Driver Funny Quotes

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Bike lane: the section of the road that accommodates wide loads and has speed bumps to protect drunk drivers.
Bauvard (Some Inspiration for the Overenthusiastic)
The drivers here are horrible. And by horrible, I mean they don't realize I have someplace to be.
Maria Semple (Where'd You Go, Bernadette)
Any one could write a book," said the taxi driver. "Yes, they could, but they DON'T," said Maeve Binchy
Maeve Binchy
The driver got out smiling. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and for a second, I had the uneasy feeling it was Luke, my old enemy. This guy had the same sandy hair and outdoorsy good looks. But it wasn't Luke. His smile was brighter and more playful. (Luke didn't do much more than scowl and sneer these days.) The Maserati driver wore jeans and loafers and a sleeveless T-shirt. "Wow" Thalia muttered. Apollo Is hot." "He's the sun god," I said. "That's not what I meant.
Rick Riordan (The Titan’s Curse (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #3))
I should have known the power-hungry slave drivers at River's Edge would see my five days of freedom only as a challenge to be filled.
Cate Tiernan (Immortal Beloved (Immortal Beloved, #1))
I haven't met that many women, human or angelic, who actually like to drive. In my experience they seem to be much more pragmatic about the whole thing than we are. For most males, driving is an extension of their masculinity; they have little fantasy scenarios going all the time - races, chases, and dramatic combat with other drivers. Females, on the other hand, generally seem to view driving as something you do to get somewhere. I know, crazy.
Tad Williams (The Dirty Streets of Heaven (Bobby Dollar, #1))
Clubs rattled behind them. Skeet Cooper rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and rose from the bench. “Looks like Kenny’s caddy’s here.” Dallie lifted an eyebrow as his son stepped up on the tee carrying Kenny’s bag. Ted smiled. “Sorry I’m late. Mom made me eat breakfast. Then she started fussing with my hair, don’t ask me why.” Dallie took the driver Skeet handed him. “Funny you didn’t mention that you were going to caddy for Kenny today.” “Must have forgot.” Ted smiled and shifted the bag. “I told Skeet.” Dallie shot Skeet an annoyed look that didn’t bother Skeet one bit. Kenny gestured toward the tee. “Be my guest. I believe in showing respect for the elderly and the infirm.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips (Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas, #2))
I sometimes think drivers don't know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly," she said. "If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! he'd say, that's grass! A pink blur? That's a rose-garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows. My uncle drove slowly on a highway once. He drove forty miles an hour and they jailed him for two days. Isn't that funny, and sad, too?
Ray Bradbury (Fahrenheit 451)
We can’t all be Byronic adventurers like you Jude. Have you been wrestling with any brigands in the mountains there?” “No, but you’ve got to watch the drivers! Funny you should mention the poetic lord. He used to take his holidays down here, you know?” “What… picking up last-minute bargains with ‘EasyFrigate’?
Paul Alkazraji (The Silencer)
I thought, What a miserable life he's had, having to hide his religion, his name, just to get a job as a driver—and he is a good driver, no question of it, a far better one than I will ever be.Part of me wanted to get up and apologize to him right there and say, You go and be a driver in Delhi. You never did anything to hurt me. Forgive me, brother. I turned to the other side, farted, and went back to sleep.
Aravind Adiga (The White Tiger)
Asking someone else to drive your sports car is like asking someone else to kiss your girlfriend.
Amit Kalantri (Wealth of Words)
Kapag punuan ang jeep at nagkataon na sinungaling ang driver sa pagsasabing "Lima pa, maluwag na maluwag pa yan", merong bagong sakay na pasahero ang bigla nalang tutuwad sa harap mo, sa pag-aakalang uusog ka, upang siya'y makaupo. Napaka awkward ng feeling, habang pinagmamasdan mo siya sa ganun posisyon pero wala ka namang magawa dahil puno na nga ang upuan. Doon mo nalaman kung anong feeling ng isang arinola.
Jayson G. Benedicto (Ito Na Siguro Ang Pinakamahabang Title Ng Isang Libro Na Ginawa Sa Pilipinas At Nagmula Sa Munting Facebook Page Ni AkOPOSIJAYSON Na Walang Maisip Na Pamagat)
Like a driver who has lost control of his vechicle, I was bracing for the impending crash." From: "My Worst Valentine's Day.Ever: a Short Story
Zack Love (Stories and Scripts: an Anthology)
Did you ever get fed up?" I said. "I mean did you ever get scared that everything was going to go lousy unless you did something? I mean do you like school and all that stuff?" "It's a terrific bore." "I mean do you hate it? I know it's a terrific bore, but do you hate it, is what I mean." "Well, I don't exactly hate it. You always have to--" "Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it," I said. "But it isn't just that. It's everything. I hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always--" "Don't shout, please," old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn't even shouting. "Take cars," I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. "Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake. A horse you can at least--" "I don't know what you're even talking about," old Sally said. "You jump from one--" "You know something?" I said. You're probably the only reason I'm in New York right now, or anywhere. If you weren't around, I'd probably be someplace way the hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You're the only reason I'm around, practically." "You're sweet," she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn subject. "You ought to go to a boys' school sometime. Try it sometime," I said. "It's full of phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are on the basketball team stuck together, the Catholics stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little intelligent--" "Now, listen," old Sally said. "Lots of boys get more out of school that that." "I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that's all I get out of it. See? That's my point. That's exactly my goddamn point," I said. "I don't get hardly anything out of anything. I'm in bad shape. I'm in lousy shape." "You certainly are.
J.D. Salinger (The Catcher in the Rye)
I'll drop you back to test driver so fast it will make your bra snap.
Doug Solter
Your baby is crying," says the driver to Taiwo, the Ghanian way of saying your cell phone is ringing.
Taiye Selasi (Ghana Must Go)
He was the kind of driver who stopped the car even when the light was yellow and he could have sailed through.
Nicholas Sparks (Dear John)
What kind of driver will never get a license? A: A screwdriver!
