Over in whatever hick border town the carnies are camped out by this week, a group of sullen-looking mariachis have gathered to perform outside the local saloon. Ben, meanwhile, is inside said saloon, doing shots and just generally stinking up the joint. He chats a bit with the bartender, who provides him with the standard, stupid-gringo-appropriate, AAA-approved explanation of all the local Dia de la Muerte customs. After pouring Ben another shot, the bartender raises his glass in a toast to La Muerte. "Does she scare you?" he asks. "I seen people die," answers Ben. "They're always choking and gagging every time I come near. Don't much know why, though." Uh, stupid question, I know, but where the hell is Ben getting the money to afford all those drinks? And how is it that it's only been two hours and his shirt is already filthy again?

Cut to later, as Ben walks outside. He immediately runs into a little boy who has an exact replica of Creepy Ugly Naked Tattooed Guy's tree tattoos painted onto his chest and back. Needless to say, I've already decided to call this kid the "Tattoo-Wearing Adorable Tyke." Because Ben is dumber than a chicken chimichanga, he doesn't even manage to say a single word to the kid, and just watches in shock as the Tattoo-Wearing Adorable Tyke takes off running. We also soon see that a gang of turban-wearing, machete-wielding townspeople is chasing the kid down the street, just like in Ben's dreams. Now put yourself in Ben's place for a moment, and think about what you might do in a similar situation. And then sit back and marvel at what Ben chooses to do instead. Does he chase after them? No. Does he go back inside and ask the bartender what all this might mean? Nope. Does even a single thought make its way across the mud-encrusted neurons of his severely underdeveloped occipital lobe? Of course not. He's Ben. Which means that what he actually does is just stand there drooling and muttering that he's an excellent driver until a horde of local kids surround him and start tugging at his clothes. Then he breaks into a passable rendition of "Beat It," and invites the youngest of them back to his trailer. No, not really. He does tell the kids to beat it, however, even if they don't seem to understand a word that he's saying. Finally, an elderly woman comes over and explains that the kids are crying for Ben's "loss," which makes even less sense than my Michael Jackson explanation. She shoos the kids away, and then pulls a slice of bread out of her basket and offers it to Ben. "Pan de los muertos," she explains. "Even the dead must eat." Ben doesn't know what any of those words mean (including, "dead," "eat," and "the"), so he just stares at her. "Flores!" she suddenly shouts. "Flores para los muertos! LOS MUERTOS!" Heh. And as dumb as Randy Quaid was in that movie, he's still ten times the genius Ben will ever be. The old woman finally leaves to make her way back to the alleys surrounding JFK airport, and Ben turns to see a large float coming down the street, with the Tattoo-Wearing Adorable Tyke seated on a throne in the center.