I read a post a while back about the town I live in, which basically said that everyone here were ratty people and even though you have to drive through it if you’re heading along SR-18, there’s no reason you have to stop.
It made me laugh, because this place is pretty back-woods. At least it’s not one of about four cities who won’t stop arguing over who’s the Meth capital of Indiana – I have no idea why you’d want to lay claim to this title, unless the government funding for police is based off how likely someone is to call the police when I buy 5 gallons of anti-freeze, some stove gas, and a couple bottles of sudafed… because apparently changing coolant in your vehicle before going camping while you have a headcold is a crime.
At least it’s not Marion, IN… if we’d bought a house there I might very well have hung myself in it – it’s more or less everything I hated about Sacramento, and you have shitty weather.
I have nothing against the majority of the people who live here, but there are a few of them that piss me off. The trailer-park-without wheels across the street is a pretty good example – whose idea of outdoor furniture is the front seats torn out of a car that rusted in two.
Then there’s the fact that most of them seem to think there’s nothing more to life than procreation. I’m not going to insist that everyone wait until they’re married, but can we at the very least wait until you graduate high school? Your genitalia will still be there.
Perhaps it’s because of the wealth of government assistance you receive when you have a kid and no job – because I do so love standing in line behind you while the clerk has to figure out what you can and what you can’t buy on your food stamps card, while I’m staring blankly at your ugly three month old kid who’s in the bottom of a shopping cart wedged between two slabs of Aquafina and a bag of ice.
Yeah, I love that.