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Mr. Bob Dole's amusing anecdote reminds me of an experience with a young lady who had a similar imagination. The tale unfolds as follows;
Driving home from a very long night of revelry and debauchery, I found myself riding shotgun in a (somewhat rather stoned) co-ed's automobile. As we left the gravel road and hit blacktop, we heard an odd noise coming from the left rear quarter panel and she suddenly screeched, "It's the Hook Man!!". Honestly, her shriek freaked me out too, because it did sound a little like Hook Man had us by the chromes.
It's true that we had been out amongst the woods that night and the Hook Man stories are well known, but what are the odds? So we stopped and I volunteered to remove his hook and bloody stump of an arm from her car.
Turns out it wasn't Hook Man ... it was Gas Cap Man and hers was hanging by its little hanger thing and banging against the fender.
FAX THE RELIEVED WE WEREN'T KILLED BY AN ESCAPED PSYCHOPATH THAT NIGHT
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