The very first page has one, courtesy of Harry's cynicism, when Morgan shows up and asks Harry to hide him before passing out.
"Sufficiently advanced technology, my ass." How is it possible that the world existed for almost 50 years between Arthur C. Clarke and this joke?
The Gatekeeper wonders aloud whether Dresden is some sort of criminal mastermind, or really is just that unlucky and clueless. Harry looks at him, points at the bandage wrapped around his own noggin, and says, simply, "Dude." Left me in stitches.
Harry: I've got gender issues. Bob: Uh. Wow. I'd love to say something that would make that more embarrassing for you, boss, but I'm not sure how. Harry: Not my... ugh. With the skinwalker. Is it actually a male? Do I call it a he? Bob: It's a semidivine immortal, Harry. It doesn't procreate. It has no need to recombine DNA. That means that gender simply doesn't apply. That's something only you meatsacks worry about. Harry: Then why is it that you stare at naked girls every chance you get, but not naked men? Bob: It's an aesthetic choice. As a gender, women exist on a plane far beyond men when it comes to the artistic appreciation of their external beauty. Harry: And they have boobs. Bob: And they have boobs!
This whole discussion becomes Hilarious in Hindsight after Skin Game shows us the son of a Naagloshii. Apparently they are male, as Goodman Grey refers to his "father".
Morgan gets a nice one when Harry realizes that he's called in Titania's boon to throw off any attempts to magically trace him.
Harry's just revealed to Lara Raith, her sisters, Injun Joe, Ebenezar, and Ancient Mai that he called the skinwalker earlier to meet him there, without warning anyone else, in order to force a fight and thereby a temporary alliance between the White Court and the White Council. It should be arriving in anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes.
Ebenezar blinked. Then he turned his face to me, his expression clearly asking whether or not I was out of my damned mind. "Wile E. Coyote," I said to him soberly. "Suuuuuuper Genius."
Every time Harry comes home, he finds some form of Mexican Standoff taking place between Morgan and Molly (and at one point Luccio), with Mouse being the only thing keeping it from escalating into violence. The first time he's surprised. The second time he's resigned (he even goes over and gets a drink before sitting down and sorting things out) and the third time he just gets exasperated that they're at it again.
Mouse immediately protests with a polite little "a-woof," prompting Harry to apologize and exempt him from that statement.
Harry and Murphy are talking about the Wardens and how he relates to them.
Murphy: You've never really compromised your order for someone else's, which is why you drive the Wardens nuts. They have procedures, they have forms, they have reports - and you ignore them unless someone twists your arm to make you do it. Am I right? Harry: Still don't see how that's a problem. Murphy: It's a problem because you never learned how to adjust inside someone else's order. If you had, you'd realize what an incredible force you have working on your side. Harry: The A-Team? Murphy: Bureaucracy. Harry: I would rather have the A-Team.
Even Listens-to-Wind gets his funny on in this book. After meeting Shagnasty, the skinwalker seems to know it's in for a fight. The old man simply scoops up a handful of dirt, and says "Mother says that you have no place here." There's a flash of lighting without the boom of thunder. Listens-to-Wind looks to the sky, looks to the skinwalker, and reports "Father says you are ugly."
" Peabody may not have seen the man turn intoa grizzly, but he was bright enough to know that Injun Joe was getting set to adjust another relative ass-to-ears ratio."
Morgan's reaction when he thinks Molly is going to use magic to get into the mind of a PI watching Harry's apartment (a big no-no in the Dresdenverse), but then she uses a totally different kind of "magic" to get information. Even funnier when Morgan is appreciative of the show she puts on, but Harry, who has known her since she was eight, is slightly Squicked.
Harry on why the Merlin should accept his help proving Morgan innocent:
Harry goes to visit an attorney on the 24th floor of a building, and his initial interaction with the office's secretary is simply priceless.
She looked up at me with a polite smile, her dark hair long and appealing, her shirt cut just low enough to make you notice, but not so low as to make you think less of her. I liked the smile. Maybe I didn't look like a beaten-up bum. Maybe on me it just looked ruggedly determined. "I'm sorry, sir, but the addiction-counseling center is on twenty-six." Sigh.
Harry has just formed the sanctum invocation and is trying to work out the details of his new intellectus. When he tries to explain that he had walked out of the Genius Loci's range and cannot access it right then and there, he puts it...less than eloquently.
I tapped my finger against my forehead. "I've got nothing going on up here at the moment." I realized what I had said just as the last word left my mouth, and glanced at Morgan. He lay on the bunk with his eyes closed. His mouth was turned up in small smile. "Too easy."
Harry talks Butters into tending Morgan's leg wound. Butters tells Harry to wash up and put on some gloves, since Butters needs an extra pair of hands. Harry balks, and we get this:
"Oh bite me, wizard boy," Butters said, his tone annoyed.
When Thomas beats up Madeline near the beginning he slams her by the ankle "smashing a 36-24-36 dent into the drywall".
Binder has Harry trapped in a circle surrounded by his demonic mooks, and is threatening to break it unless they tell him where Morgan is.
Harry: Okay. He's right behind you. Binder: Dresden. We have a bit of banter going between us. We're both here in a moment where neither of us wants to act rashly. And that's all good fun. It's one of the little things that makes a day more enjoyable. But don't do me the incredibly insulting disservice of assuming that I'm a bloody moron. Harry: I'm not. He's about forty feet behind you. In a wheelchair. Binder gave me a gimlet stare, then he rolled his eyes and shot a brief glance over his shoulder—then did a double take as his mouth dropped open. Morgan sat in his wheelchair about forty feet away from Binder, my shotgun in his hands.
Harry greeting the woman who sent a PI to spy on him (on the White Court's orders) with "Hi, cuddles."