He puts his hand up on the dash and leaves a bloody hand print, then says “Ooops.”
He has a rusty metal hook for a hand.
He won’t stop locking and unlocking the doors.
The piece of barbed wire he is playing with keeps cutting up your car seat.
He keeps rolling down the windows, even though it’s raining out and you asked him to stop, twice.
Is that brain matter on his jacket?
He keeps asking if you want him to sit in your lap.
In the rain you swore he looked like a large breasted woman.
He changes all your pre-set radio stations.
He goes through the contents of your glove box.
The apparent miscommunication regarding the word “ride” leads to awkward silence.
You notice him pouring a clear liquid into that rag he is holding.
When he asks you if you are armed.
The large knife he has doesn’t bother you as much as the sound it makes on the sharpening stone.
He suddenly looks you in the eyes and says “I’m really sorry I have to do this.”
He tells you that he likes the way you are dressed, then asks what your measurements are.
He wants to know if you would like to learn about another testament of Jesus Christ.
He asks you if you have ever had prison sex.
He wants to become your Facebook friend.
That weird moment when he figures out you kill hitchhikers before you realize he kills people that pick them up.
The conversation becomes heated when the topic shifts to Obama, he wants him to have a third term.
He starts making fun of your car, stating only dead people drive cars like these.
He asks you your name then writes it in his journal with a red crayon.
He puts his hand on your thigh and tells you his STD history.
The plastic “human ear” he has tied to his jacket turns out not to be plastic at all.
The fun game of “I Spy” suddenly turns violent when you mention the police car.
When he asks you if you have any daughters and if he can meet them.