I can’t even fathom spending the hour-long bus commute to work everyday without P.G. Wodehouse. His stuff is just SO DENSE with the kind fig lang that makes me bark-laugh out loud and startle all the other sorry patrons of Sydney’s mediocre public transport.  Have a brief representative sample: 

"Honoria was a ghastly dynamic exhibit who read Nietzsche and had a laugh like waves breaking on a stern and rock-bound coast."   "For a moment I saw my Aunt Agatha for what she was - not, as I had long imagined, a sort of man-eating fish at the very mention of whose name strong men quivered like aspens, but a poor goop who had just dropped a very serious brick."   "I can’t say I exactly saw eye-to-eye with young Tuppy in his admiration for the Bellinger female. Delivered on the mat at one-twenty-five, she proved to be an upstanding light-heavyweight of some 30 summers, with a commanding eye and a square chin which I, personally, would have steered clear of. She seemed to me a good deal like what Cleopatra would have been after going in too freely for the starches and cereals."   "Aunt Dahlia is one of those big, hearty women. She used to go in a lot for hunting, and generally speaks as if she had just sighted a fox on a hillside half a mile away. […]If all other sources of income failed, she could make a good living calling the cattle home across the Sands of Dee."   "If ever there was a kid whose whole appearance seemed to call aloud to any right-minded boy to lure him into a quiet spot and inflict violence upon him, that kid was undoubtedly Sebastián Moon."   "When it is a question of a pal being in the soup, we Woosters no longer think of self, and that poor old Bingo was knee-deep in the bisque was made clear by his appearance-which was that of a cat which has just been struck by a half-brick and is expecting another shortly."   Flawless.