Johnny B. Laughing (LOL: Funny Jokes and Riddles for Kids (Laugh Out Loud Book 1))
Horns honked all around us, and our fellow drivers seemed concerned about my education, as they were introducing me to all manner of exciting hand gestures. Some of them were even new to me. I pointed to one of them. "Look, Dominic. We're learning new things.
Seanan McGuire (Snake in the Glass (InCryptid, #3.3))
So what happened?" "I don't know." Another glance to ensure his continued state of Not Looking, and then I rip off my clothes in one fast swoop. I am now officially stark naked in the room with the most beautiful boy I know. Funny,but this isn't how I imagined this moment. No.Not funny.One hundred percent the exact opposite of funny. "I think I maybe,possibly, vaguely remember hitting the snooze button." I jabber to cover my mortification. "Only I guess it was the off button.But I had the alarm on my phone set,too, so I don't know what happened." Underwear,on. "Did you turn the ringer back on last night?" "What?" I hop into my jeans, a noise he seems to determinedly ignore.His ears are apple red. "You went to see a film,right? Don't you set your mobile to silent at the theater?" He's right.I'm so stupid. If I hadn't taken Meredith to A Hard Day's Night, a Beatles movie I know she loves, I would have never turned it off. We'd already be in a taxi to the airport. "The taxi!" I tug my sweater over my head and look up to find myself standing across from a mirror. A mirror St. Clair is facing. "It's all right," he says. "I told the driver to wait when I came up here. We'll just have to tip him a little extra." His head is still down. I don't think he saw anything.I clear my throat, and he glances up. Our eyes meet in the mirror,and he jumps. "God! I didn't...I mean,not until just now..." "Cool.Yeah,fine." I try to shake it off by looking away,and he does the same. His cheeks are blazing.I edge past him and rinse the white crust off my face while he throws my toothbrush and deodorant and makeup into my luggage, and then we tear downstairs and into the lobby.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
(Don’t look at me funny. That’s exactly what the old stories called him: a lame ass-driver. The dude was lame, like crippled. He was leading an ass, like a donkey. What did you think I meant?) Anyway, Psyche thought it was weird to see a crippled dude in a volcanic vent, just hanging out with his ass. (I’m not going to laugh. Nope. Not even a little.) The guy called out to her, “Hello, there, girl! You look kind and helpful. My ass has dropped some of its load…by which, of course, I mean that my donkey has dropped some of the firewood it was carrying. Could you help me gather up these sticks and put them back on my ass?” I guess Aphrodite was testing Psyche to see if she would get distracted by helping the dude. Either that or she was trying to make Psyche laugh so hard she would fall into the chasm.
Rick Riordan (Percy Jackson's Greek Heroes (A Percy Jackson and the Olympians Guide))
More often than not, these attempts at sociability ended in painful silence. His old friends, who remembered him as a brilliant student and wickedly funny conversationalist, were appalled by what had happened to him. Tom had slipped from the ranks of the anointed, and his downfall seemed to shake their confidence in themselves, to open the door onto a new pessimism about their own prospects in life. It didn't help matters that Tom had gained weight, that his former plumpness now verged on an embarrassing rotundity, but even more disturbing was the fact that he didn't seem to have any plans, that he never spoke about how he was going to undo the damage he'd done to himself and get back on his feet. Whenever he mentioned his new job, he described it in odd, almost religious terms, speculating on such questions as spiritual strength and the importance of finding one's path through patience and humility, and this confused them and made them fidget in their chairs. Tom's intelligence had not been dulled by the job, but no one wanted to hear what he had to say anymore, least of all the women he talked to, who expected young men to be full of brave ideas and clever schemes about how they were going to conquer the world. Tom put them off with his doubts and soul-searchings, his obscure disquisitions on the nature of reality, his hesitant manner. It was bad enough that he drove a taxi for a living, but a philosophical taxi driver who dressed in army-navy clothes and carried a paunch around his middle was a bit too much to ask. He was a pleasant guy, of course, and no one actively disliked him, but he wasn't a legitimate candidate?not for marriage, not even for a crazy fling.
Paul Auster (The Brooklyn Follies)
Dating yes. But she thinks we're, uh, more than dating." "Oh," he says, thoughtful. Then he grins. "Oh." The reason her lips are turning his favorite color is because Emma's mom thinks they've been dating and mating. The blush extends down her neck and disappears into her T-shirt. He should probably say something to make her feel more comfortable. But teasing her seems so much more fun. "Well then, the least she could do is give us some privacy-" "Ohmysweetgoodness!" She snatches her backpack from the seat and marches around her car to the driver's side. Before she can get the door unlocked, he plucks the key from her fingers and tucks it into his jeans' pocket. She moves to retrieve it, but stops when she realizes where she's about to go fishing. He's never seen her this red. He laughs. "Calm down, Emma. I'm just kidding. Don't leave." "Yeah, well, it's not funny. You should have seen her this morning. She almost cried. my mom doesn't cry." She crosses her arms again but relaxes against her door. "She cried? That's pretty insulting." She cracks a tiny grin. "Yeah, it's an insult to me. She thinks I would...would..." "More than date me?" She nods. He steps toward her and puts his hand beside her on the car, leaning in. A live current seems to shimmy up his spine. What are you doing? "But she should know that you don't even think of me like that. That it would never even cross your mind," he murmurs. She looks away, satisfying his unspoken question-it has crossed her mind. The same way it crosses his. How often? Does she feel the voltage between them, too? Who cares, idiot? She belongs to Grom. Or are you going to let a few sparks keep you from uniting the kingdoms? He pulls back, clenching his teeth. His pockets are the only safe place for his hands at the moment. "Why don't I meet her then? You think that would make her feel better?" "Um." She swipes her hair to the other side of her face. Her expression falls somewhere between shock and expectation. And she had every right to expect it-he's been entertaining the idea of kissing her for over two weeks now. She fidgets the door handle. "Yeah, it might. She won't let me go anywhere-especially with you-if she doesn't meet you first." "Should I be afraid?" She sighs. "Normally I would say no. But after this morning..." She shrugs. "How about I follow you to your house so you can drop off your car? Then she can interrogate me. When she sees how charming I am, she'll let you ride to the beach with me." She rolls her eyes. "Just don't be too charming. If you're too smooth, she'll never believe-just don't overdue it, okay?" "This is getting complicated," he says, unlocking her car. "Just remember, this is your idea and your fault. Now would be the time to back out." He chuckles and opens the door for her. "Don't lose me on the road.
