“The wisest thing my grandpa ever said to me before he died was "Stop!" Thinking back, I don't know if he was talking to me or the car that ran him over. I prefer to think he was talking to the car, because how could he be so foolish to try to talk to me, when I was busy driving the car.”

“I nearly ran him over after he ran out in front of my car. So I slammed on the brakes, rolled down my window, and said, “Do you realize I could have killed you?” “It was stupid of me to run out in front of you,” he said. “Yeah, it was,” I replied. “But I’m not talking about now. Last Tuesday I could have killed you. Had you in the scope of my rifle, but I let you live. Now THAT was stupid.”

“The best thing my grandpa ever said to me was, “Gladys, bring me some more damn soup.” Well, maybe he wasn’t talking to me, but it was still good to hear he was a romantic.”

“Grandpa always used to make me ride in the bed of his pickup truck, so he could keep up his conversations with the 100-pound sack of manure he kept buckled up in the passenger seat. Grandpa said all they ever talked about was grass, but I know Grandpa used to do a little flirting, too.”

“When I hear a politician has died in a car accident, I think, “How tragic! Even if the car suffered only a small dent, it makes me want to cry out to God in despair.”

“If you drive the same car as me, and have been in a fender bender, I’ll think, “Boy, that’s what my car could look like.” Same with clones. If one of my clones got beat up, I’ll think, “Boy, that could have been me. Better me squared than me.”

“On his deathbed, my grandpa told me three things to remember for after he died. First he said, "You can't own a cat. Ever." Second he told me, "Friendly boys make friendly friends." Finally he said, "You were adopted, just like your father before you, and his father before him." "So," I said, "you were adopted?" "Of course not!" he replied. "Your father's not my son, just like he's not your father." And to this day I am still confused. I have no idea why I can't own a cat.”