“Growing up, my bedroom was like a garage, only much smaller and with more lawnmowers in it (we had to store them there because the garage was crowded with the 14-person dining room table—despite there being only four of us in the house). I’m just thankful my parents didn’t park their cars in the living room.”

“I want a house with a garage, so someone from the government won’t try to park a tank in my living room.”

“My car rides smooth like I’m driving a cloud. If I park it at your house, I may get rainwater on your living room carpet.”

“My hands fell asleep, so I washed them with hot coffee. Then I had donuts for breakfast, by way of spinning circles in my car and burning rubber in the parking garage of my office building.”

“I’m not a bicycle. Don’t try to ride me and leave me in the garage. I’m a treadmill. Walk on me and leave me in a guest room.”

“If you see me sitting at a dining room table with a clean plate and bowl in front of me, you’ll know it’s because I’m a starving artist. I’m also thirsty, as my cup is also empty.”

“I believe men belong in the garage, because that’s where the dog food is stored. And the band is kept there. Auditions start after I move the car.”