Uppity Quotes

I am going to knock the slut out of you. And that should take some doing, you uppity English tramp!

Aurelia, not all those women are uppity aristocratic bitches. Most of them are normal nice girls trying to survive in shark-infested waters, so if you want to make a difference, why not go in there and change the way things work?" "How?" Marcus smiled deviously. "By unseating the queen bee and changing the rules." "That sounds like a great idea, Colonel. Lead me to the beehive.

The Mother of God. Good-looking. Well-dressed. A good person. Knows how to make the absolute best of a situation. And never uppity about any of it.

That's what's wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.

So drop the Mr. Rochester-Mr. Darcy-Heathcliff British stuck-uppity and treat her like the treasure she is

What?” I asked, deciding to go with uppity. “Enjoying yourself?” Hank asked, his mouth twitching. “No,” I said angrily. “I’m dead. Now I have to run all the way back to my lifeless body and get my stuff. The orcs and trolls will be hanging around and we’ll have to fight them and I can’t do that without my good armor. I’ll have to use the crappy stuff I have stashed in my trunk. I had a really good sword and helmet and now they’re gone. That just plain sucks.” Hank stared at me. Then he said, “You do know I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.” “Diablo,” I replied, like that explained it all.

He's Black Council," I said. "Or maybe stupid," Ebenezar countered. I thought about it. "Not sure which is scarier." Ebenezar blinked at me, then snorted. "Stupid, Hoss. Every time. Only so many blackhearted villains in the world, and they only get uppity on occasion. Stupid's everywhere, every day.

Monsters are getting more uppity, too (...) I heard where this guy, he killed this monster in this lake, no problem, stuck its arm up over the door (...) and you know what? Its mum come and complained. Its actual mum come right down to the hall next day and complained. Actually complained. That's the respect you get.

While the cat’s away, you may find the rats getting damned uppity.

So drop the Mr.Rochester-Mr.Darcy-Heathcliff British stuck-uppity bullshit..."- Rachel to Gabriel

Guilt isn't in cat vocabulary. They never suffer remorse for eating too much, sleeping too long or hogging the warmest cushion in the house. They welcome every pleasurable moment as it unravels and savour it to the full until a butterfly or falling leaf diverts their attention. They don't waste energy counting the number of calories they've consumed or the hours they've frittered away sunbathing. Cats don't beat themselves up about not working hard enough. They don't get up and go, they sit down and stay. For them, lethargy is an art form. From their vantage points on top of fences and window ledges, they see the treadmills of human obligations for what they are - a meaningless waste of nap time.

Every new day is the erasing of something more. Mistakes and shortcomings used to be a secret motivation. It was something that pushed you forward, faster. Now mistakes are sold as personality traits, to the point where the many willingly make them. Soon comes the inversion, where successes are kept under wraps because it's too pretentious or uppity to share them

Great joy doesn't obliterate grief. Both can be encompassed at the same time.

Bathing is even more embarrassing, because I have to strip down to my birthday suit in front of a nurse. Now, there are some things that never die, so even though I'm in my nineties my sap sometimes rises. I can't help it. They always pretend not to notice. They're trained that way, I suppose, although pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing. It means they consider me nothing more than a harmless old man sporting a harmless old penis that still gets uppity once in a while. Although if one of them took it seriously and tried to do something about it, the shock would probably kill me.

if you existed as a woman in the world and were anything but polite you were rude, uppity, a bitch, stuck-up, a cunt, the list went on.

We don’t like it when women get uppity.” “Well,” she said, “that is a bit of a problem, as I am feeling quite uppity.

You need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.

That's very noble of you, cautionary tales of hubris notwithstanding.' 'Hah! Please. Find me a more universally REWARDED quality than hubris. Go on, I'll wait. The word is just ancient Greek for "uppity," as far as I'm concerned. Hubris isn't something that destroys you, it's something you are PUNISHED for. By the GODS. Well, I've never met a god, just powerful human beings with a lot to gain by keeping people scared. So fuck hubris! Punch the sun, baby!

