At 66, John Waters continues to take risks and being tested. With its lucid wit, his thin mustache and a sign that reads "I'm not a psychopath," she takes a trip to his beloved native finger from Baltimore to San Francisco, challenging lonely roads and ordinary drivers to fulfill their dreams of glamorous vagrant. But why should we care who else? Why the delicate film director with good manners? Or for unsuspecting travelers carrying the pontiff of Trash?

Before embarking on this bold adventure, Waters fantasizes about the best and worst possible fates: a friendly drug dealer gives him a large sum of money to finance their projects, a broker makes an obscene sexual proposal amid a race cars, and a homophobic Kansas brigade led him to prison; In short, the extravagant scenes to which we are accustomed in his films. But what really happens when this cult legend shows his thumb on the road and faces the vicissitudes of the road? Far from those delirious fantasies with subversive intelligence and warm humor, Waters transformed the look of the long hours of waiting in the roads, the nights in hotels anodyne step and the company of ordinary citizens inside the United States on an adventure lovely.