Fifty has my soul

With the Jeff Coombe classic, 'Full of Fifty', stuck in my head and my innards tied into pretzels, the Fabulous Bee, the Prophet and myself headed south for the monthly roadtrip. Poor townies, now we're going to punishing you for what you've done.
After spending a gruelling day before, making eye contact and then laughinghard at the revellers, we decided this roadshow must move on. This is a list of the things we forgot:
1. To use the bathroom.
2. Food.
3. Our sense of direction.
4. Our sense of responsibility.
5. Cats to throw out the window.
Five classic rock albums later we found ourselves in a dollar store in P***********. A lovely man behind the counter, who didn't like the cut of my jib, sold us some batteries for the camera that never did have a charge. Good for him. I hope he remembers who I am when his house is burning. No pictures, though.
We stopped for lunch and twleve beers, when we remembered we also forgot to tell anyone where we were. The couple who invited us over for sex and debauchery were quite nice, but the Prophet sensed something wierd about them. I noticed that the bathrooms here are also guilt free zones and I peed where I wanted. The Fabulous Bee was halfway down the conga line when someone grabbed her ass and all hell broke loose. Ah, the feeling of hitting the streets at 1:00 a.m., not a clue where you are and four or five hillbillies looking for a tight ass, saying, 'We can party at my trailer.'

'Jesus has my heart,
Jesus has my soul,
Jesus has what a young girl wants,
Jesus yer too old.'

The Prophet doesn't like my songs. The punch lines just don't make her laugh.
Breakfast was burnt, I was burnt. The Fabulous Bee said, 'Get in the car, Fuckers.' and we left them all behind. I was still wishing we'd remembered the cats when we passed the seventh blueberry hut, on the long ride home.