They just donít make any sense. They start out making sense. Youíre wandering around at night, like in between teepees, chasing after the white coyote, you know, because it has the secret and everything. Makes sense. But by the end, youíre like on some cloud, trapped in a marriage to some evil he-god, and the only way to get out is toówait, you canít even get out. Thatís the thing. But then your child grows up and is later seen holding a snake in one hand and a bag of corn Tostitos in another. And thatís pretty much when I decided drugs were bad.