and despair of pleasing everybody; yet I shall not therefore leave off printing. I shall continue my business. I shall not burn my press and melt my letters.