Hummer Car Quotes

Okay, you shouldn’t be able to sit up,” Manny muttered. Was he? Oh, hey, check it… And as for the doctor’s second dose of surprise? Nice guy, but he was being a dumb-ass human when it came to the feeding thing. With this kind of hunger for that particular female? Tohr was frickin’ Superman, capable of bench-pressing a Hummer while he juggled Smart Cars with his free hand.

So sell the Hummer, buy a Dodge, and move into a trailer. (Wulf) Oh, yeah, right. Remember when I traded the Hummer for an Alpha Romeo last year? You burned the car and bought me a new Hummer and threatened to lock me in my room with a hooker if I ever did it again. And as for the perks…Have you bothered to look around this place? We have a heated indoor pool, a theater with surround sound, two cooks, three maids, and a pool guy I get to boss around, not to mention all kinds of other fun toys. I’m not about to leave Disneyland. It’s the only good part in this arrangement. I mean, hell, if my life has to suck there’s no way I’m going to live in the Mini-Winni. Which knowing you, you’d make me park out front anyway with armed guards standing watch in case I get a hangnail. (Chris)

You could buy a car for fifty thousand dollars. A really nice car.” Ascanio’s eyes lit up. “A Hummer. You could buy a converted Hummer.” “You don’t need a Hummer.” I said. “Chicks dig the Hummer.” “You don`t need any chicks either.” He gave me an injured look. “I have needs.” “I have needs too and right now I need you to concentrate on tracking down Jamar`s collection. Get to it.” - Andrea & Ascanio

Any requests on the kind of car?” “Something with armor?” she said. “Oooh, and headrest DVD. Bonus for surround sound.” “Rocket launchers,” Michael said. “One hot yellow Hummer with optional mass destruction package, coming up.

It's frequently said that there is 'no reason' for such 'military-style weapons' as the Bushmaster to be available to citizens. But isn't that a lot like saying there is no reason why any civilian should drive a military-style car like the Hummer?

Twice a day the small white compact moved, for meals, she guessed, or bathroom breaks, and about four times a day the Hummer and the Charger swapped positions, but there was apparently no coordination between the agencies, because once a day in the early morning everyone was missing at the same time, for about twenty minutes. Zero agents, zero hour. The street went back to its normal self. Some kind of logic issue, she supposed, or simple math, like in class, with x number of cars, and y number of locations, and z number of hours to cover. Something had to give.

I will say this about the upper echelon in France: they know how to spend money. From what I saw living in America, wealth is dedicated to elevating the individual experience. If you’re a well-off child, you get a car, or a horse. You go to summer camps that cost as much as college. And everything is monogrammed, personalized, and stamped, to make it that much easier for other people to recognize your net worth. …The French bourgeois don’t pine for yachts or garages with multiple cars. They don’t build homes with bowling alleys or spend their weekends trying to meet the quarterly food and beverage limit at their country clubs: they put their savings into a vacation home that all their family can enjoy, and usually it’s in France. They buy nice food, they serve nice wine, and they wear the same cashmere sweaters over and over for years. I think the wealthy French feel comfortable with their money because they do not fear it. It’s the fearful who put money into houses with even bedrooms and fifteen baths. It’s the fearful who drive around in yellow Hummers during high-gas-price months becasue if they’re going to lose their money tomorrow, at least other people will know that they are rich today. The French, as with almost all things, privilege privacy and subtlety and they don’t feel comfortable with excess. This is why one of their favorite admonishments is tu t’es laisse aller. You’ve lost control of yourself. You’ve let yourself go.

The brain makes up l/50th of our body mass but consumes a staggering 1/5th of the calories we burn for energy. If your brain were a car, in terms of gas mileage, it’d be a Hummer. Most of our conscious activity is happening in our prefrontal cortex, the part of our brain responsible for focus, handling short-term memory, solving problems, and moderating impulse control. It’s at the heart of what makes us human and the center for our executive control and willpower. The “last in, first out” theory is very much at work inside our head. The most recent parts of our brain to develop are the first to suffer if there is a shortage of resources. Older, more developed areas of the brain, such as those that regulate breathing and our nervous responses, get first helpings from our blood stream and are virtually unaffected if we decide to skip a meal. The prefrontal cortex, on the other hand, feels the impact. Unfortunately, being relatively young in terms of human development, it’s the runt of the litter come feeding time.

It’s like watching a car wreck, no pun intended. I know what’s going to happen, and as much as I want to look away, I can’t. It’s almost as if I have to see just how ineffective I was in Karl’s Hummer that day. Lyons, Heather (2012-08-25). A Matter of Fate (Fate Series Book 1) (p. 233). Cerulean Books. Kindle Edition.

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Through her window, I saw a blacked-out Hummer barrel through the red light. I sucked in a breath to scream at her, but I was too slow. It all happened at once. The Hummer didn't even attempt to slow as it plowed straight into the side of Bree's car and pushed us across three lanes of traffic. Our car spun, then dislodged from the front grill of the Hummer. We spiraled out of control for several gut-wrenching turns until finally we came to a screeching, crunching halt. Everything hurt. My ears rang and my face stung from the airbag deploying. Pain throbbed through my skull, sharp agony slicing through my neck with every breath. But... I was still alive. I was still conscious. That had to be a good sign, right?

Bree?" I tried again, "Bree, babe, hey." I reached out a heavy hand, touching her shoulder but not shaking her. If she had a spine injury, that could make it worse. Her face was tilted away from me, her hair wet with blood, and she wasn't moving. She wasn't responding. Fear choked me, filling my lungs and cutting off rational thought. Was she dead? That Hummer had hit her at speed. Her whole side of the car crumpled in, trapping her arm and left leg in a mangle of metal and blood.

Oh my god." I laughed and then groaned. "You totally bought this car so you could legally say hummer all the time without getting in trouble." "Guilty," he sang and then high-fived Granny.

The brain makes up l/50th of our body mass but consumes a staggering 1/5th of the calories we burn for energy. If your brain were a car, in terms of gas mileage, it’d be a Hummer.