Monday, July 06, 2015

West Virginia Is Just Wrong--Part Three

Yes, I am getting to the part about West Virginia.

But first I want to tell you about the Putz Police in Pennsylvania:

The lady dropped me off in a park that was located past all of the rural flooding. I opened my
camp chair, sat down, took a swig from my bottle of  Diet Mt. Dew and then stuck my thumb out.

Nobody stopped.

Finally a cop came along and drove me to the snobbish city of  Beaver, Pennsylvania. The Putz
Patrol there moved me down to Rochester, Pennsylvania. The Rochester Putz Police ignored me all
night. So I dozed in my camp chair on a sidewalk near an empty Walgreen's drugstore parking
lot.

The next morning I took an early local bus down the road to Center Township. It took most of that
day to get past that point, but I eventually did. I tried my hand at hitchhiking away from that community but I was corralled by the PO-PO Putz who drove me on to the village of (are you
ready for this?) Raccoon, Pennsylvania.

Raccoon, PA...population: 50 rednecks, 25 jacked up, mud-covered vehicles, 3 clandestine meth
labs and 2 dogs in a mangled pile on the side of the road.

Yeah.

It's a rural line that I doubt even Larry the Cable Guy would dare cross. But it might give him
heartburn...or something.

A cop (he swore that he is one) from that neck of the woods gave me a ride to a fork in the
road. It was starting to get late in the day.

Then an older guy with a white handlebar moustache and voice like the Wizard of Oz, stopped
his big pickup truck. He drove me down to a small (and very nosy) community with a name
that I cannot pronounce.

I set up and sat down in my camp chair. Then I stuck out my thumb again. I figured that since
I did it in Rochester...I sure could do it in whatever-its-name-is town, too.

Wrong.

And it is there that the West Virginia connection was created.


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