But the boot is at the other end of the car...

Where is the dog to bite the pilot if he touches anything?

Beat me to it.

I think David Brooks nailed it in his column yesterday:

Hell, you even have to take a test to get a driver’s license.

Did you call it Smear the Queer?

I cannot lie...

When I was a kid (we’re talking 1970s here), we had a game called Smear the Queer (obviously, you wouldn’t be able to all it that today). The object was to tackle the hell out of anybody who had the ball, and, if you didn’t want to get tackled, you got rid of the ball. Aussie Rules is really nothing more than…

Dammit, Jcarr. You magnificent bastard.

I thought you were going to say that you replaced your windshield with plywood.

When my young son barfed all over the back seat of a rental car. We were on the way to the airport to pick up his uncle. I pulled off the interstate and found a gas station with a vacuum and used that to clean up all the putrid pasta in the back seat. Then it was off to Walmart to buy him a change of clothes, and I…

I have to question your literal translation, and maybe a native German speaker could chime in here. Is it really dead as in death, or dead as in a dead spot where you can’t see?

Rule No. 1: Fly the plane.

That’s no ordinary rabbit.

“In my opinion, the M1 rifle is the greatest battle implement ever devised.”

Indeed.

“My name is Pussy. Pussy Galore.”

Nah, didn’t want to go to Santa Fe. I wanted to put Albuquerque in the rearview mirror.

I have driven through it once, but never left the interstate. We were on our way to Santa Rosa for the night.