The Domestics Page #3

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I'll make cocktails,

and you can meet my kids.

The f*** was that?

My son, Steven. All clear?

Clear.

My dad had one of these.

He liked it.

-Yours '81?

-It's '82.

Four wheel drive standard.

Yours five speed?

It's, uh, converted

to automatic, actually.

That faux wood on navy.

Man, it was a different era.

It's running rich.

My guess is the float level

in the carb is off,

but just been messing with it.

Well, my offer still stands.

You can talk it over

if you like. But if you

did happen to come,

I might just have

an original service manual

for an '81 Eagle.

Bullshit.

My old man's.

It'll definitely have

the float level specs.

-You into cars?

-Nah.

I like guns.

You know, uh...

It would mean the world

to my wife and to me,

if you would join us.

Oh. We really should get going.

I understand.

I just can't help but think

that we met for a reason.

People like us don't just

cross paths, not out here.

And seeing you two

gave me hope.

And I might add that Theresa

makes the best goddamned

green bean casserole

you'll ever have.

I guess, if it's on the way.

Well, now that's the spirit!

Steven, let's get

this beautiful car

hooked up to the rig.

It'll be safer for us

to ride in the truck.

Pull her around back,

I'll go get the truck ready.

I can't wait for you

to meet Theresa.

I think you girls

will really hit it off.

Sh*t! Plowboys.

Just sit tight.

Jim.

How's the family?

Safe. Yours?

Steadfast.

So what are you boys

doing out here?

Just patrolling

the neighborhood.

Hunting for Gamblers.

You know they stole

nine of my girls?

F***ing freaks!

Probably using them

to make babies.

You have some fresh faces

with you.

They're friends.

Couldn't help but notice

the merchandise.

K-98. Where'd you get it?

You see the cooch in the truck?

I call her Betsy.

Is she a Cherry?

- What's she doing down here?

- I don't know.

Deserter, maybe?

Didn't see any more of those

man-hating b*tches, so,

I assumed she's alone.

She will turn a pretty penny.

Just relax, sugar pop.

I even injected her

with one of those

animal tracking devices.

Just like old Ginger.

This one ain't getting away.

She's a wild one, too.

She bit Bruce's finger

clean off when we caught her.

Oh, yeah.

I am going to test drive

her tonight.

So, who is the cha-cha

in the truck?

Don't worry.

Plowboys are pussies.

Don't tell my dad

I said "pussies."

I would

really appreciate it

if you would move your plow.

Gonna be late for dinner.

What if I don't?

Give my best to Theresa.

Will do.

I really appreciate

you guys doing this.

As promised.

Oh, my God.

Wow, thank you.

So obviously,

you wanna stay off

I-94 and Highway 10.

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