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It is an ancient political vehicle, held together by soft soap and hunger and with front-seat drivers and back-seat drivers contradicting each other in a bedlam of voices, shouting "go right" and "go left" at the same time.
--
On the Republican Party, as quoted in news summaries (15 November 1952) and Speeches of Adlai Ewing Stevenson (1952), p. 110.

 

Adlai Stevenson

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But I well remember, as a young teenager, seeing signs printed in large black letters at the fronts of buses: "White seat from front, colored seat from rear." One day when I was thirteen, my friends and I were riding home from school in a half-empty bus — this was at the time that the civil rights movement was just getting off the ground and some police officers were just looking for a reason to shoot a black person who "got out of line." So, counter to our real feelings, we decided to avoid trouble by moving to the back of the bus when the driver told us to.
By that time, the sit-ins and the Freedom Rides had kind of broken the ice, even though things hadn't fully changed. So we saw it every day on TV and read about it in the news. Dad always said, "Stay out of trouble," and we did.

 

Herman Cain

 

One might ask what the reaction would be if a prominent journalist urged South Africans to "give Sambo a seat in the bus," or proposed that Jews be granted something to lose, because "if you give Hymie a seat in the bus, he may limit his demands." Promotion to chief diplomatic correspondent, perhaps?

 

Thomas L. Friedman

 

Once in pre-war days, when curiously-bonneted women drivers were familiar sights at the taxi-wheels, I cried out to one in my dismay: "Is there no speed limit in this mad city?"
"Oh, yes, monsieur," she answered sweetly over her shoulder, "but no one has ever succeeded in reaching it."

 

Alexander Woollcott

 

I'm staying here in Seattle at the Hotel 1000, and I would like to talk for just a second about their toilets. They've got the best toilets ever, man. For one, the seat is heated. Now, that doesn't sound like much, but if you've ever sat on a cold toilet seat and you sit on a warm toilet seat, it's niiiice. It kinda loosens your bowel muscles and just helps you crap, you know? And on the wall, there's a row of buttons and one of them says Rear Cleansing, and the other says Front Cleansing, and there's a diagram of a guy sitting on a toilet with a stream of water shooting up his ass. So I push a button...and all of a sudden, I'm that guy! I've got a stream of water shooting up my ass, and it's amazing [beat] how accurate this thing is. I don't know if everybody's butthole is in the exact same place, but this thing has got me dead cen-ter! And below that button is another button that says Oscillate, and I said, "Why NOT?" Now I have a rotating stream of water shooting up my ass, and it was at that point I realized that 50 million gay men can't be wrong! [audience cheers] I'm singing songs to this toilet, I'm in love! [singing] "I honestly love you..." My wife caught me spreading cake on my ass just so I could go wash it off. "Is that cake?!" "No, I gotta go to the bathroom...don't wait up."

 

Ron White

 

They found me in the gutter. The night was the only thing I had left and not much of it at that. I heard the car stop, the doors open and shut and two voices talking. A pair of arms jerked me to my feet and held me there.
"Drunk," the cop said.
The other one turned me around into the light. "He don't smell bad. That cut on his head didn't come from a fall either."
"Mugged?"
"Maybe."
I didn't give a damn which way they called it. They were both wrong anyhow. Two hours ago I was drunk. Not now. Two hours ago I was a roaring lion. Then the bottle sailed across the room. No lion left now.
Now was a time when I wasn't anything. Nothing was left inside except the feeling a ship must have when it's torpedoed, sinks and hits bottom.

 

Mickey Spillane