These Negroes, they're getting pretty uppity these days and that's a problem for us since they've got something now they never had before, the political pull to back up their uppityness. Now we've got to do something about this, we've got to give them a little something, just enough to quiet them down, not enough to make a difference. For if we don't move at all, then their allies will line up against us and there'll be no way of stopping them, we'll lose the filibuster and there'll be no way of putting a brake on all sorts of wild legislation. It'll be Reconstruction all over again. [Said to Senator Richard Russell, Jr. (D-GA) regarding the Civil Rights Act of 1957]

The past five years had informed me about human sorrow. While no two griefs are the same, nobody understands suffering like those who've been there.

On this matter, I highly recommend Robin DiA ngelo’s scintillating book White Fragility. If you’ve ever wondered why honkies get so uppity when you call them racist without any apparent justification, this is the book for you.

Kids without dads are desperate and jealous. Those with dads can be uppity and sharp.

Remember, Peter: you are some hybrid of friend and hired help. You have latitude, but you can't get uppity.

No, worse, the one that fights members of its own army: dark-skinned against light-skinned, uppity against inner city, good hair against bad hair;

he nearly burst out laughing at the uppity annoyed princess look she had on her face. He

Cleo's motto seemed to be: Life's tough and that's okay, because life is also fantastic. Love it, live it - but don't be fooled into thinking it's not harsh sometimes. Those who've survived periods of bleakness are often better at savoring good times and wise enough to understand that good times are actually GREAT.

—Lilith. Named you meself. Did you know Adam had a first wife before Eve? Called her Lilith, but the bitch was too headstrong so got rid of her, he did. Headstrong, another word for uppity.

It’s just how it is. Not everybody was born to be inherently ‘good’. The world is going to be filled with different characters, different flavours, different levels of respectability and whatnot, and Louis just so happens to be on the lower ranks. He’s not good, he’s not brave, and he’s not out to save anyone except himself. Even fairytales have their villains — it’s a part of life. And it’s always been that way. Louis’ always been a bit harsher around the edges. He certainly isn’t going to be winning any “Humanitarian of the Year” awards, that’s for sure. And he doesn’t mind it so much, being thoroughly unaffected by anything and everything and totally removed from his peers and their very trivial lives. Because he’s not like the rest of them. That’s the thing. They’re all the fucking same. With their money and their uppity attitudes and twattiness and their preconceived notions and recycled sentences that disappear as quickly as they come. The same.

A cat chooses its owner, not the other way around.

The freedom to complain rests on an assurance that the government won’t punish or silence the complainer. The front line in democratization, then, is constraining the government from abusing its monopoly on force to brutalize its uppity citizens.

That’s what’s wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.

Monsters are getting more uppity, too," said another. "I heard where this guy, he killed this monster in this lake, no problem, stuck its arm up over the door-" "Pour encourjay lays ortras," said one of the listeners. "Right, and you know what? Its mum come and complained. Its actual mum come right down to the hall next day and complained. Actually complained. That's the respect you get.

the thing—you had to be polite sometimes when what you really wanted to be was curt. Because if you existed as a woman in the world and were anything but polite you were rude, uppity, a bitch, stuck-up, a cunt, the list went on. Lately her ability to be endlessly patient was wearing thin.

People persuade themselves they deserve easy lives, that being human makes us somehow exempt from pain. The theory works fine until we face the inevitable challenges. Our conditioning of denial in no way equips us to deal with the difficult times that not one of us escapes. Cleo's motto seemed to be: Life's tough and that's okay, because life is also fantastic. Love it, live it - but don't be fooled into thinking it's not harsh sometimes. Those who've survived periods of bleakness are often better at savoring good times and wise enough to understand that good times are actually great.

That was the thing—you had to be polite sometimes when what you really wanted to be was curt. Because if you existed as a woman in the world and were anything but polite you were rude, uppity, a bitch, stuck-up, a cunt, the list went on. Lately her ability to be endlessly patient was wearing thin.

But when a given group is used to having all of the political power, and virtually unlimited privilege to define and name the world, any power sharing, any obligation to hear the opinions of formerly ‘subject races’ - who would have once been called uppity niggers and lynched accordingly - can feel like oppression.

You'd know if you were [a cat person]. It's like being a Christian or a Muslim. You just KNOW when you are one.

Dotyk łapki leczy lepiej niż aspiryna.

Of course. Of course. Mercury thinks you brilliant. Apollo thinks you’re uppity. He really does not like you, you know.

uppity children,

became a swellhead, a wise guy, an “uppity” nigger. When a white player did it, he had spirit. When a black player did it, he was “ungrateful,” an upstart, a

Sorry, Will, bad habit of mine. You have to stress hot in the city these days. Some places have absolutely no idea how to make a decent long black.' And there she was being all uppity slutty again.