Anna Banks (Of Poseidon (The Syrena Legacy, #1))
Normally, burning is carried out from a Jeep or other open vehicle, the driver holding a torch out of the side, lighting grass as he goes. I’d seen Marlboro Man do it from afar but had never been up close and personal with the flames. Maybe he needs me to drive the Jeep! I thought. Or, better yet, man the torch! This could be really fun. He asked me to meet him at the barn near his house, where his Jeep was parked. Just as I pulled up, I saw Marlboro Man exiting the barn…who two horses in hand. My stomach felt funny as I scrunched up my nose and mouthed the word crap. I wasn’t comfortable riding a horse, and like my parents’ marital problems, I’d been secretly hoping this whole “horse thing” would just up and magically disappear.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Dawn’s afternoons at the Baker Institute for physically disabled kids sounded fascinating. She rode to Stamford in a specially equipped van with four children from Stoneybrook who went to Baker for physical therapy, classes in the arts, and a chance to make new friends. The bus driver was a woman who was going to college to learn to be a physical therapist. She drove the bus to earn some extra money, but the kids were more than just a job to her. She really enjoyed being with them. “Candace is so funny,” Dawn told me. “She jokes around with the kids, and they love her. She treats all of them the way you’d treat kids who aren’t in wheelchairs or wearing braces. She’ll say to them, ‘Hurry up! I haven’t got all day,’ and the kids just giggle. Most people tiptoe around the kids like they’re going to break. And never mention their braces or anything. But if a friend of yours got new clothes, you’d make a comment, right? So if a kid gets on the bus with decorations all over the back of his wheelchair, Candace will say, ‘Your chair looks great today! I think you should go into business as a decorator.
Ann M. Martin (Jessi's Wish (The Baby-Sitters Club, #48))
Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it,” I said. “But it isn’t just that. It’s everything. I hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always—” “Don’t shout, please,” old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn’t even shouting. “Take cars,” I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. “Take most people, they’re crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they’re always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that’s even newer. I don’t even like old cars. I mean they don’t even interest me. I’d rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God’s sake. A horse you can at least—” “I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” old Sally said. “You jump from one—” “You know something?” I said. “You’re probably the only reason I’m in New York right now, or anywhere. If you weren’t around, I’d probably be someplace way the hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You’re the only reason I’m around, practically.” “You’re sweet,” she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn subject. “You ought to go to a boys’ school sometime. Try it sometime,” I said. “It’s full of phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are on the basketball team stick together, the Catholics stick together, the goddam intellectuals stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little intelligent—” “Now, listen,” old Sally said. “Lots of boys get more out of school than that.” “I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that’s all I get out of it. See? That’s my point. That’s exactly my goddam point,” I said. “I don’t get hardly anything out of anything. I’m in bad shape. I’m in lousy shape.” “You certainly are.
J.D. Salinger (The Catcher in the Rye)
I remember standing against the bar in Budapest’s airport with a couple of workmates, some chaps from McLaren too, waiting for our homeward flight to be called after the ’92 race weekend. The chap behind the counter was doing the exact same thing: halving and squeezing oranges. Funny how these things spark memories. It was an exceedingly hot afternoon that day, and I remember seeing James Hunt walk through the door with Murray Walker. We were waiting for the same flight, a charter to London; I think pretty much the whole of the paddock’s British contingent was on it. Murray looked perfectly normal . . . like Murray really . . . open-necked shirt, briefcase, what have you; but James was wearing nothing but a pair of red shorts. He carried a ticket, a passport and a packet of cigarettes. That was it. There wasn’t even a pair of flip-flops to spoil the perfect minimalist look. The thing that really made the event stick in my mind, though, was that James was absolutely at ease with himself, perfectly comfortable. This was real for him, no stunt or affectation designed to impress or shock, this was genuine: James Hunt, former world champion driver, current commentator for the BBC; work done for the day . . . going home. Take me, leave me; do what you bloody well want, just don’t give me a hard time about your own petty hang-ups. He became a hero of mine that day. Sadly, his heart gave out the following summer and that was that. He was only forty-five. Mind you, he’d certainly packed a lot of living into those years.
Steve Matchett (The Chariot Makers: Assembling the Perfect Formula 1 Car)
Well, it was a kind of back-to-front program. It’s funny how many of the best ideas are just an old idea back-to-front. You see there have already been several programs written that help you to arrive at decisions by properly ordering and analysing all the relevant facts so that they then point naturally towards the right decision. The drawback with these is that the decision which all the properly ordered and analysed facts point to is not necessarily the one you want.’ ‘Yeeeess...’ said Reg’s voice from the kitchen. ‘Well, Gordon’s great insight was to design a program which allowed you to specify in advance what decision you wished it to reach, and only then to give it all the facts. The program’s task, which it was able to accomplish with consummate ease, was simply to construct a plausible series of logical-sounding steps to connect the premises with the conclusion. ‘And I have to say that it worked brilliantly. Gordon was able to buy himself a Porsche almost immediately despite being completely broke and a hopeless driver. Even his bank manager was unable to find fault with his reasoning. Even when Gordon wrote it off three weeks later.’ ‘Heavens. And did the program sell very well?’ ‘No. We never sold a single copy.’ ‘You astonish me. It sounds like a real winner to me.’ ‘It was,’ said Richard hesitantly. ‘The entire project was bought up, lock, stock and barrel, by the Pentagon. The deal put WayForward on a very sound financial foundation. Its moral foundation, on the other hand, is not something I would want to trust my weight to. I’ve recently been analysing a lot of the arguments put forward in favour of the Star Wars project, and if you know what you’re looking for, the pattern of the algorithms is very clear. ‘So much so, in fact, that looking at Pentagon policies over the last couple of years I think I can be fairly sure that the US Navy is using version 2.00 of the program, while the Air Force for some reason only has the beta-test version of 1.5. Odd, that.
