BOB: Male 50’s conservative
JOHN: Male 50’s conservative Fox News watcher
CLETUS: Hillbilly hip-hop gangster

BOB is driving his truck. JOHN is riding shotgun. Both are enjoying coffee. In any town ‘merica.

BOB: Anyhoo, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.

JOHN: I hope it’s not that you love me.                           

Both laugh.

BOB: Haha, noo. I love this truck…. And fishing.

JOHN: This election is driving me nuts.

BOB: I know what you mean.

JOHN: It looked like Romney was gonna lose. Now it looks like he’s gonna win. But who knows how it’ll turn out…. How could we live through another four years of Obama?

BOB: I know, right. I bet I won’t see another president in my life.

JOHN: Well, if Obama-nation thinks he can be a dictator in the U.S. he’s got another thing coming. We’ll be right there to stop him. You and me, and our right to bare arms, know wuttum sayin?

BOB: I’m dying, John.

JOHN: What the hell are you talking about?

BOB: I got the Cancer.

JOHN: Nah. No you don’t. Quit messin’ with me.

BOB: It’s stage four.

JOHN: We’ll take on Obama, man. He can’t be stealing our tax money to give to poor people. If they want to eat, they can do what my Daddy does and cook up something they shot.

BOB: John…

JOHN: I suppose if they cooked up something they shot, it’d be cannibalism.

BOB reaches out to pat JOHN on the forearm.

JOHN: Don’t touch me. You know the rule. A man doesn’t touch another man.

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BOB: I’m sorry.

JOHN: Fucking liberals!

BOB: John.

JOHN: Do you know what pisses me off? Nobody is talking about the issues. The issues that matter.

BOB: What matters, John?

JOHN: The economy!

BOB: I wouldn’t even see Romney in office, if he actually won.

JOHN: Bob, I can’t have this conversation with you.

BOB: I love you.

JOHN: You’re not dying. That is such bullshit!

BOB: I just thought you should know.

JOHN: I love you too.

They hug.

BOB: Get off me before you start giving a shit about poor people.

JOHN: Yeah.

BOB: Hey stop here. I have some business with Cletus.

BOB gets out of truck and meets CLETUS.

CLETUS: What you need, mange?

BOB: Can I get a G of that chili P, man?

CLETUS: Aight. Hit me with four fitties…

BOB and CLETUS do the deal. CLETUS feels something weird in his hand and looks down.

CLETUS: What the fuck are these? Maaan, I don’t take no food stamps!

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