At this moment in time I’m reading Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman and just read one of the greatest paragraphs I’ve ever read (I’ll include the preceding paragraph to set up the humour in the second):
Fat Charlie went back to his hotel room, the color of underwater, where his lime sat, like a small green Buddha, on the countertop.
“You’re no help”, he told the lime. This was unfair. It was only a lime; there was nothing special about it at all. It was doing the best it could.