Aaa Car Quotes

There should be a phone service that turns off your phone between midnight and six A.M. every night. And if you want to make a call, you have to pick up the phone and talk to an operator: Put me through to AAA. My car battery's dead. Yes, ma'am. Put me through to Pink Dot. I need vanilla Häagen-Dazs toute de suite! Yes, ma'am. Put me through to my ex-boyfriend... I'm sorry, ma'am, the operator would say. That would be a bad idea. Now you go to bed before you do anything stupid.

I’d come across a strap-on penis. It seemed pretty old and was Band-Aid colored, about three inches long and not much bigger around than a Vienna sausage, which was interesting to me. You’d think that if someone wanted a sex toy she’d go for the gold, sizewise. But this was just the bare minimum, like getting AAA breast implants. Who had this person been hoping to satisfy, her Cabbage Patch doll? I thought about taking the penis home and mailing it to one of my sisters for Christmas but knew that the moment I put it in my knapsack, I’d get hit by a car and killed. That’s just my luck. Medics would come and scrape me off the pavement, then, later, at the hospital, they’d rifle through my pack and record its contents: four garbage bags, some wet wipes, two flashlights, and a strap-on penis.

My car broke down. Instead of AAA, I called AA by mistake. They could only move my car twelve steps.

He's got a car bomb. He puts the key in the ignition and turns it—the car blows up. He gets out. He opens the hood and makes a cursory inspection. He closes the hood and gets back in. He turns the key in the ignition. The car blows up. He gets out and slams the door shut disgustedly. He kicks the tire. He takes off his jacket and shimmies under the chassis. He pokes around. He slides back out and wipes the grease off his shirt. He puts his jacket back on. He gets in. He turns the key in the ignition. The car blows up, sending debris into the air and shattering windows for blocks. He gets out and says, Damn it! He calls a tow truck. He gives them his AAA membership number. They tow the car to an Exxon station. The mechanic gets in and turns the key in the ignition. The car explodes, demolishing the gas pumps, the red-and-blue Exxon logo high atop its pole bursting like a balloon on a string. The mechanic steps out. You got a car bomb, he says. The man rolls his eyes. I know that, he says.

You gonna be okay with that idiot car of yours? ...” “I’ve got AAA. They’ll be here. Eventually.” ... “Well, if they don’t show, give the station a call and I’ll drive over and jump you.” There was a sort of strangled non-noise. “Jump your car. Jump-start it. The cruisers have incredible batteries.” She started laughing. “Is that a Freudian slip, or are you just happy to see me?