Douglas Adams (Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (Dirk Gently, #1))
You’re…you’re what? Where?” I stood up and glimpsed myself in the mirror. I was a vision, having changed into satin pajama pants, a torn USC sweatshirt, and polka-dotted toe socks, and to top it off, my hair was fastened in a haphazard knot on the top of my head with a no. 2 Ticonderoga pencil. Who wouldn’t want me? “I’m outside,” he repeated, throwing in a trademark chuckle just to be extra mean. “Get out here.” “But…but…,” I stalled, hurriedly sliding the pencil out of my hair and running around the room, stripping off my pathetic house clothes and searching in vain for my favorite faded jeans. “But…but…I’m in my pajamas.” Another trademark chuckle. “So?” he asked. “You’d better get out here or I’m comin’ in…” “Okay, okay…,” I replied. “I’ll be right down.” Panting, I settled for my second-favorite jeans and my favorite sweater of all time, a faded light blue turtleneck I’d worn so much, it was almost part of my anatomy. Brushing my teeth in ten seconds flat, I scurried down the stairs and out the front door. Marlboro Man was standing outside his pickup, hands inside his pockets, his back resting against the driver-side door. He grinned, and as I walked toward him, he stood up and walked toward me, too. We met in the middle--in between his vehicle and the front door--and without a moment of hesitation, greeted each other with a long, emotional kiss. There was nothing funny or lighthearted about it. That kiss meant business. Our lips separated for a short moment. “I like your sweater,” he said, looking at the light blue cotton rib as if he’d seen it before. I’d hurriedly thrown it on the night we’d met a few months earlier. “I think I wore this to the J-bar that night…,” I said. “Do you remember?” “Ummm, yeah,” he said, pulling me even closer. “I remember.” Maybe the sweater had magical powers. I’d have to be sure to hold on to it. We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Prophecies are a funny thing. They’re nothing but lengthy riddles that only a blessed few can unravel, and yet people hang on to their every word as if Fate’s secrets were being spilled. Prophecies weave patterns of words and symbols into a rope so thick you could hang yourself with it. They cause confusion, hope, paranoia, comfort, fear, and even war. They doom the virtuous before birth and revive the damned in their final hour. They are poems that don’t rhyme and lyrics without a song. And we rely on them as drivers of our own fate.
A.P. Bartels (The Dark Prophecy (Princes of Hell))
What happened to the troubled young reporter who almost brought this magazine down The last time I talked to Stephen Glass, he was pleading with me on the phone to protect him from Charles Lane. Chuck, as we called him, was the editor of The New Republic and Steve was my colleague and very good friend, maybe something like a little brother, though we are only two years apart in age. Steve had a way of inspiring loyalty, not jealousy, in his fellow young writers, which was remarkable given how spectacularly successful he’d been in such a short time. While the rest of us were still scratching our way out of the intern pit, he was becoming a franchise, turning out bizarre and amazing stories week after week for The New Republic, Harper’s, and Rolling Stone— each one a home run. I didn’t know when he called me that he’d made up nearly all of the bizarre and amazing stories, that he was the perpetrator of probably the most elaborate fraud in journalistic history, that he would soon become famous on a whole new scale. I didn’t even know he had a dark side. It was the spring of 1998 and he was still just my hapless friend Steve, who padded into my office ten times a day in white socks and was more interested in alphabetizing beer than drinking it. When he called, I was in New York and I said I would come back to D.C. right away. I probably said something about Chuck like: “Fuck him. He can’t fire you. He can’t possibly think you would do that.” I was wrong, and Chuck, ever-resistant to Steve’s charms, was as right as he’d been in his life. The story was front-page news all over the world. The staff (me included) spent several weeks re-reporting all of Steve’s articles. It turned out that Steve had been making up characters, scenes, events, whole stories from first word to last. He made up some funny stuff—a convention of Monica Lewinsky memorabilia—and also some really awful stuff: racist cab drivers, sexist Republicans, desperate poor people calling in to a psychic hotline, career-damaging quotes about politicians. In fact, we eventually figured out that very few of his stories were completely true. Not only that, but he went to extreme lengths to hide his fabrications, filling notebooks with fake interview notes and creating fake business cards and fake voicemails. (Remember, this was before most people used Google. Plus, Steve had been the head of The New Republic ’s fact-checking department.) Once we knew what he’d done, I tried to call Steve, but he never called back. He just went missing, like the kids on the milk cartons. It was weird. People often ask me if I felt “betrayed,” but really I was deeply unsettled, like I’d woken up in the wrong room. I wondered whether Steve had lied to me about personal things, too. I wondered how, even after he’d been caught, he could bring himself to recruit me to defend him, knowing I’d be risking my job to do so. I wondered how I could spend more time with a person during the week than I spent with my husband and not suspect a thing. (And I didn’t. It came as a total surprise). And I wondered what else I didn’t know about people. Could my brother be a drug addict? Did my best friend actually hate me? Jon Chait, now a political writer for New York and back then the smart young wonk in our trio, was in Paris when the scandal broke. Overnight, Steve went from “being one of my best friends to someone I read about in The International Herald Tribune, ” Chait recalled. The transition was so abrupt that, for months, Jon dreamed that he’d run into him or that Steve wanted to talk to him. Then, after a while, the dreams stopped. The Monica Lewinsky scandal petered out, George W. Bush became president, we all got cell phones, laptops, spouses, children. Over the years, Steve Glass got mixed up in our minds with the fictionalized Stephen Glass from his own 2003 roman à clef, The Fabulist, or Steve Glass as played by Hayden Christiansen in the 2003
Anonymous
He raced to Marinella at breakneck speed, about fifty miles an hour for normal drivers. As he was passing through the village of Villaseta, a carabiniere with disc signals in hand, who’d probably been hiding behind a blade of grass, suddenly appeared in front of him, gesturing for him to stop. “License and registration.” “Why, may I ask?” “The speed limit in a residential area is thirty miles an hour. Everybody and their dog knows this.” The inspector’s irritation at this new delay and the use of a cliché triggered an unfortunate reply. “Why, don’t the cats and birds know it?” The carabiniere gave him a dirty look. “Trying to be funny, are we?” He couldn’t allow himself to get into an argument. The guy was liable to run him in, and that would be all for Angelica that night.
