Bat Country

You're caught without a ride in the middle of the Nevada desert, bound for Las Vegas. It's about noon. It's hot. In the distance, you can hear a big block roar before you see the massive Chevy Caprice appear above the heat haze. Excitedly, you hold out your thumb and wave. Surely, nobody would leave you to die of exposure out here. But the two assholes in the red convertible don't slow down, just zoom past you. THEN, the driver slams the brakes and reverses at full throttle, only to come to a screeching halt beside you. The occupants are middle-aged guys - driver's this long-haired Latino dude with a hairy belly under his open hawaii shirt, and in the back sits this white guy with a cigarette holder and floppy hat, angrily swatting at flies or something. Hey, at least they don't look like serial killers!