Dr. Linkletter: How about some music?
Sheldon: No one likes music. How about a car game?
Ooh, I have a fun one where I say a formula, and then you have to say another formula starting with the last letter or number that I said. So, for example, if I said, [Linkletter groans] "X" equals negative "B" plus or minus...
Dr. Linkletter: Music it is. [classical music plays]

President Hagemeyer: Okay, so, what's the problem?
Sheldon: I wanted to talk with Dr. Linkletter about puberty.
Dr. Linkletter: And I wanted to avoid litigation.

Dr. Linkletter: [on answer phone] Connie, Grant Linkletter. Wonderful seeing you tonight.
Meemaw: Yeah, yeah.
Dr. Linkletter: Hope you enjoyed our little book club. If you'd ever like to discuss it further, I know the perfect Italian café. The cannolis are resplendent.
Meemaw: Resplendent! [chuckles] [machine beeps]
Dr. John Sturgis: [on answer phone] Connie! John Sturgis here.
Meemaw: What a surprise.
Dr. John Sturgis: It was so nice to have you at our book club. When it comes to science fiction, those things can be real sausage parties. Anyhoo, if you're free next week, I was wondering if you'd like to... [Meemaw skips to the next message]
Dr. Linkletter: Grant Linkletter again. If you don't like Italian, I also know a sublime Vietnamese spot. Have you ever tried Bún Boò Hue? [machine beeps]
Dr. John Sturgis: I don't know why I said "sausage party." There was probably a better way to phrase that. [machine beeps]
Dr. Linkletter: Connie, Grant Linkletter...

Sheldon: Can we get back to the book?
Dr. John Sturgis: Yes, Connie, I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on it.
Meemaw: I think I've said my piece.
Sheldon: I have some thoughts.
Dr. Linkletter: And we'll get to those in due time. Don't you think Asimov did a remarkable job of capturing the poetic terror of the coming darkness?
Meemaw: I'm not sure I got that.
Dr. Linkletter: Oh, listen to this. "Dusk, like a palpable entity, entered the room, and the dancing circle of yellow lights about the torches etched itself into ever-sharper distinction against the gathering grayness beyond." [Meemaw and John are silent]
Sheldon: Powerful.
Dr. Linkletter: Wasn't it?
[Meemaw shrugs her shoulders]

Pat: Look, you seem like nice folk, but Yankees ain't popular around here. I suggest you be on your way.
Dr. Linkletter: Sorry to have troubled you. Let's go.
Sheldon: Excuse me. My colleagues may be from the North, but for your information, I'm a Texan, born and bred. I know that real chili has no beans, and when my meemaw says, "Bless your heart," she means something very different. Now, my friend here is in need of help, and since our state motto is literally "friendship," may he please use your phone?
Pat: Well, dang. [puts the phone on the bar]
Dr. John Sturgis: And could I trouble you for a yellow pages?
Dr. Linkletter: Oh, boy.

Adult Sheldon: After a quick burial behind the bar, we were back on the road. Dr. Sturgis tried to find some appropriate music for a proper send-off. Three Christian talk shows and a whole lot of static later, he settled on what he declared the Dixieland jazz of West Texas. ["El Son de la Negra / Guadalajara" playing] Mariachi.
Dr. John Sturgis: Vaya con dios, armadillo. Vaya con dios.

Dr. John Sturgis: Societal norms are different on road trips. Normally, I don't eat junk food, but here, it's tradition. I'm not even sure what a chicharron is.
Sheldon: It's the deep-fried skin of a pig.
Dr. John Sturgis: That seems like something they should say on the bag.