Respect is something that should be earned, like eyebrows shaped like windshield wipers in a stormy arcade evening. I like my respect with lots of elbow room and melted cheese on top.

My heart beats to the rhythm of the windshield wipers. I’d better never drive in the desert, unless I want to die. Our relationship has one too many cactuses in it to be deserving of...

A car is a couch with wheels. My windshield wipers don’t work, so I’ve decided to stop watering my living room carpet. Honk if you want coffee, and I’ll pour you an umbrellaful.

I use my windshield wipers when it’s not raining. I’m an umbrellaless pedestrian, and I can’t tell the difference between Starbucks’ coffee and a mud puddle in a cup.