From: Heir of Frankenstein, by Mary Wollstonecroft Shelley, Richmond, Virginia, 1847

Do you not, with each word, each embrace, create a monster? Not only the child of your body who may destroy you with unkind words or unjust deeds, but do you not see the monster looking out at you from the eyes of every man you kiss? Do you not hear his roar in the words of contrition from every servant you upbraid? I curse Frankenstein not for creating me; I curse him for being a man, for men create things, and women beings. Were I of a woman created, no one could call me a thing.




The fear in the man's eyes was a sight familiar to me; yet, where others had fled with this fear, or attacked me with it, the black-skinned man did neither. He fell to his knees before me. "Oh, help me, help me", he cried, over and over. In the woods there appeared first a straw hat and a musket tip, and presently a man bearing both appeared from behind the briers. The black man turned; the fear was obviously directed at the newcomer. The latter unslung his musket and aimed at me. I looked back, unafraid. Having been wounded before, with less reason, the musket-ball tearing my flesh held no terror for me.

Politically Correct

“So sad,” said Mrs Swift. “My son telling bigoted jokes. Is this how you were brought up?”

Little Johnny Swift hung his head. “No,” he whispered.

“We tried to set a good example for you,” said Mr Swift. “And now -- this. Do you realize how badly this might affect your future?”

Little Johnny fidgeted. “Yes.”

“The principal will let it slide for now,” Mrs Swift said. “But if he ever hears…!”

“OK,” whispered Johnny.

“And,” Mr Swift hesitated. “How many Earthmen does it take to change a lightbulb?”

“Both of them,” whispered Johnny, picking his quasinose with his pseudopod.

Tis true, tis pity, and pity tis tis true

“Jeeves,” said Bertie Wooster, “knows the answer to any question.”
“Really?” St-John Hollingshead inquired.
”Really,” Bertie asserted.
“Let us,” St-John said, “test the validity of this proposition. I shall hide. You shall interrogate Jeeves regarding my whereabouts.” With this, Hollingshead departed.

Stairs creaked overhead presently. “Blighter’s off to the roof,” Bertie thought. “Unwise, what, in this blasted weather.” He called Jeeves in.

“Jeeves,” he began.

“Yes sir,” Jeeves replied.

“I’ve a question …” he continued.

“Yes sir.”

There was an awful, rending scream.

“Good God! What was that!” Bertie exclaimed.

“E flat,” said Jeeves.

There was an awful, wrenching thud.