My dad was a truck driver, and from the time I was knee high to a grapevine, I was driving a truck.

I still haven't found the humor in getting hit by a cement truck. My knees still hurt when I think about it, so no jokes about that yet.

I'm a cowboy. I wear a hat. I drive a 4x4 Silverado diesel truck. I've got a farm.

Come on, you can't name a truck after a chick.

My dad was a cross-country truck driver.

I have no truck with the faintly conspiratorial argument that international governments are gleeful about a public-health emergency to enact authoritarian measures.

Seeing a catering truck feels like home.

About two months into the Whisky, I borrowed some money and rented a remote recording truck.

My whole style of wrestling is I like to use the truck double. It's basically a tackle for MMA.

I made my Broadway debut in the revival of Hair and followed it up with the bus and truck tour of Grease.

I actually quit the business. I went and drove a truck for a year and a half.

I want to have a food truck that would just be bathrooms. I would line it up in back of the other food trucks, and I'd charge $1 for use.

I don't think that all the coal miners - or even more realistically, say, the truck drivers whose jobs may be put out by self-driving cars and trucks - they're all going to go and become web designers and programmers.

When I left Baltimore I put everything I owned in my dad's pick-up truck and drove cross-country to make it as a rockstar in L.A.

It took seventeen years to get from my second novel, 'Truck,' to my third, 'Geek Love.'