Dear Mississippi, I like you.

Mississippi roadYou’re broke, you’re fat, you couldn’t even give me an abortion if I wanted one and you still let people smoke indoors, like some carcinogenic relic of my early bar days. (You do your own thing and don’t give a fuck.) But you won me over with a first impression. The other states we bounced by didn’t give as much. Alabama – missed the good stuff. Arkansas was a bit of a ghost town and Tennessee rained on me, not its fault, but I need the sun. Mississippi, I like the way your people talk to me, feed me doughnuts and orange juice for breakfast and make me feel at home even if I never want to live there. Plowed cotton fields to drive by and a breading ground for music that makes my butt wiggle. You just feel good to me and I want to say thank you.

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