Callie: Tell us, folks - what's the state of YOUR bedroom?
Marie: Ooh, this one might reveal a lot about our audience!
Callie: The first team is for all the free spirits out there! MESSY!
Marie: And over here, it's all about discipline and order! TIDY!
Callie: I'm preeeetty sure I know which side you're on here.
Marie: Yeah! My room sparkles like an Electric Catfish! I love having everything in its proper place! ...I have a feeling you're not on the same side.
Callie: Who cares about tidying?! Just go and live your life! Messy forever!
— Splatoon
At the guard stations on the periphery of the Alcegrante district, the city watch stands ready to protect the city's lesser nobility from the annoyance of having to see or smell any of their actual subjects against their wishes.
For those too young to remember the time before bad guys all had beards and turbans, country clubs were the eighties version of underground lairs; a headquarters for pop culture's most heinous villain — the snob. Looking down their noses at our fictional underdog heroes for a good decade, snobs made their nests inside their gates, making country club membership something both aspirational and with which to identify an individual as beyond redemption.
—Stuart Millard, So Excited, So Scared
Randy seemed untroubled by Trump’s lack of polish, or knowledge, or basic human grace. Far from it—these were virtues. “You don’t have to be a brain to run a business,” Randy said. “Just an ass. Sometimes you can be nice and polite, but there’s sometimes you’ve just got to be a horse’s ass with somebody to get them to do what they’re supposed to be doing.” So far, I’d heard Trump compared—favorably—to a horse’s ass and to a laxative, and I began to imagine a Trump campaign poster that was just a big horse’s butthole spewing hot diarrhea.
—Drew Magary
, "What Kind of Person Would Vote For Donald Trump? These People"
, "What Kind of Person Would Vote For Donald Trump? These People"Few people ever think of the differences in culture between themselves and those in other wealth brackets. It is always assumed that others lead essentially the same life, just with finer or poorer trappings associated with it. The extremely wealthy cannot visualize the relative expense of basics such as food to someone on a subsistence-level income and the poor view the rich as having more disposable income without any additional operating expenses, social obligations or risks.
—Assault Commander Alan D. Naumann, Freehold by Michael Z. Williamson
Skiers view snowboarders as a menace, snowboarders view skiers as Elmer Fudd.
Jay Briscoe:"Doing your little juijitsu getting focused and shit. Talking about "I'm focused", I'm kicking this bag, I'm focused for my match. Shit, that's where we're different boys. We're different kind of people, we aint got time to be focused, "focused". See we live on a farm we gotta get shit done. We aint got time to walk around being focused. Does it look like stable thoughts go through my mind? Do I look like a rational thinker to you? This guy, a guarantee you he aint no rational thinker. If we walked on Dr. Phil he'd shit himse"*jumps as a gunshot knocks over a can behind him*
Mark Briscoe:"Sorry, I though you were finished."
"Listen here, mister. This stick in the mud has had to work two jobs her whole life while you've been sucking on a silver spoon chasing chambermaids around your - your ivory tower!"
—Tiana to Prince Naveen, The Princess and the Frog
They knew about Brakebills at Murs. Not much, but they knew. Their attitude toward it was bracingly snobbish. They considered Brakebills — to the extent that they considered it at all — rather cute; a sanitized, safety-wheeled playpen for those who didn't have the grit and the will to make it on the outside. They called it Fakebills and Breakballs, At Breakbills, you sat in classrooms and followed the rules. Perfectly fine if you like that kind of thing, but here at Murs you made your own rules, no adult supervision. Brakebills was the Beatles, Murs was the Stones. Brakebills was for Marquis of Queensbury types, Murs was more your stone-cold street-fighting man.
