Oh, Kelly and Brad, you madcap couple of swamp rats. Let me ask you a question: how come the trashy-slutty-country vibe makes women look worse and men look hotter? Is it like age, like some kind of cultural misogyny where Sean Connery's ancient dick is still appealing to people, but Helen Hunt became disgusting when she turned 35? Is this fear of pussy talking? Are slutty country girls, in fact, hot and I just don't know it? And if so, is it because they -- like Kelly -- are willing to drive down the highway with one hand on the wheel and the other one around Brad's dick? Even though he is snoring and asleep? She says it's because she's bored, and he notes that she gets bored pretty easy, then lays back for his handjob. He's just getting into it when he sees the sign for a roadside gas station -- WE HAVE TRU BLOOD -- and squeals for her to stop.
Inside, Nan Flanagan is explaining for the umpteenth time to Bill Maher that, as citizens who pay taxes, her people deserve basic civil rights like everyone else. "Yeah, but... Come on. Doesn't your race have a rather sordid history of exploiting and feeding off innocent people? For centuries?" Is she a Republican? She looks kind of like a Republican. "Three points: Number one, show me documentation. It doesn't exist. Number two, doesn't your race have a history of exploitation? We never owned slaves, Bill, or detonated nuclear weapons." That's so human, like how if you kill one guy you're a murderer but if you kill a thousand you're a hero: vampires kill in a way that's way too intimate for Americans to handle, because intimacy is not something Americans can handle. "You blew up Japan." "Yeah, well you killed a dude in 1895, and it was really dark outside."
The guy operating the gas station this late at night has long lank hair, so black it's gotta be dyed, to match his gothy boots and intensely douchey silver jewelry: pentagrams, five rings on every finger, upside-down crucifix, etc. That was so sad when this guy got beat up every day of his entire childhood, but at least he had the shadows into which he could retreat. And look at him now: proving to everybody that being a self-conscious overdramatic weirdo is its own reward. Working the graveyard shift at a gas station is totally sticking it to the man, Ponytail.
"And most importantly, point number three: Now that the Japanese have perfected synthetic blood which satisfies our nutritional needs, there is no reason for anyone to fear us. I can assure you that every member of our community is now drinking synthetic blood." The only other guy in there is good old boy, whistling at the beer cooler, as Nan goes on: "That's why we decided to make our existence known. We just want to be part of mainstream society." On the screen the cheering and applause erupt; Brad and Kelly come in laughing, drunk.