Driver: My brakes don't work so I was rushing home before I had an accident.
He thought they were revolting!
Me: your mother, why W: Stop acting like you're 12. M: (thinking) I dodged that bullet again.
He had to parrot.
Bach to work!
A cataract.
Drive the route with Les Miles! ... I'll see myself out.
Smiles - because there is a mile between the first and last letters
A fuel injected pickle.
Driver: They're all in the glove compartment.
Want to go out with me and Di tonight?
A: She moved.
Second gear.
You tep on the brake, toopid.
THESE are the brakes!
He desperately needed Apu.
Me: Let's not rush things, OK
If you're a white man, you're free to walk.