Huaco Kid

BK (or many others) don't taste like hamburgers. So I don't think it's that hard to do.

I'll defuse the situation. Defuse you. We'll soon find you in Seattle, working in a carwash. That way, no one gets hurt.

But I didn't do anything!

"I met your Indian last night." "Oh. How'd that go?" "He stabbed me in the neck." "Yeah. He'll do that."

They call it "maize".

Kidney, gut, neck. That's where they stab you.

You know they're just waiting to stab you in the neck. Even housekeeping.

Even the casinos in Michigan. Look out.

Me and Vegas get along great. I'm scared of Indians, though. Like, really bad. Me and Arizona don't get along.

We went to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show every Friday for, like, four years. I know all the jokes. RHPS college girls are the best.

We went to see the movie when it first came out. The first twenty rows were going berserk, for an hour, before it even started. We were in the non-berserk section, I guess. The instant the movie started, the whole place exploded into a frenzy of stoned exuberance! About twenty seconds later, as the movie erupted into your face, all the stoners were instantly dumbed silent. For the whole rest of the movie. Not a peep.

A profoundly wrong musical influence to put upon a generation of children.

Then, Pink Floyd came out with The Wall. No one's ever been the same since.

In college, we had a one-bedroom apartment, with, like, nine guys living in it. We had one 8-track player. And one 8-track tape. Which played constantly, 24/7. So, every time Led Zeppelin's Time came on, every 40 minutes, all night long, you just kind of rolled with it. Bells, and all. It never stopped.

If an 8-track went spaghetti... you had to buy a new Led Zeppelin.