"Y'all have Tru Blood! For real!" giggles Kelly, and Brad asks if there are even vampires in Louisiana. The guy puts on an obviously ridiculous Transylschpoovian accent and stares them down: "You didn't know that New Orleans is a Mecca for the vampire?" Brad can't believe it: New Orleans vampires would have drowned in Katrina, because they couldn't get out, because nobody got out, because FEMA is a joke. "Vampires cannot drown... Because we do not breathe." He bares fangs at them and they shrink back; over at the beer cooler the good old boy is none too happy either. Brad swears they didn't mean any harm: "We're just a little drunk." Gothtard is like, that's awesome because I can get drunk while I'm fanging you, and then stares at them with what I imagine is an eldritch fire in his eyes.
"Score! I totally had you guys!" He laughs, but Kelly's not too happy about it. Brad agrees with the guy that it was actually pretty funny, and then the NRA guy comes walking up to the counter to disagree. "What? We don't care what you think," Brad snorts, rolling his eyes at the counter guy, and asking if he knows where they can score some V-Juice. Kelly's grossed out, but the shop guy asks how much they're looking for. "I knew a girl who knew this girl who did vamp blood during Greek Week," protests Kelly. "She, like, clawed her own face off." Urban legends about legends -- that is truly hot. Brad swears he can pay good money and the good old boy tells them to leave immediately, having had enough of their shit.
I like that V-Juice, based on the people we see involved in its use and manufacture, seems to be akin to crystal meth in that it's nasty and classless and cheap and trashy. I love that, because it goes to an "I don't care where it comes from or what it's doing to me, I just want more" place. (Only instead of making gross trash look grosser and trashier, like meth does, it makes you some kind of dang superhero.)
"All right, fuck you, Billy Bob," says Brad, having had enough of the dude's interruptions. Then things become awesome as he turns from a silly old thing to a hot trucker dude from a pornographic cinema film: "Fuck me? I'll fuck you, boy. I'll fuck you, and then I'll eat you." His fangs pop out and they run off, and meanwhile the loser behind the counter shits a brick. Billy Bob drops a sixer of Tru Blood on the counter and explains that if the guy pretends to be a vampire again, he will be eaten. Gothbag nods and shivers and whatever, and Billy Bob smiles wide: "Have a nice day now."