The thing about West Virginia jokes is that everyone thinks
they’re so clever and original
when they tell me that my parents are obviously siblings or they feign surprise
that I can read. Right, in all my life, I’ve never had anyone anywhere assume
that I’m ignorant, inbred, easy to take advantage of or unfamiliar with flush
toilets. Garsh, I thought I was supposed to warsh my feet in them! Well paint
me red and call me embarrassed!
People have even gone so far as to ask me why I dropped out
of college, because I couldn’t have graduated, cause ain’t no rednecks got no
book larnin! I would not be surprised if someone offered to teach me how to tie
my shoes, since this is clearly the first pair I’ve ever owned and I just
bought them yesterday to fit in with the real people.
What makes it even worse – and yes, it gets worse – is when
the twat waffles in question clearly don’t even know where West Virginia is. A salvage
yard owner in Oregon once told me that my gas tank had rusted out because of
the “salty coastal air” in West Virginia. I took my business somewhere else.