Anonymous
The Lead Foot Driver My mom drives too fast.  I had been telling her for a long time that her lead foot was going to get her into trouble eventually.  Then it happened.  One day she was taking me to school.  We were running late, so she was driving fast.  Sure enough she passed a state trooper who quickly pulled us over.  He walked up to the car and explained that he pulled her over because she was speeding. My mom tried real hard to keep from getting a ticket.  She looked shocked and told the trooper, “I’ve never been stopped like this before.” “What do they usually do, shoot your tires out?” the trooper asked.
Peter Jenkins (Funny Jokes for Adults: All Clean Jokes, Funny Jokes that are Perfect to Share with Family and Friends, Great for Any Occasion)
A man walked into a corner store in Colorado, and pulled out a shotgun, demanding the clerk put all of the money in the cash register into a bag. The cashier put all of the money into the bag, and handed it to the robber. The robber then demanded a bottle of liquor, but the cashier told the robber he did not believe the man was over the age of 21, so he could not give it to him.   Frustrated, the robber insisted that he was over 21, and eventually took out his drivers license, handing it over to the clerk. The clerk apologized, and handed over the bottle, and the robber quickly fled from the scene. The clerk immediately called the police and gave them the name and address of the robber. The robber was arrested within hours.
Jeffrey Fisher (Stupid Criminals: Funny and True Crime Stories)
A weathered black and silver Dodge pickup towing a small motorboat pulled up behind us, and Alex circled back to greet the driver. I couldn’t see who sat behind the crusted and dirty windshield, but Alex stood at the driver’s window and pointed down the block where the boulevard disappeared into floodwater. The truck pulled ahead, maneuvered a deft U-turn, and backed toward the water. Alex motioned for me to follow. By the time I lurched my way to the truck, he and the pickup driver were sliding the boat down the trailer ramp. Sweat trickled down my neck, and if I hadn’t been afraid of being poisoned by toxic sludge, I’d have made like a pig and wallowed in the mud to cool off. I kicked at a fire hydrant, trying to jolt some of the heaviest sludge off my boots, and heard a soft laugh behind me. With a final kick that sent a spray of brown gunk flying, I turned to see what was so funny. I needed a laugh. A man leaned against the side of the pickup with his arms crossed. He was a few inches shorter than Alex, maybe just shy of six feet, with sun-streaked blond hair that reached his collar and a sleeveless blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. His tanned legs between the bottom of the shorts and the top of sturdy black shrimp boots were scored with scars, bad ones, as if whatever made them meant to do serious damage. He’d been grinning when I turned around, flashing a heart-stopping set of dimples, but when he saw my eyes linger on his legs, the grin eased into something more wary.
Suzanne Johnson (Royal Street (Sentinels of New Orleans, #1))
The Daring Bicyclist Jim was always trying different things.  On this particular day he decided he wanted to see how fast a person could ride a bicycle before it became too hard to ride. So he asked a friend if he could tie his bike to the bumper of his car as he drove faster and faster.  His friend agreed. Before they got going they agreed on a way to communicate.  Jim would ring the bell on his bicycle once if he wanted to go faster, twice if the speed was good and repeatedly if he wanted to go slower. So the two adventurers took off and things were going pretty well.  The driver got up to over 50 miles per hour and Jim was able to handle that speed, following along on his bike. All of a sudden a shiny red sports car came up from behind.  The driver pulled alongside and revved up his engine as if he wanted to race.  Jim’s friend accepted the challenge and started to speed up.  He went faster and faster and soon forgot all about poor Jim tied to his bumper. A little way down the road, as the cars raced side by side, a policeman with a radar gun sat and watched as they sped past.  The policeman clocked them at 99 miles per hour. Before the policeman started to pursue the speeding cars, he reported in to headquarters on his radio.  “You are not going to believe this,” the policeman said.  “I am about to go after two cars racing down the road doing almost 100 miles per hour and there is this guy on a bicycle riding behind them waving his arms and ringing a bell trying to pass them!
Peter Jenkins (Funny Jokes for Adults: All Clean Jokes, Funny Jokes that are Perfect to Share with Family and Friends, Great for Any Occasion)
The Speeding Driver A policeman pulls over a car that was speeding and swerving. “I stopped you because you were speeding and swerving back and forth,” the policeman says to the driver.  “I need you take a breathalyzer test.” “Oh I can’t do that,” the driver explains.  “I have asthma and if I take your test I will have an attack and not be able to breathe.” “Well then your other choice is to come with me down to the station and we will have to draw a blood sample,” the policeman offers. “No, can’t do that either,” the driver states. “I am a hemophiliac and that would cause me to bleed to death.” “Then I will need you to step out of the car and walk this straight line,” the policeman offers as a last resort. “I’m afraid I can’t do that either,” the driver says. Starting to lose his patience, the policeman says, “And why not?” “Because I’m too drunk!
Peter Jenkins (Funny Jokes for Adults: All Clean Jokes, Funny Jokes that are Perfect to Share with Family and Friends, Great for Any Occasion)
Ewan was maladroit when it came to anything practical or mechanical. Still, he learned how to crank the car to start it, then hustle back to the driver’s seat very quickly to keep the motor from dying. His family grew accustomed to lurches when he tried to get the car moving forward without killing the motor. Like many other drivers at that time, he had trouble remembering that the car was not a horse, and if he needed to stop quickly, his first impulse was always to yank backwards on the steering wheel, as if he were holding the horse’s reins, and yell “Whoa! Whoa!” Some found this endearing, others found it funny, but his young sons found it very embarrassing.
Mary Henley Rubio (Lucy Maud Montgomery: The Gift of Wings)
He wondered what you had to do to lose your driver's license in Italy.
Robert Hellenga (The Fall of a Sparrow)
Police: do, you think you can identify yourself. The driver took out his mirror, looked at his face and said, “Yes, it is me.
