I wouldn't be too concerned about two punks from Mud Butte, South Dakota driving out in a 1988 Pontiac GTA. First of all, if that ramshackle piece of Detroit rubbish makes it to the I-90 freeway without some serious mechanical dump that renders it useless forever, I'd be astonished.

For the sake of discussion, let's say they get picked up outside Gillette, Wyoming by a tow truck and end up spending their hard-earned $500 on a tow to Vegas (with promises to Dwight, the tow-truck driver, for "thousands more once we reach Rabbit Ranch"). Then you might have a serious situation on your hands, because no tow truck driver I know carries anything less than a .357. These two willy-pullers are likely to be bringing a single-shot .22 rifle and a .20 gauge shotgun (with a modified choke for bird hunting, no doubt), along with some dull, mostly inoperable switchblade they traded a couple comic books for back in 6th grade (shortly before they dropped out of America's Education System).

Thank you for the picture of the potential assailants' vehicle. With those cheese-dick Enkei rims and all, I'm assured that you will be able to ward off the "attack." Straight from the late 80's with the rims, these kids will undoubtedly be wearing "Members Only" jackets (probably black) and that should make them easy enough to spot.

First thing: if that heap actually makes its way down the road to your establishment, drop it like a hammered piglet with the McMillan M87R, which fires the same round as the .50 Browning, but does quite a bit more damage. This weapon is not anti-personnel, but more anti-material. One single round into that faggot "Michael Knight" wannabe's car and "KITT" will immediately behave more like a 1948 GE toaster than a clunky supercar that is capable of rocket jumps and other gay tricks.

Second: put Fred on the door. At 7'2" and 345 pounds of pure-bred hatred, I think Fred could handle this one quite nicely. Hell, Fred can even leave his personal arsenal in the back room and "wing it" with these pathetic fiends. I envision him putting a single round through the 350 block of the TA with the McMillan, then I can see Fred watching the TA crawl to a sputtering stop, at which point Fred gently drops the rifle and makes his way to the youths, who are literally crying about their "car" (only midwestern Dairy Queen frequenters would consider a 1988 GTA to be a "thunderous" vehicle - and would subsequently weep openly about the loss of such a trailer-park decoration).

Third: Hell, let them in to run amok. Let them get some cash and then enjoy the "finer" points of your establishment. Then give them a dose of the "Stun Baton" (10 of them are on their way via Fed-Ex to you). As the instruction booklet reads: simply touch the baton to the assailant and pull the trigger to let 500,000 volts induce a nervous system shutdown. There's nothing more appealing to me than the thought of two hillbillies having their rectums zapped with half a million volts of electricity while they shake and quiver like a fat-ass Marlin tossed on dry land. Take pictures, please.

PS to this advice: my latest recon mission involved some missile silos in that wasted land of South Dakota, and since I was in the area I did a little checking on our "Smokey and the Bandit" wannabes. Seems that these kids are really looking for nothing more than "The American Dream" and they're planning to use HST's Good Book "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" as a guide. Har! As if the concept could ever be captured again! Nothing to worry about here, just use the batons wisely. The proper placement of the baton (anally, for sure) will jerk that American Dream out of them faster than a midwestern tornado can rip through their flimsy trailer-park homes where they live with their mothers. Cheerio.