You like things to be beautiful, Conway had said, and been right. Over my own dead body was I going to stake myself down somewhere, being someone, that didn’t have all the beautiful I could cram into me. For ugly I could’ve stayed where I started, got myself a career on the dole and a wife who hated my guts and a dozen snot-faced brats and a wall-sized telly playing twenty-four-seven shows about people’s intestines. Call me arrogant, uppity, me the council-house kid thinking I deserved more. I’d been swearing it since before I was old enough to understand the thought: I was going to be more.

Looking at Great-Great Grandpa Baldwin's photograph, I think to myself: You've finally done it. It took four generations, but you've finally goddamned done it. Gotten that war against reason and uppity secularists you always wanted. Gotten even for the Scopes trial, which they say was one of many burrs under your saddle until your last breath. Well, rejoice, old man, because your tribes have gathered around America's oldest magical hairball of ignorance and superstition, Christian fundamentalism, and their numbers have enabled them to suck so much oxygen out of the political atmosphere that they are now acknowledged as a mainstream force in politics. Episcopalians, Jews, and affluent suburban Methodists and Catholics, they are all now scratching their heads, sweating, and swearing loudly that this pack of lower-class zealots cannot possibly represent the mainstream--not the mainstream they learned about in their fancy sociology classes or were so comfortably reassured about by media commentators who were people like themselves. Goodnight, Grandpa Baldwin. I'll toast you from hell.

And someday, I'm going to find the kind of man who wants an uppity, needy pain in the ass. One who wants to wade into my mess and stay for the duration. Obviously, you're not him. At least you told me that from the start.

If some "instant gratification monkey" tries to get all uppity cuz they're confused and need the ending right that second I'll just tell them this, "Either learn patience or go read someone else because I'm building a world, not a toy.

The world is such a noisy place. There are car alarms and shop alarms, sirens blaring, even the self-service tills in the supermarket get uppity and insist that there's an unexpected item in my bagging area when there absolutely isn't.

Another thing that Denis likes about Thailand is the concept of jai yen, cool heart. The worst thing one can do in Thailand is to lose one’s jai yen. This is why Thais have no patience for uppity foreigners, which is pretty much all foreigners.

Never mind that she’s been hearing this soliloquy from strangers since she was born, in the Year of the Fire Horse, twin sixes after the nineteen. Never mind the order of questions invariably changes even if the questions themselves do not: 'How long have y’all lived here? Do you even speak English? Oh, well. Your English is so good. Bless your heart, you must miss your people. You stick out like a raisin in a big bowl of oatmeal. Is it true that you worship cows? . . . Have you even heard of the Bible? Don’t get all uppity on me, don’t turn away. I know you think you don’t have to listen. But this is my country. You do. When are y’all heading back? Y’all best be getting back to where you came from, you hear? No need to overstay your welcome.

No need to get uppity now. There’s just all kinds of talk swirlin’ since Colonel McLinn abandoned his men at maneuvers and come to yo’ cabin like he did. You know what folks are startin’ to call you, don’t you?” She darted a sly look her way. “ ‘The Colonel’s Lady.

But, Scarlett, you need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.

What did we ever do to him?” Jefferson asks. “We exist,” Tom says simply. “Look at us. Look at who we are.” We’re a half-Cherokee boy, a one-legged war veteran, three confirmed bachelors, and two uppity women. Little does Frank know we also have a runaway slave with us, but I’d die before I told.

Anybody could rise above anything in America. ... No, they can't, Marie said, from the backseat. How was I supposed to break out of there? What were my people going to say? Uppity. That's what. 'Cause if I can, why can't they? But I tell you what, I don't even know how it's done. I never seen nobody do it.

For the historian John Demos, the primary motivation of witchcraft accusations against women of middle or advanced age in New England was their “uppity” attitude, especially in regard to their husbands. Back then, if you fitted the stereotype of the nag—still alive and kicking today!—you were dicing with death.

I know without knowing: the man in that tree was a proud black man. Uppity, some might say. Out of his place, some might say. Too smart for his own good. I can hear the words, see those pink lips moving, spitting the words that promised his death. His back never bent underneath it, and they hated that most. I know plenty.

