Say, you look familiar. The Great Spirit lives within you, and you live in the van with me. Can we have more scenery, please. Look at that virgin forest, look at those rolling hills. Yawn! Give me concrete, and pig shit smells. Stupid fucking white man.
Life floats by like a deflated air-mattress. The gaseous white clouds meet the road, that leads through the mountains, where Coors light is born, which turns to gas in your belly, which ends up in the van, and so the circle of life begins once again.
Continental breakfast requires a large coat and cargo pants. Crazy homeless men require a cigarette.
Toilet seats require toilet paper, and legs require stretching.
Nice set, man.