Kevin Murphy (Jokes : Best Jokes 2016 (Jokes, Funny Jokes, Funny Books, Best jokes, Jokes for Kids and Adults))
The next afternoon I left work to find that my car had been broken into and ransacked — but that not one thing had been stolen. I was so insulted that I left a note on the window that read: Dear Scumbag Thieves, If you go to the trouble of tossing my car, you could at least steal a lousy pair of sunglasses. The next day I discovered a gift card lying on the driver’s seat with this message: Here’s $500. It’s the best we can do until the holidays. P.S. Get some decent tires, why don’t you. We couldn’t sell these desperate maypops if we did steal them.
Molly Meadows
We listened as he and his wife told us their wildlife stories. I wasn’t sure why, but they seemed to really hate emus. I think it was because a panicked, running emu could put a hole right through the fence. “You know, an emu is supposed to be able to run sixty kilometers per hour,” he said, relishing his story. “But if I run my truck right up their bum, they will actually reach about sixty-eight kilometers an hour. It’s funny how they look back over their shoulder just before they get run over.” They laughed long and loud until they realized that none of us were laughing with them. His wife must have thought we didn’t get the joke, because she tried to explain it further. “Our oldest child, he always begs his dad,” she told us, “Run down an emu, Dad, run down an emu!” While we drove the fence line afterward, it was obvious that Steve was trying to get back to the job at hand and move on from the awkward conversation. Suddenly he had a premonition. He turned to me. “Something’s going to happen,” he said. Just ahead of us, a koala ran through a paddock over open ground. Steve immediately jumped out of the truck. “Get John and catch up!” Steve yelled. I scrambled into the driver’s seat, bouncing like hell over the muddy track, rounding up John and the crew to come film Steve’s encounter with the koala. “How did you know something was going to happen?” I asked Steve, once we’d filmed the koala and gotten it safely to a nearby tree. “How did you sense it?” He shrugged. “I don’t know, mate, it’s the strangest thing.” Were Steve’s bush instincts simply more finely honed than anyone else’s? I didn’t think it was that simple. He seemed to be able to tune into some sixth sense with wildlife. After years in the bush, he had refined his gift into an uncanny ability.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
He calls you funny because he doesn’t know how to describe you. He doesn’t know where to put you, because you’re different from other girls. But once he figures it out . . .” Polly’s voice faded away, and she looked out the driver’s side for a moment.
Marybeth Mayhew Whalen (This Secret Thing)
A young man and his date were parked on a back road some distance from town. They were about to have sex when the girl stopped. “I really should have mentioned this earlier, but I’m actually a hooker and I charge $20 for sex.” The man reluctantly paid her, and they did their thing. After a cigarette, the man just sat in the driver’s seat looking out the window. “Why aren’t we going anywhere?” asked the girl. “Well, I should have mentioned this before, but I’m actually a taxi driver, and the fare back to town is $25…
Adam Smith (Funny Dirty Jokes: 2016 LOL Edition (Sexual and Adult's Jokes) (Comedy Central))
Want a ride?" ... One look at the car, & I decided that walking didn't sound so bad, after all. ... "Half the people around here shouldn't even be driving." She said this will no irony whatsoever, despite the fact that her car's black cloth top kept rising and lowering like some kind of strange bird trying to achieve flight. The driver, a young ginger haired guy, took a stab at making it stop, & turned the wipers on instead. "I'm good," I assured her. ... Ronnie panicked & veered sharply to the right, missing the race car but clipping a VW Bug that had stalled out in the middle of the air. It's hood was jacked up, and its owner's butt was hanging over the side. Or, at least, it was until the impact caused the Bug to go spinning in one direction & flung the owner in the other. ...."uh-oh" .... Ronnie glanced at me. "Get in if you're getting!" I'd have refused, considering his grasp on the fundamentals of the road -- or in this case, the air. But traffic was piling up around the accident, pushing more people out of the safe zone. And I was beginning to doubt that most of them even knew how to drive on land.
Karen Chance (Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2))
An old man was eating in a truck stop when three bikers walked in. The first walked up to the old man, pushed his cigarette into the old man’s pie and then took a seat at the counter. The second walked up to the old man, spit into the old man’s milk and then he took a seat at the counter. The third walked up to the old man, turned over the old man’s plate, and then he took a seat at the counter. Without a word of protest, the old man quietly left the diner. Shortly thereafter, one of the bikers said to the waitress, "Humph, not much of a man, was he?" The waitress replied, "Not much of a truck driver either. He just backed his truck over three motorcycles.
Adam Smith (Funny Jokes: Ultimate LoL Edition (Jokes, Dirty Jokes, Funny Anecdotes, Best jokes, Jokes for Adults) (Comedy Central Book 1))
Not too many people in life made Jaworski feel small in any way, but Carlo’s shoulders were almost twice as wide as those of the 6’6”, 240-pound hitman in the driver’s seat. Jaworski’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to confirm this fact. Carlo’s hulking figure filled half the back seat, the yellow light glinting in the rear windshield to light his round head from the back. He was a big slab of muscle wrapped in a layer of smooth fat and mostly hairless flesh. In a strange way, he looked like a baby, Jaworski thought, his skin folding funny at his wrists like a newborn. A gigantic, serial killing baby.
L.T. Vargus (Bad Blood (Violet Darger #4))
We stopped for the driver, Sergei, to take a bathroom break in the woods. He had taken a dislike to me. 'What would you have done', he asked, 'if it were minus thirty, which it might well have been, and you were wearing those light trousers?' I said that the fabric was high-tech and I had worn the trousers in the Arctic, and showed him my merino leggings underneath, and two pairs of thermal socks. at this news he changed tack. 'Far too much for this mild weather'.
Sara Wheeler (Mud and Stars: Travels in Russia with Pushkin, Tolstoy, and Other Geniuses of the Golden Age)
I remember. A gunship’s crew laughing before mowing down reporters and civilians - in short bursts. A truck crossing a shadowy bridge, seconds before it explodes along with those inside the pressroom, as the general declares the driver “the luckiest man in Bagdad.” Our military - using attack helicopters and night scopes – to spray bullets at fleeing soldiers, like roaches running from a giant can of Raid. The pressroom laughs again. It’s not funny and there lies the rub.