One of the many ways in which cats are superior to humans is their mastery of time. By making no attempt to dissect years into months, days into hours and minutes into seconds, cats avoid much misery. Free from the slavery of measuring every moment, worrying whether they are late or early, young or old, or if Christmas is six weeks away, felines appreciate the present in all its multidimensional glory. They never worry about endings or beginnings. From their paradoxical viewpoint an ending is often a beginning. The joy of basking on a window ledge can seem eternal, though if measured in human time it's diminished to a paltry eighteen minutes. If humans could program themselves to forget time, they would savor a string of pleasures and possibilities. Regrets about the past would dissolve, alongside anxieties for the future. We'd notice the color of the sky and be liberated to seize the wonder of being alive in this moment. If we could be more like cats our lives would seem eternal.

We now know that slavery was indefensible, that segregation was bad, that we should not have allowed eugenicists to forcibly sterilize sixty thousand people for being 'defective,' that Japanese internment was a ghastly breach of everything that America is supposed to be, that lynching 'uppity' non-whites is unquestionably evil, that sending Jews who had managed to escape Hitler's genocide back to Germany was an appallingly unethical thing to do. All of those things happened because people were persuaded by demagoguery; but, had they seen it as demagoguery, they wouldn't have been persuaded. So, demagoguery works when (and because) we don't recognize it as such.

Her observation skills were astringent enough to qualify as an ingredient for aftershave.

Well your full of cow pies up to your ears! I don't give way on the orders of rabble, or bow to Devall's uppity marshal. He can stuff his gold braid! Yes, up his tight arse where it will hurt the most, for all that I care for his posturing! These wagons will pass. Afterwards, you can shoot all the crossbolts you like, and ram yourselves straight to oblivion!

You uppity, arrogant idiots seem to be under the impression I’ve survived this long by some kind of luck, but let me inform you to the truth that not one of you want to admit. I’ve survived through my own skills, the same ones that let me and my so-called ‘useless magic’ bury two blades into your chest before you could cast anything past a pathetic fireball spell.” - Julian

The anger that Juvenal expresses is so pungent it seems impossible to believe it’s manufactured simply for the poem. His fury at a social order that emphasises relative poverty and wealth, and allows the rich to treat the poor like scum, is surely heartfelt. Isn’t it really Juvenal who has been passed over at dinner, ignored by uppity slaves and made to feel every bit the hanger-on?

I used to wish I had an easier life," he mused. "Some families sail through years with nothing touching them. They have no tragedies. They go on about how lucky they are. Yet sometimes it seems to me they're half alive. When something goes wrong for them, and it does for everyone sooner or later, their trauma is much worse. They've had nothing bad happen to them before. In the meantime, they think little problems, like losing a wallet, are big deals. They think it's ruined their day. They have no idea what a hard day's like. It's going to be incredibly tough for them when they find out." He'd also developed his own version of making the most of every minute. "Through Sam I found out how quickly things can change. Because of him I've learned to appreciate each moment and try not to hold on to things. Life's more exciting and intense that way. It's like the yogurt that goes off after three days. It tastes so much better than the stuff that lasts three weeks.

I was in love with Philip, but had ongoing proof that romantic love is like a swimming pool. People fall into it and scramble out of it wet and disheveled, usually in one piece but damaged, all the time.

It didn't seem the right time to tell him where the worst monsters hide. They conceal themselves cleverly inside our heads and wait for the moments we're at our most vulnerable - bedtime, or when we're sick or anxious.

Vielleicht findet sich das wichtigste Heilmittel weder in Büchern, Tränen oder in der Religion, sondern in der Wertschätzung der kleinen Dinge - eine Blume, der Geruch von feuchtem Gras. Mir half die Zuneigung einer Katze, wieder Ja zum Leben zu sagen.

Antifeminism breaks down into contempt for particular kinds of women—as men envision the kinds of women there are. There is a spectrum of insult. Lesbians, intellectuals, and uppity women are hated for their resumption, their arrogance, their masculine ambition. Prudes, spinsters, and celibates may not want to be like men but they seem able to live without them; so they are treated with contempt and disdain. Sluts, “nymphos, ” and tarts are hated because they are cheap, not expensive, and because they are their sex raw or sex itself.

