Let’s ride on through the desert on a horse with two names, all my succulent sandworms of radioland. There’s always some new dysentery to die of out on the wasteland trail. It could be the fire raging in the passions of your heart, or the mushrooms growing out from behind your eyes. You should probably get a doctor to look at that. You know? Wouldn’t want a 'wrecked’em, damn near killed’em’ scenario.