“...once I realized that Australia’s top highway speed of 110 kilometers per hour was the same as going 65 in the U.S., all my hardened American enthusiasm for speed went limp until it felt like the car was hardly moving at all. Even worse, most stretches of the highway are restricted to 60 kilometers per hour, which is how fast Americans go when we’re, like, passing a stopped school bus disembarking small children, or driving through a herd of puppies in the road.”

“The car doesn’t so much drive as float above the road, like we’re making our way to Sydney in a hovercraft.”

“Locals. They’ll eventually get out. They’re annoyed. Like when Americans go to the lake. And it’s closed. ‘Cause some kid pooped in the water.”

“. I’ve watched about a dozen tourists almost get hit by cars since I’ve been here. I barely made it to the beach alive the other day. I mean, no one knows what they’re doing. They swing their heads back and forth like they’re mounted on a door hinge, but they don’t even know what they’re looking for, not really. Cars just come at you from all sorts of unnecessary directions here, and we’re all probably going to get killed.”

“Congratulations, Mousey, you’ve managed to insult every marsupial in the country in just under three kilometers.”

“My butt has a maximum drive time of seven hours.”

“Don’t be such a dumbass, Gabe. Koalas don’t travel in herds. They move in heaps. Much like emus move in ripples, and kangaroos travel in photo-ops.”