Johnson’s legislation essentially crystallized a long-term pact between blacks and the Democrat Party that still exists today, lending credence to his alleged statement that he would “have those niggers voting Democrat for the next two hundred years.” There is some uncertainty about whether Johnson actually made that bold claim, but even if he did not, a quote attributed to the president by numerous historians and publications lays bare the actual intention behind his historic civil rights legislation: These Negroes, they’re getting pretty uppity these days and that’s a problem for us since they’ve got something now they never had before, the political pull to back up their uppityness. Now we’ve got to do something about this, we’ve got to give them a little something, just enough to quiet them down, not enough to make a difference. For if we don’t move at all, then their allies will line up against us and there’ll be no way of stopping them, we’ll lose the filibuster and there’ll be no way of putting a brake on all sorts of wild legislation. It’ll be Reconstruction all over again.

In three studies, gender expert Jennifer Berdahl found that sexual harassment isn’t primarily motivated by sexual desire: Women who meet feminine standards of beauty don’t experience the most harassment. Instead, “it is motivated primarily by a desire to punish gender-role deviants and, therefore, is directed at women who violate feminine ideals.” Women who were “assertive, dominant, and independent” faced the most harassment, particularly in male-dominated organizations. Sexual harassment, she concludes, is mostly targeted toward “uppity women.

Calm down, Miss.” Alexandra’s voice was cold. “Jean Louise, nobody in Maycomb goes to see Negroes any more, not after what they’ve been doing to us. Besides being shiftless now they look at you sometimes with open insolence, and as far as depending on them goes, why that’s out. “That NAACP’s come down here and filled ’em with poison till it runs out of their ears. It’s simply because we’ve got a strong sheriff that we haven’t had bad trouble in this county so far. You do not realize what is going on. We’ve been good to ’em, we’ve bailed ’em out of jail and out of debt since the beginning of time, we’ve made work for ’em when there was no work, we’ve encouraged ’em to better themselves, they’ve gotten civilized, but my dear—that veneer of civilization’s so thin that a bunch of uppity Yankee Negroes can shatter a hundred years’ progress in five. . . . “No ma’am, after the thanks they’ve given us for looking after ’em, nobody in Maycomb feels much inclined to help ’em when they get in trouble now. All they do is bite the hands that feed ’em. No sir, not any more—they can shift for themselves, now.

A mother cat is rightfully called a Queen. Personally, I think it would be great if pregnant women were also called Queens. If the gay community protested too much we might possibly accept Baroness, Duchess or Fairy Princess. Anything instead of those glamour-sapping medical terms Gravida, Multigravida and the dreaded Geriatric Multigravida.

The concept of whiteness goes hand in hand with the concept of white supremacy – hence why the progress against white supremacy that has been made so far feels, to some white people, like an attack on their identity. This is obviously not white genocide; in fact if white people were experiencing anything remotely resembling a genocide white nationalists would not throw the term around so lightly. But when a given group is used to having all of the political power, and virtually unlimited privilege to define and name the world, any power sharing, any obligation to hear the opinions of formerly ‘subject races’ – who would have once been called uppity niggers and lynched accordingly – can feel like oppression.

She had seen Southern men, soft voiced and dangerous in the days before the war, reckless and hard in the last despairing days of the fighting. But in the faces of the two men who stared at each other across the candle flame so short a while ago there had been something that was different, something that heartened her but frightened her — fury which could find no words, determination which would stop at nothing. For the first time, she felt a kinship with the people about her, felt one with them in their fears, their bitterness, their determination. No, it wasn’t to be borne! The South was too beautiful a place to be let go without a struggle, too loved to be trampled by Yankees who hated Southerners enough to enjoy grinding them into the dirt, too dear a homeland to be turned over to ignorant people drunk with whisky and freedom. As she thought of Tony’s sudden entrance and swift exit, she felt herself akin to him, for she remembered the old story how her father had left Ireland, left hastily and by night, after a murder which was no murder to him or to his family. Gerald’s blood was in her, violent blood. She remembered her hot joy in shooting the marauding Yankee. Violent blood was in them all, perilously close to the surface, lurking just beneath the kindly courteous exteriors. All of them, all the men she knew, even the drowsy-eyed Ashley and fidgety old Frank, were like that underneath — murderous, violent if the need arose. Even Rhett, conscienceless scamp that he was, had killed a man for being “uppity to a lady.