Gary J. Floyd (Liberté: The Days of Rage 1990-2020)
She could swear like a Punjabi truck driver and was funny as hell—last time Noreen had hung out with her, she’d told a story about her first time using a squat toilet that had her rolling on the floor.
Sheba Karim (The Marvelous Mirza Girls)
she happened to pass a lame ass-driver. (Don’t look at me funny. That’s exactly what the old stories called him: a lame ass-driver. The dude was lame, like crippled. He was leading an ass, like a donkey. What did you think I meant?) Anyway, Psyche thought it was weird to see a crippled dude in a volcanic vent, just hanging out with his ass. (I’m not going to laugh. Nope. Not even a little.) The guy called out to her, “Hello, there, girl! You look kind and helpful. My ass has dropped some of its load…by which, of course, I mean that my donkey has dropped some of the firewood it was carrying. Could
Rick Riordan (Percy Jackson's Greek Heroes (A Percy Jackson and the Olympians Guide))
An old man was eating in a truck stop when three bikers walked in. The first walked up to the old man, pushed his cigarette into the old man’s pie and then took a seat at the counter. The second walked up to the old man, spit into the old man’s milk and then he took a seat at the counter. The third walked up to the old man, turned over the old man’s plate, and then he took a seat at the counter. Without a word of protest, the old man quietly left the diner. Shortly thereafter, one of the bikers said to the waitress, "Humph, not much of a man, was he?" The waitress replied, "Not much of a truck driver either. He just backed his truck over three motorcycles
Adam Smith (Funny Jokes: Ultimate LoL Edition (Jokes, Dirty Jokes, Funny Anecdotes, Best jokes, Jokes for Adults) (Comedy Central Book 1))
We take the original plays of William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe, and Markus gives them . . . well, the necessary polish.” “Aren’t the plays good enough by themselves?” Barbara asked. “Well, for the general public they’re sometimes just too difficult and dry, so we cut out the long monologues and concentrate on the funny parts and, above all, the bloody passages. Many of the pieces have not yet been translated into German, and Markus takes care of that, as well.” “I butcher Shakespeare’s plays by turning them into bloody spectacles for the masses,” Markus sighed in despair. “Carefully constructed pentameter, beautiful images—for that the world clearly has no taste nowadays. The more blood, the better. But I myself have written original pieces that—” “Yes, yes,” Malcolm interrupted, “that would be enough to make Shakespeare cry, I know—or simply put him to sleep. I’m afraid you’re boring the ladies, Markus. Just like your plays. We can’t afford experiments. After all, I have a whole troupe to feed,” he said, clapping his hands. “But now it’s time to get back to building the stage. Will you excuse us?” He bowed to Magdalena and Barbara and stomped off toward the stage, but not without first casting a final, reproachful look at his two actors. “Old slave driver,” Markus mumbled and followed him, while Matheo paused a moment and winked at Barbara. “Then can we look forward to seeing you again at tomorrow’s performance? We’ll save a few seats for you up in the gallery. Ciao, signorine.” “Ciao,” Barbara said, batting her eyelashes as Matheo, in one single, flowing movement, jumped back onto the stage. Magdalena grinned at her sister. “Ciao?” she asked. “Is that the way a Schongau hangman’s daughter says good-bye, or are you an Italian contessa addressing her prince just before their wedding?
Oliver Pötzsch (The Werewolf of Bamberg (The Hangman's Daughter, # 5))
And then there are people – and these don’t unsettle but enrage me – who think comedy is trivial. They believe that serious, intelligent people should focus on worthy, momentous things and that jokes, levity, piss-taking, subverting and satirising are the pastimes of the second-rate. Words cannot express how second-rate I consider such people. In my experience the properly intelligent, whether they’re astrophysicists, politicians, poets, lawyers, entrepreneurs, comedians, taxi drivers, plumbers or doctors, however serious or trivial their career aims, all adore jokes. And they have that in common with a lot of idiots. For as long as I can remember, I have always thought that being funny is the cleverest thing you can do, that taking the piss out of something – parodying it, puncturing it – is at least as clever as making that thing in the first place. This view, which, I’m happy to say, will be most offensive to the people I want most to offend, was probably formed watching my cold grandfather, with all his financial acumen and preference for fish over humans, cry with laughter at a van being repeatedly driven into a swimming pool.
David Mitchell (Back Story)
Seriously man, shut it.” “Alright, alright. You’re the driver,” He raised his chip bag in toast, “My life is in your hands.
Finn Eccleston (The Community (Project M Book 1))
beautiful, caring, funny, smart, bubbly, Godly woman was ejected from her minivan—the one she was so proud of because she said it was just another symbol of her role as a busy mother—and thrown 20-something feet.  She was pronounced dead at the scene. By now, you've probably figured out what we were just figuring out. Yes, our MVA patient was the drunk driver.  His BAC was five times the legal limit, and he was tied to a sexual predator case.
Kerry Hamm (You Were Stabbed Where?: Real Stories from a Small-Town ER)
The Uber driver is unassuming and blank and I wouldn’t be surprised if he kills us all.
Caroline Kepnes (Hidden Bodies (You, #2))
The news winded me. My father killed himself, I’ve been on the ragged brink myself once or twice, I know how easy it would be to stand on the edge and just… tip. And I know all the wonderful things that happened because I didn’t tip: Hamish and my girls, my friend Fin and my kind, mad bitchy friend Estelle. I saw all the wonders and ice creams and good sleeps and funny films Lisa Lee would never see flash before me, all the sex and adventures and strong tea she’d never get to have. It made me think of my girls in ten years’ time, of Jess staggering out of a hotel at five in the morning with blood running down her legs, of Lizzie crying so hard on a night bus that her make-up ran and everyone moved away from her and the driver stopped and called the police to come and help her. Fin held my hand and asked if I was OK. I said I was, though I wasn’t really.
