I was tired of these filthy-rich thugs from Planet Hollywood. They ride
like old women and can't hold their liquor. They will never understand
the kind of high-white otherworldly grace that comes with whipping around
a blind, downhill, half-wet corner into a wall of huge eucalyptus trees at 155 miles per hour with a Peterbuilt suddenly looming out of the fog in the oncoming lane and kind of wavering out there in the long thin beam of your headlight....
Hunter S. Thompson, Better than Sex
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