Nasi cichostopi przyjaciele nie tylko uratowali już miliony ludzi, zabijając gryzonie. Pomogli także uleczyć niezliczone serca. Siedząc cicho w nogach łóżka, czekali, aż ludzkie łzy przestaną płynąć. Zwinięci w kłębek na kolanach chorych i starych dawali pociechę , jakiej nie sposób znaleźć gdzie indziej. Zasługują na docenienie za to, że od tysięcy lat służą naszemu fizycznemu i emocjonalnemu zdrowiu. Egipcjanie mieli rację. Kot to istota święta.

In order to understand what this lady was saying about her upstairs neighbors,” I went on, because no one else was saying anything, “you have to turn the situation around. If the two sweet homosexuals hadn’t fed the cats at all but instead had pelted them with stones or tossed poisoned pork chops down to them from their balcony, then they would have been just plain dirty faggots. I think that’s what Claire meant about Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? That the friendly Sidney Poitier was a sweet boy too. That the person who made that movie was absolutely no better than the lady in that program. In fact, Sidney Poitier was supposed to serve as a role model. An example for all those other nasty Negroes, the uppity Negroes. The dangerous Negroes, the muggers and the rapists and the crack dealers. When you people put on a good-looking suit like Sidney’s and start behaving like the perfect son-in-law, we white folks will be your friends.

need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.” The conversation was not going the way she wanted it. It never did when she was with him. Always, it was a duel in which she was worsted. “And I suppose you think you are the proper person?” she asked with sarcasm, holding her temper in check with difficulty. “Oh, yes, if I cared to take the trouble,” he said carelessly. “They say I kiss very well.” “Oh,” she began, indignant at the slight to her charms. “Why, you…” But her eyes fell in sudden confusion. He was smiling, but in the dark depths of his eyes a tiny light flickered for a brief moment, like a small raw flame. “Of course, you’ve probably wondered why I never tried to follow up that chaste peck I gave you,

When I was younger and hard-hearted, with hot, hostile artistic ambitions I yearned to charge at the aloof, faceless “thems” of our world until they said Uncle, I believed the scariest words ever spoken to be “The apple never falls far from the tree.” That whole concept inspired clinging fears in the wee hours, and a halting miserable shyness in the presence of those who seemed to be the anointed. If I fell not far from the tree, was I then fated to be, not, say, a college prof of English, but inmate 2679785? A parolee who spends seventeen years on the night shift with Custodial Services at KU Med Center in K.C., instead of a Prize-Winning Novelist with a saltbox on the Cape? An unwholesome artsy freak, and not an esteemed citizen whose voting privileges have never been revoked? I went through those pitiful, hangdog years being ashamed of my roots and origins, referring to home as “our place in the country,” and to my father as a “self-made man.” I hung my head and eenie-meenie-minie-moed when confronted at dinner tables by too many forks. I tried to give the impression that slapping an uppity snotnose silly was not the sort of act contained in my portfolio. It

For the memory of Alexander’s greatness had always served the Romans as a reproach. Even worse, it provided an inspiration to their foes. In the east the model of kingship established by Alexander had never lost its allure. For more than a century it had been neutered and systematically humiliated by Rome, yet it remained the only credible system of government that could be opposed to the republicanism of the new world conquerors. Hence its appeal to monarchs, such as Mithridates, who were not even Greek, and hence, most startling of all, its appeal to bandits and rebellious slaves. When the pirates had called themselves kings and affected the gilded sails and purple awnings of monarchy, this had not been mere vanity, but a deliberate act of propaganda, as public a statement as they could make of their opposition to the Republic. They knew that the message would be read correctly, for invariably, whenever the order of things had threatened to crack during the previous decades, rebellion had been signaled by a slave with a crown. Spartacus’s communism had been all the more unusual in that the leaders of previous slave revolts, virtually without exception, had aimed to raise thrones upon the corpses of their masters. Most, like the pirates, had merely adopted the trappings of monarchy, but there were some who had brought the fantastical worlds of romances to life and claimed to be the long-lost sons of kings. This, in a world ruled by a republic, was what revolution had come to mean. The royal pretensions of slaves fed naturally into the swirling undercurrents of the troubled age, the prophecies, which Mithridates’ propaganda had exploited so brilliantly, of the coming of a universal king, of a new world monarchy, and the doom of Rome. So when Pompey presented himself as the new Alexander, he was appropriating a dream shared by potentate and slave alike. If any Roman was qualified to appreciate this, it was Pompey himself. The conqueror of the pirates and the patron of Posidonius, he would have been perfectly aware of the menacing links between kingship and revolution, between the uppitiness of Oriental princelings and the resentments of the dispossessed

