If you can read, congratulations, you are ahead of pretty much everyone.
Bonus points if you can write your name and be only one or two letters off. But we gave you the gift of flight, North Carolina reminds us. So who needs any of that fancy book learnin’?
Found your way into North Dakota? Turn around. You messed up. Go back before you bore yourself to death.
Wait, are those people out there on the plains? Nope, just a mirage. Carry on.
Election year rolls around. Ohioans perk up. Yay, we matter at last!
Walmart is an icon. We associate it with convenience, consumerism, American excess.
So, congratulations, Oklahomans. You should wear your title of most fervent Walmart shoppers with pride. After all, we amateurs just run in real quick when we realize we’d run out of milk on our way home from work. Oklahomans are sure to dress up for the occasion.
Okay, Oregon, we get it. You’re quirky.
We’re sorry, Portland. We know it’s not just a phase. So you can stop making your poor buildings suffer from your identity crisis.
Great, stuck at the stop light next to an Amish dude. Again.
At least when you’re driving through, you’ll remember Pennsylvania’s small town names. Because they are known for being a hilarious bunch.
Rhode Island is the smallest state in the Union. And like nagging older siblings, those from states twice its size enjoy teasing Rhode Islanders simply for living someplace usually no larger than a penny on a classroom map.
But little Rhode Island knows that one day it will grow up to outshine all the rest. Or it’ll just comfort itself by asking itself who wants to be big and important anyway.
Daring to be different in South Carolina? Here’s a tip: don’t.
In a sea of pickup trucks, be the saddest, run-down pickup truck of them all and you’ll fit right in.
South Dakota can feel superior to North Dakota for one reason: it, too, is nothing, but it’s nothing with a really cool hunk of rock with four presidents’ heads protruding from it.
All twenty of its citizens live right across from the monument, obviously. What a nice thing to wake up to every morning: staring right into Lincoln’s stony eyes, knowing he’s judging you big time.
The minute you cross the Kentucky border into Tennessee, you will hear country music blaring from every direction.
Just look out your window. To your right, a Southern beauty poses in her Daisy Dukes and crop-top in the bed of a Ford pickup truck. To the right, some bearded guy nurses his fifth beer and sing-moans of a broken heart. Also, drive carefully: cowboy wannabes are always crossing.
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