I just heard on the 10:00 news that two men talking on a CB radio in Hagerstown, MD, were having an argument. They met up at the mall, and one man shot the other.
Now, maybe someone should have explained to these mental giants that the great thing about CB radios is that you can argue with someone, call them every name in the book, talk about their momma, and still not have to worry about any repercussions. Showing up at an agreed upon location violates this principle.
Growing up in Roanoke, VA, meant that you were bound to have friends who had CBs in their cars. One friend's handle was Kato, and I think the others were Pervie and Hootie McDoogle. When I rode along, I was Bongo. Don't ask, cuz I don't know. This was back in the day when "Beavis and Butthead" was pretty popular. So our usual Friday night m.o. was to drive around and find the CB channel being used by the truckers on I-81. We'd then get on the air and say B&B lines such as, "Huh huh...You may not be really hot, but I bet you like to do it" or "Are you threatening me?" and "Testes...testes...one, two...three?" Once in a while some trucker would not take very kindly to our hijinks, and we handled this in the most mature way we knew how--name-calling and cussing and making crude noises. And then we'd go by the Krogers grocery store to get a 34 cent donut and a 25 cent Big K generic cola. The grape soda goes well with the sour cream cake donut. Just so you know.

Okay. That's going to do it. Nathalie is mocking me.