Watching the early Keystone flicks today, their weaknesses are as apparent as their strengths. Plots are vaporous and repeatedly recycled. Acting can veer into wild pantomime. Racial and ethnic stereotypes abound. Much screen time is merely filler before the next round of mayhem. Still, you wait for the infectious moment when the uppity heiress lands in the lake or the Keystone Kops give chase in cars, bicycles, and shoes but can’t quite catch the crook. Or when, again and again, a fat man falls.

Sweet, sweet Jesus,” Mom whispered, staring bright-eyed at Hank shaking hands with Dad. Dad dropped Hank’s hand and backed away. “This is my wife, Trish. The Good Lord overwhelms her on occasion. I find it best to just ignore it,” Dad advised Hank. Hank smiled at Mom. She stared at him a beat and then her eyes rolled back into her head. “The Lord our Savior heard my prayers,” she told the inside of her eyeballs. “Mom!” I cried, sounding uppity. Her eyes rolled back to normal and then she bugged them out at me. “What?” Mom asked, sounding just as uppity as me. “He’s cute.

They act all uppity, like anyone who wants to go online is a dirty pervert looking for titty pictures and porn. I

Relentlessly sociable and bent on a public life, the transition to the legislature was natural for a woman who never seemed to recognize how uppity she was.

My fantasy’s interrupted by some uppity-ass eight-year-old who thinks it would be funny to try to run me off the track by driving right into my kart from behind. I regain control of my vehicle, slow down and let him pass me. I then suddenly speed up after a few feet of meandering and ram straight into him from the right-hand side, making him drive into the tires. Whiplash, bitch! He screams at me all red-faced as I pass him. Not saying anything, just screaming. Prick.

For those who don’t know, the pigeonhole principle is the logical, mathematical, and scientific principle that if you have too many pigeons and not enough pigeonholes, the pigeons will get mad at you. A lot of people might wonder where these uppity pigeons get off, refusing to room together - they’re only pigeons, brains the size of peas - whereas humans share rooms quite happily, but no, His Majesty the pigeon needs his own fancy hole to live in, otherwise he gets mad... but, as anyone who lives in a big city knows, pigeons have ways to make your life very unpleasant if they don’t have enough pigeonholes. If you have ever woken up to find your house, car, roof, or dog covered in pigeon poop, it is probably because you have angered the pigeons by failing to provide them enough pigeonholes. Build them more pigeonholes and they won’t poop on your car anymore. That is the crux of the pigeonhole principle.

proudly part of the Enlightenment. God, if he existed, was the ultimate master craftsman who had set the world in motion, with fixed immutable laws, and then left it to get on with things. They saw angels and devils as abstract concepts and held that anything wandering around with a halo, wings, or a pitchfork was either an uppity fae, a con man, or a mountebank.

Though most of the punished "witches" were neither propertied nor powerful, the constant reminder of what patriarchal power could do to uppity, solitary, or rebellious women must have gone a long way toward keeping the mass of women in their place.

Over the Ethiopian highlands, south of the Serengeti, thousands of nautical miles off the coast of Madagascar, where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet is a hidden land I ain’t never seen on a map or in some history book. But I’ve slipped beyond that invisible curtain of open ocean before, to a hidden place nestled at the base of Yiyo Peak, a mountain so tall it kisses the afternoon sun. It is Ghizon, home to a clan of magic-wielders. Self-proclaimed gods. Their magic gives them that stink of uppity. For

He’s Black Council,” I said. “Or maybe stupid,” Ebenezar countered. I thought about it. “Not sure which is scarier.” Ebenezar blinked at me, then snorted. “Stupid, Hoss. Every time. Only so many blackhearted villains in the world, and they only get uppity on occasion. Stupid’s everywhere, every day.

