Humans were a bad enemy to fight - which also made them a good enemy, for Orks made little distinction between the two concepts. No matter how many humans were killed, there were always more to take their place, shiploads of them brimming with vengeance. Humans were like a weed, like a disease, almost impossible to cleanse from a world. For a greenskin that made them something more than an enemy, for a fight against a favoured enemy was a joyous thing. Orks loved going to war with humans, because defeating the humans meant something.
Sometimes we think we want to know what our dogs think. We don't, not really. Someone who watches us with unclouded eyes and sees us for who we really are is more frightening than a man with a gun.
— The Evolution of Trickster Stories Among the Dogs of North Park After the Change, Kij Johnson
Shitload: This world is shit, yo. How do you people be gettin’ around in this, all in these bodies and shit? You act all scared that I’m gonna kill ya, when it’s the best thing I could do for you, yo. Deadworld, man, it’s alternating layers of rot and shit and shit like that.
Dave: Deadworld? Is that where you’re from?
Shitload: No, dude. That’s where you’re from. It’s where we are now. This place, it’s a horror show. If the guy next to you decides to knock you out of this world forever, he can do it with just a piece of metal or, hell, even his bare hand. Well, you know. Right?
Dave: I’ve never killed anybody.
Shitload: You blobs, you sit there, chillin’ in this room and I can smell the rot of dead animals soaking in the acid of your guts. You suck the life from the innocent creatures of this world just so you can clock another day. You’re machines that run on the terror and pain and mutilation of other lives. You’ll scrape the world clean of every green and living thing until starvation goes 1-8-7 on every one of your sorry asses, your desperation to put off death leadin’ to the ultimate death of everybody and everything. Dude, I can’t believe you ain’t all paralyzed by the pure, naked horror of this place.
John: Uh... thanks?
"They're made out of meat."
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars."
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you have any idea the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."
"Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat!"
"So... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?"
— They're Made Out of Meat, Terry Bisson
After the situation surrounding Ragesh 3 was settled, to the satisfaction of all save the Narn, Mr. Garibaldi invited me to join him in doing his second favorite thing in the universe. In an effort to understand more about Earthers, I agreed. I found it quite puzzling, however. We watched something called "Duck Dodgers in the 24½th Century" - which, since by Earth reckoning it is only the 23½ century, I found confusing. Apparently, this is what was called a "cartoon show," and Mr. Garibaldi appeared to find it quite amusing. It appears to have been a source of entertainment on Earth two centuries ago. He also introduced me to an Earth food called "popcorn." Apparently, one eats popcorn while watching these sources of entertainment, although I have yet to understand the purpose of this ritual. Mr. Garibaldi attempted to explain the humor in this "cartoon" to me, but I must admit that I fail to understand it; although Commander Sinclair has mentioned that Mr. Garibaldi's sense of humor is somewhat unusual. Hopefully, with more study, I will be able to understand this aspect of Earth culture better.
— Writers' Haven Babylon 5 fanfic, Delenn's Diary
You are such HIDEOUS creatures!
— Cho'Gath, League of Legends
'Oomans are pink and soft, not green and tough like da Boyz. They'z all the same size, too - No big'uns or little'uns, so they'z always arguing about who's in charge, 'cos there's no way of telling 'cept for badges an' ooniforms and fings. Anuvver fing - when they do sumfink, they try to make it look like somfink else to confuse everybody. When one of 'em wants to lord it over the uvvers, 'e says "I'm very speshul so'z you gotta worship me," or "I know summink wot you lot don't know, so yer better lissen good." Da funny fing is, 'arf of 'em believe it and da over 'arf don't, so 'e 'as to hit 'em all anyway or run fer it. Wot a lot of mukkin' about if yer asks me. An' while they'z all arguin' wiv each other over who's da boss, da Orks can sneak up an' clobber da lot.
— An Ork's view of humanity and its failings, Warhammer 40,000
Dr. ██████: Now, why did you kill those farmers?
SCP-682: (No verbal communication)
Dr. ██████: If you don't talk now, we will remove you from this attempt and place you back into-
Dr. ██████: Pardon? (Motions to move microphone closer)
Dr. ██████: Speak up. (To Personnel D-085) Move the mic up closer.
SCP-682: …they were (Incomprehensible)…
Dr. ██████: (To Personnel D-085) That microphone has only so much gain, move it closer to it!
Personnel D-085: His throat's messed up man, look at it! He ain't talking- (Gasps and screams)
SCP-682: (Appearing to assault D-085's body) …they were… disgusting…
Dr. ██████: (Retreats from the room)
— SCP-682, The SCP Foundation