The thing that makes a boycott of Indiana so easy because of this awful bill [Governor]Pence signed is that no one really wants to go there anyway. And everyone I know who lives there is trying to get out. Indiana is a place you have to go through or fly over to get somewhere desirable (i.e., not Indiana). It’s part of that drive from hell from Columbus to Indiana where you don’t have to turn the steering wheel for hours and find yourself singing to yourself, holding your eyes open, a la Clockwork Orange, and just basically doing anything to stay the hell awake so you can GET OUT OF THE GOD DAMNED STATE. The icing on the cake of the trip is Indiana’s parting gift, Gary, the sweaty, dirty armpit of middle America, a drive through which is like running into a truck-sized pothole full of industrial smog, baked bean farts and indiscriminate gun fire.
And I say that as a West Virginian, which is an oft maligned state.
Labels: President Obama