You know who I feel real bad for is Indians. Everybody feels bad for the Indians. They get dogged openly, because everybody thinks they're dead. These motherfuckers are not all dead, alright?! I’ve seen, with my own eyes, I've seen a gathering of 1,500 Native Americans. They were all gathered in one place.

The place is called Wal-Mart in New Mexico.

There was Indians everwhere. I'd never seen Indians before! I wasn’t even sure if they were Indians... It was fucked up, but I asked one of them. It's not nice, but... I seen them in the sports section, looking at bows and arrows; I had to say SOMETHING.

“Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, um... are you an Indian?”

And he was cool.

“Yes. Yes, I am Indian.”

– I still didn't believe him. I had to test him and be sure. This is fucked up. But I had a gum wrapper in my pocket. So, I balled that shit up and I threw it on the floor. And... a single tear came out his eye! I said, “Oh, shit! I have so many questions."

I said, “What tribe are you from?”

“I am a Navajo.”

I said, “Word? I studied you in Social Studies. You're a hunter-gatherer, correct?”

He said, “I guess so, if that's what you wish to call it.”

I said, “Why, what do you call it?”

He said, “I am... an alcoholic.”

I said, “Well, what's your name, dawg?”

He said, “Please, Dog is my cousin. That's a good guess. My name is Running Coyote. What is your name, friend?”

And that shit caught me off guard. I didn’t want to say my name was *Dave* to a motherfucker named Running Coyote. It just don’t feel good enough. He's putting me on the spot.

I said, “Huh, My name? What?! Oh, my name’s Black Feet.”

Then I changed the subject, “Forget about me. What's going on with you? I want to meet your chief. Why don't me, you, and your Chief, and your friends get together tonight? We could have a real-life peace pipe-smoking ritual; We need to celebrate n***a, 'cause I thought you were DEAD.”

And he set it up! It was beautiful. Oh, It was just like I dreamed... We was all sitting around. The Indians was beating the drum.
(tribal drum beat)

Some other Indians came out the back with a long blanket that was folded in half and put in front of us.

(tribal drum beat)

Opened that shit up, and on the blanket was a long wooden pipe with feathers... and bags of weed were *all over* the blanket. The chief walked over.

(tribal drum beat)

"The big ones are 50. The little ones are 25 and these are 10.”

Maaaan, those Indians got HIGH as SHIT. I was baked. I told the chief! He was talking, I cut him off.

“Time out, Chief. Sorry to interrupt. I’m fucking *smashed*, man. The weed is... too strong! You *sure* this isn't PCP?! The spirits have got me! Chief, the SPIRITS have GOT ME!” And the Chief threw some water in my face.

“Calm down, Blackface.” Splash.

I said, “Hey, it's Black *Feet*, motherfucker. Take it easy!”

“Black Feet, you are welcome to stay amongst me and my tribe for the night, *until* the spirits leave you.”

And they gave me my own teepee to sleep in, which *sounds* nice. I personally felt like I was 'a little' fucked up. You know, because they all had *houses*, man. It's like, why can't I sleep with you all in the house and watch TV? Like, I can't be on this grass all night. The Indians is rude, man.

Everybody's rude, the Indians, they're eating nasty food, all they ate was corn and shit.
Doritos, I think they called it.