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

“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.”

“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 want to leave a legacy. I'll leave him in the trunk, tied up, at a parking garage on the campus of the university where he graduated.”

“Now that parking meters have shifted from quarters to credit cards, I worry someone will steal my identity, my wallet, and my car and drive around town parking all over the place.”

“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.”