Uber-Hot

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“Oh my god, you’re really the driver? No way. I thought that was just a marketing thing. You know, they put some really attractive guy in the ad so I’ll subliminally tell myself ‘Wow, this company is really attractive–I need to say adios to those stinky yellow cabs where the driver plays hate-radio and join this new service.'”

” Oh crap, there’s my boyfriend. He absolutely hates it when I talk to hot guys. What’s that in his hand? Oh Jesus, it’s a bat! Why don’t you put a pink mustache on all four sides of the car, not just the front? Ronnie probably thinks you’re some dude I met online who’s taking me on a date. Go…GO…GO!!!!!”

“He’s still coming!! What does this golf cart do? Like zero to sixty in ten minutes? Go!!!

“Whew, he tripped. Thank god. Holy Jesus that was close. Now I’m stressed. Hey, is it okay if I drink back here? I’ve got a pretty long flight and I just know some moron in front of me is going to recline his seat all the way back.”

“Hey, you’re a pretty good driver. Do you drive a lot. My last driver? He was some poet, doing this for extra cash. He caught my eye in the mirror and said ‘Hey, uh, is it okay to turn on a red?’ And I was like ‘I don’t think you’re gonna last long fellow.'”

“Get it? Poet? Longfellow? Hah! Damn you’re hot. No, scratch that, you are Uber-hot.

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