Even though I was their captive, the Indians allowed me quite a bit of freedom. I could walk about freely, make my own meals, and even hurl large rocks at their heads. It was only later that I discovered they were not Indians at all, but dirty clothes hampers.
So i’m walking out of the fast food joint and this guy in a red sports car with the windows roll through the parking lot with his radio blasting but what’s he listening to? Can it really be? Yup.. “Ice, Ice baby”. Uh.. no.
How…dare…you…
Never, ever speak in an ill fashion about the ever great Robert Van Winkle.