Good thing you have a Class A Commercial Driver's License!
As you approach the GATE, the CONFEDERBOTS guarding it flag down your TRUCK. With a TOOTHPICK stuck in your mouth, you pull out your best TEXAN ACCENT and start your GUILE ATTACK.
CB: STOP. GET QUERY: CAN I HELP YOU.
RHYS: Howdy, y'ole galoot! I's here fer the Mule Kick d'liv'ry!
CB: DRIVERS NOT RECOGNIZED.
RHYS: The ole driv'r lit out right quick when they poked him stealin' a can fer his starvin' family's vittles.
CB: SYNTAX ERROR.
RHYS: Now don't y'all think there's no catty whompus!
CB: SYNTAX ERROR!
RHYS: Well, shucks! Now I'm gettin' fit to be tied! Look here ya blinky clabber milk! I'm fixin' ta have conniptions if ya don't let me do ma job, I swan!
CB: FLAGRANT SYSTEM ERROR! REBOOTING.
RHYS: Well dangnamit! You plug-ugly ole cuss! If you and yer squaddies don't let me do me job just because yer wore out, well that's just wolverine mean, leaving me like a one legged man at a county butt-kicking contest with his ranch hangin' on the line! Dad gum it! Yer fixin' to be dumber than two rocks in a spittin' contest tryin' ta herd cats through an agger-vated blue norther!
CB: STOP. STOP. STOP. IF YOU STOP TALKING THEN GO INSIDE. JUST GO.
RHYS: Well shoot! That's all ya had ta say. Say, can ya gimme a map markin' the vendin' machines before I head over yonder?
CB: PRINT MAP.
RHYS: Mighty fine, mighty fine. Thank ya' kindly.
GUILE ATTACK SUCCESSFUL!
YOU GOT: FORT FERRIS VENDING MACHINE MAP!
The CONFEDERBOTS part and you pull into the FORT.
>Look at the MAP