Seen:

A car at driving the wrong way in a DMV parking lot.

Seen:

A driver's training instructor parked illegally across a driveway.

Seen:

A woman about forty-five, walking down the street in Brentwood, dressed in expensive clothes with high heels and her nose comically turned up, holding a piece of paper, tearing off tiny pieces and dropping them on the sidewalk behind her.

"This shit sucks."
--Written on a page in the same manual.

"Turning a car quickly is like a large football player trying to make a sharp turn at full gallop: sometimes it works, but sometimes it doesn't."
--From a driver training manual.

"...So then he asks me how I would rate myself as a director on a scale of one to ten, and I'm like: 'Man, don't ask me that, 'cause if I say ten then I'm an asshole, and if I don't then I'm a fuckin' liar!'"
--Quentin Tarantino at the Kill Bill afterparty, to a crowd of hangers-on.

"So my dad has a wooden leg. You can't really tell because it was cut off below the knee in some boating accident, which he probably deserved, but it's wooden. Now, his fake leg works kind of like a shoe: you pretty much just slip it on. He also had this wedge that he would put in to make it a tighter fit, but that's about it. So one winter we were in france skiing, because france was the closest place to ski when we lived in london, and we're on this ski lift and my dad is holding on his leg like this.

*demonstrates holding wooden leg to real leg*

Halfway up, my dad lets go to point out some inane shit, like some trees in the distance or something, and his leg--ski attached--falls off. And what are the odds, but it lands perfectly and proceeds to ski down the slope. Not only that, but it skis right into some kid, and it and the kid go tumbling down the rest of the hill. Then, all of a sudden, the woman behind us begins shreiking her head off, and we're trying to explain to her that his leg didn't actually fall off, it was just a wooden leg, but we don't really speak french so we start saying 'No, no! C'est faux...C'est faux jambon!' I mean, we're calling it a fake ham, whatever we can think of, and she is not having it. She just keeps screaming.

So we get off the ski lift at the top, but my dad can't get down without his leg. We try to get the kid to bring the leg up but he gives it another look and is like 'No way!' so we have to wait for ski patrol to come on their little ski mobile and get the leg. Finally they get the leg, but we're up on this hill beyond where the ski patrol can get to, so they get as close as they can and begin throwing the leg up to us. It's cold, it's wet, and we're wearing those massive gloves so we can not catch this thing.

Anyway, we eventually get the leg back and ski down, and we see this ambulance. 'Oh no,' we're thinking, 'not again.' 'C'est faux! C'est faux!' we start to explain again, prepared to tell them it's a fucking ham or whatever just to get our point across, and they tell us: no, it's not for us. It was for the woman behind us on the lift! We look back and she has this oxygen mask on and they're carrying her away on a stretcher."

--A guy at a party, who apparently had a pretty bizarre childhood.

"Where you at?"
::pause::
(Louder) "Where you at?"
::pause::
(Louder) "WHERE ARE YOU?"
-A girl yelling on a cell phone at warped tour.