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In which them good ole boys are eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin', but not before reflecting on Christoph Waltz's exceptional facial hair. While James dodges bottles of urine and dances with scorpions, Matt gets locked in a life-or-death struggle with the shallow end, as one host reveals the least-harrowing disability imaginable, the other is drawn into the most polite hostage situation of all time, and the good name of Mississippi is forever tarnished. ALL GLORY TO THE LASER GOD!

   

 Links:

Christoph Waltz's beard has a tumblr. You know you want to click.