Denise Mina (Confidence)
John does a funny thing in traffic. If someone cuts him off or veers in and out of his lane and he ends up next to them at a stoplight, he cranes his neck sideways and glares at them. It’s as if he’s scolding them with his facial expression, like they’ll sense his eyes on them and think, Why is that man looking at me? Oh, it must have been the way I was tailing his car back there. What a mistake I’ve made! The regrets! How will I live with myself? In reality, the other driver never notices. John is wasting his energy, wanting some kind of revenge he’s not going to get. It’s one
Mary Laura Philpott (Bomb Shelter: Love, Time, and Other Explosives)
Scout.’ ‘Yes, boss. Off we go. To infinity and beyond!’ He was a good driver, good enough almost for her to relax. Almost. So, elderly aunt here we come, ready or not, Louise thought. The impostor aunt. The farce had grown more farcical. Except it wasn’t funny, but then farces rarely were in Louise’s opinion, she was drawn more to revenge tragedies. Patrick, surprisingly (or perhaps not), liked Restoration comedy. And Wagner. Should you marry a man who liked Wagner?
Kate Atkinson (When Will There Be Good News? (Jackson Brodie, #3))
I saw one funny thing happen here. Of course it took a good many relays to get our outfits down to the lakes. On one of these trips I saw a team of black Newfoundland dogs coming down loaded. Our friend the one-horned bull was going up with two empty sleds hitched to him. They happened to meet in one of the narrowest places on the trail, where the mountain rose sheer on the dogs’ side, and dropped down almost perpendicularly on the bull’s side. As luck would have it, the only horn the bull had was on the dogs’ side. When about midway of the team, the bull made a lunge at the dogs, caught the traces under his horn, and lurched back, stubbing his toe. Both outfits rolled down the hillside together. The drivers, of course, were walking behind their animals, and, having everything suddenly cleared between them, jumped together and struck a few blows. They then sad down and slid after their teams. Of course the line couldn’t stop for a little thing like this and went on, but afterwards I saw both teams on the trail again.
Arthur T Walden (A Dog)
Did I hear that right? Edgewood's its own little fiefdom now?" She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and let the car's acceleration comfort her. "Uh. Yeah. And Crow's Neck, too, I guess." "And you're its queen." "Oh God no, don't call me that." "Yes, Your Highness." "Chaz." "Yes. Your Ladyship? Oh, no, wait. Your Nibs?" He glanced over at her. "Get it? Because vampires nibble on people? Ow, don't hit the driver!
Lauren M. Roy (Grave Matters (Night Owls, #2))
I apologize. I feel I’ve let you down somehow with my tales of reasonable and efficient travel. I’m sure if I’d been Bill Bryson my taxi driver would have told me a funny story, or something. I’m afraid mine simply listened to the BBC London and was outraged by everything the presenter was saying. He did spit when he talked, though, if that’s any use to you.
Danny Wallace (Join Me!)
Do you need a ride?” He said again. “No, actually.” “Come on. I’ll take you home.” I don’t need a ride. That’s my bike.” Maggie pointed to the bike at his feet. He didn’t look down at the bike, which made Maggie think he was aware all along that it was hers. “It’ll fit in my trunk.” “No, thank you. I’ll ride it home. It’s a big bike.” “It’s a big trunk.” Maggie stared at him, confused by his sudden appearance and his even more sudden interest in spending time in her company. “Why?” “It was made that way. Most of the cars made in the ‘50’s had decent sized trunks.” “Ha ha, very funny. That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why do you want to take me home?” Maggie almost smiled at his dry attempt at humor. But she didn’t. It still hurt too much to look at him, to be near him, and her smile stayed dormant. “I want to talk to you.” “I had the very distinct impression the last time we were together that I made you angry. Plus, I’m thinking your driver’s license is long expired. You shouldn’t be driving.” “Ha, ha, very funny,” Johnny mimicked her. “Have you always been such a goody-two shoes?” “Nobody says goody-two-shoes anymore!” Maggie said crossly and walked to her bike, squatting beside it to undo the lock. “Maggie,” he coaxed. “Maggie?” She really tried not to look up at him. “How do you drive a blonde crazy?” Maggie’s head shot up, and her eyes locked on his. “You put him in a round room and tell him to sit in the corner,” Johnny quipped, but his eyes were serious. “Not bad, Kinross. Did you make that up yourself?
Amy Harmon (Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory, #2))
It’s weird, though. When someone wants me to meet them somewhere, my first reaction is to get stressed out and think, Fuck, I can’t.” “So what do you do to get over that?” “I just get in the car and drive,” she said, as if the solution had been that simple all along. “But why are you able to do that now when you couldn’t before?” “Because now that I’ve had more practice driving, I’m confident,” she answered as she careened over a speed bump and landed with a thump in the parking lot. “I trust myself now.” Funny, I thought—that’s exactly how I felt after practicing the survival skills I’d learned. Though, hopefully, I was a better survivalist than she was a driver.
Neil Strauss (Emergency: This Book Will Save Your Life)
I could see the reporter scribbling away as if his life depended on it. I suppose for him it was the scoop of a lifetime. Here he’d probably been sitting around for months doing the Kibbencook courthouse “beat,” and seeing nothing more interesting than a drunk driver. And now, isn’t it funny, but I wonder if Mr. Alterman didn’t have something to do with getting that reporter into the courtroom? I hadn’t thought about that before, but this case made Mr. Alterman famous. He was in Time magazine even.
Douglas Preston (Jennie: A Novel)
What kind of driver will never get a license?
Johnny B. Laughing (LOL: Funny Jokes and Riddles for Kids (Laugh Out Loud Book 1))
Calling me when he was downstairs, I locked the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. The first thing Niko did when I got in the car was look down at my feet. Judging by the frown on his face he didn’t approve of my pick for tonight’s adventure. “What?” “I know you got flyer shit than that in your closet.” “What’s wrong with my boots?” “For starter’s they’re ugly as fuck.” “Uggs are not ugly and they’re comfortable. They make them in men’s too, I can get you a pair.” Niko didn’t seem like the Uggs for men type but the look on his face was hilarious when I said. What wasn’t funny was him slamming on the damn breaks like he was about to hit a dog. “What is wrong with you?” “You and them Uggs about to be getting out of my whip if you ever say some crazy shit like that again.
Kaylyn Kiara (Devoted To A Bad Boy 2: That Dangerous Kinda Love)