You were just waiting to tear me down, waiting for your opportunity, you uppity, social-climbing cunt.” I’m still not sure what was enough. The use of the word “uppity” and all its implications or calling her a cunt. But it was enough. “Maybe you’re angry because it’s not a lie,” I said, and then Esme froze,

If a woman does not comply, then she is the problem, the ‘feminist killjoy’, the Old Dragon, the Battleaxe, the Termagant, the Nippy Sweety, the Uppity Cow, the Bitch. I’ve come to understand all that, and also to understand that ableism works in the same way, that as an autistic person I am not supposed to make assertions that cause non-autistic people–parents of autistic children, autistic professionals–to feel bad about themselves. If, as an autistic person, I make a non-autistic person feel bad about themselves in relation to autism, it must be because I am a defective person, lacking both an adult understanding of my own condition and empathy for the individuals who are trying so patiently to cope with the consequences of it. I see this very argument–if I must dignify it with that word–used on social media again and again, whenever an autistic person seeks to advocate for autistic people as a group.

He couldn’t deny the hole he was in, but could the uppity young miss who kept his head spinning be the answer he was looking for?

Human transformation wasn’t just frowned upon, it was against the tenets of the magicians—humanity’s uppity ruling class. If I went to someone official for help, they’d likely help Phillip right into a prison cell.

Okay, so I was conditioned to do what I was told, but I was uppity enough to do it with ill grace.

Simply jailing newly free uppity blacks was an effective but expensive solution to the problem of control. Selling or leasing the inmates instead not only saved states the cost of incarceration, it earned them a profit. Eventually, leasing would provide the state of Alabama with one quarter of its yearly revenue and provide industry with untold profits. Arrest rates reflected the desire for profit.

The demon-of-all-demons for conservatives is, not surprisingly, Hillary Clinton! She’s an uppity woman (Category 5, opposing the moral order), a former antiwar activist who is pro-choice (Category 4), a protector of the “public good” (Category 3), someone who gained her influence not on her own but through her husband (Category 2), and a supporter of multiculturalism (Category 1). It would be hard for the conservatives to invent a better demon-of-all-demons. These

Kelis always thought she was better than me just because she made a little money and moved her uppity ass out the ghetto and into the white neighborhood. But to me, she was nothing but a muthafuckin’ traitor.

Edgard wasn’t convinced the three of them together out on the town was the best idea. “You sure you want me to come along, Chassie? I don’t wanna be a third wheel.” “Trev is relieved to be off the dancin’ hook, aren’t you, hon?” “Yep. I’ll be more’n happy to hold down a barstool and guard the beer while you’re two-steppin’.” Trevor gave Edgard a genuine grin. “You don’t know what you’re in for, Ed. Chassie can go all night.” “I’m the lucky man to test your stamina? All night?” He grinned. “I’m all over that.” “I’ll bet a guy like you has plenty of stayin’ power,” Chassie shot back with a sexy growl. “I’m lucky, showin’ up with the two hottest guys in the county. That uppity Brandy Martinson is so gonna eat her heart out.” “I’m sure she’s used to no one noticing her when you’re in the room, sweetheart,” Edgard drawled. “Ed, stop flirtin’ with my wife.

All of us, every day, inherit problems we didn't create. Motherfuckers get greedy with oil, and everything we buy gets a lot more expensive. Motherfuckers get uppity in another country, and we and our friends and family are expected to leave home to fight and die. Motherfuckers make management mistakes in distant offices, and the house of cards collapses, leaving everyone to scramble to make a living and feed our families. Motherfuckers botch a drilling operation in the ocean and fuck up the environment for the rest of us. Motherfuckers go crazy and shoot up a McDonald's, or a bank, or a school. Motherfuckers do dumb shit, and we have to deal with it.

Where they lived, being known by this label [uppity] meant that you thought you were better than everyone else around you. That you deserved more, and that given the opportunity, you would leave this place behind without a second thought. There was shame in thinking like that.

LuAnne looked at Liz with pity. “It never healed, Miss Liz. That’s the problem with white folks. They think if everything is going along smooth like; as long as black folks doing their work and not getting uppity, they think things are okay and then, just like that, you turn around and somebody’s killin’ someone and everything’s in a mess, and white folks open their mouths and say, ‘Why, why is this happening? We was all getting along so good. Must be the black man’s fault. He ain’t ever satisfied.’ 

One has to be firm with inanimate objects or they get uppity. “Is