Friday, March 13, 2009

New Hampshire is:


New Hampshire, do you know why I don't take my earbuds out when I acknowledge you on Comm. Ave.? Because you suck the life out of parties. I dread picking you up first in my carpool. You are the family friends' vacation slide show of states. If you ever told me a story, I bet it would be about that "crazy" dream you had last night that makes no sense, you keep forgetting details about as you try to explain it and, oh yeah, I DON'T CARE ABOUT.

Look, other boring states at least have cool nicknames. Flat, cornfield Iowa is the Hawkeye State. That sounds like a badass Top Gun character.

Your 'buddy' Connecticut, who by the way probably tries to slide away from you at every New England party because he knows your anecdotes never have clear, concise punchlines, is the Constitution State, which makes zero sense because the Constitution was written in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania but is still a sick nickname.

Other shitty states embellish their bona fides like a McDonald's clerk claiming public relations, financial consulting and professional baking on his resume because he took my order, clued me into the 2 sausage-egg McMuffins for $3 deal and then threw a frozen apple pie into a microwave. Wyoming figured this out. That's why they get to be the John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Gunfight at the OK Corral Cowboy State.

And what are you, New Hampshire? The Granite State? Idaho, the Gem State, claims to be made of rubies and emeralds and you describe yourself as one of the most common rocks in the world? I can only imagine your shitty eHarmony profile:

"Hi, I am New Hampshire and I am gray, bland and you walk on me without noticing every day."

I admit you have one claim to fame. Or, rather, you had one claim to fame -- a rock that looked like a guy. So you put it on your state quarter, because, you know, what the hell else would you put there -- those giant state-run liquor stores near the Massachusetts border?

Okay. A giant anthropomorphic cliff. At least it's something. Sorry, was something because three years after plastering it on your quarter, your prize landmark crumbled and The Old Man in the Mountain died.

Illinois has a guy on its quarter, too -- he's Abraham Lincoln. Oh, you've heard of him? Good, because I doubt the next U.S. president who descends from an historically and unfathomably oppressed group of people will want to recite the Oath of Office while holding the Old Man in the Mountain Bible, sleep in the Old Man in the Mountain bedroom or play with Old Man in the Mountain Logs.

You probably know a little about George Washington, too, because, after all, the best thing you have left is a mountain named after him. Well, New Jersey snagged him. Even South Dakota -- a state almost as lame as you -- has Lincoln and Washington, plus Thomas Jefferson and Theodore Roosevelt.

You basically have an extinct Geodude.

You're just lucky Vermont is always so high she'll snuggle with anyone who has a a soft shoulder and a bag of Smartfood popcorn.

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