Waiting for Gouda

I hope everyone had a delightful holiday season, with the exception of the residents of PA (pronounced “puh”) whom I’m sure suffered through their usual misery in that pathetic excuse for a hellhole that some, apparently without irony, call a state of this great union. PA is sometimes referred to as the Keystone State because spending any significant length of time within its borders is akin to having a Keystone shoved sideways up your nose.

My Lovely Wife™ and I took a wee road trip a couple weeks back to hit both the families for the holiday season. (Literally. We hit the crap out of them. Several bruised eyes, a few concussions, a split lip, and one sports hernia later, we returned victorious to Chicago to celebrate the birthday of the sweet, sweet baby Jesus. (For those of you who have not yet found Jesus, have you considered checking between the couch cushions? Seems like a lot of things end up there.))

My family lives in upstate New York, and LW’s folks hail from western Maryland. Both are delightful semi-rural areas that offer wonderful communities in which to raise families and generally live out fulfilling semi-rural lives. That is assuming, of course that you really like white people. Fields and fields full of white people. (If you prefer a little more diversity on the playground, you might consider the downstate and eastern portions of the states, respectively.) But all in all, not bad little places to visit.

However, what lies between? Hundreds of horrifying miles of unmitigated douchebaggery that goes by the name of PA.

One can tell all one needs to know about PA simply by reading all of the signs that line PA’s overly trucked and endlessly constructed highway system. In fact, this is the only preferred method of experiencing PA – driving through it as quickly as possible.

Not that PA wants you to drive fast. Not according to the posted signs reading SLOW DOWN. SAVE A LIFE. which are posted approximately every 1/16 of a mile. No, PA does not want you to proceed quickly.

Or tailgate. Or not wear your seatbelt. Or be unaware of aggressive drivers. Or fail to notice emergency vehicles. Or consider breathing heavily through construction zones. Or under any circumstances drive over bridges that might someday have ice on them. Or traversing any portion of the state without worrying yourself frantic about falling rocks, and the weather, and the possibility of drunks and/or wild animals around the next bend, or extremely zealous cops, or the impending death of hypothetical children, or for THE LOVE OF CHRIST GET OFF MY BACK PENNSYLVANIA!!!

I am just trying to get the hell out of here before I die of old age. I don’t need you constantly nagging me like this! Just shut up, PA. Just shut the hell up. May your entire area be destroyed by a perfectly PA-shaped meteor.

Perhaps you think that I shouldn’t condemn the entirety of one of the original colonies based upon their road signs. But consider this…

Someone thought that all residents and visitors to PA need to be told, in excruciating detail, all of the hazards that might possibly befall them as they drive. And several others, all proud citizens and representatives of PA, I’m sure, must have agreed in some sort of committee that these signs were a necessary and good idea. And then another group agreed to fabricate these signs. And still others install and maintain them. And millions of PA citizens, who must on some level realize as they’re being constantly harangued whenever they travel that they, ultimately fund the entire operation, fail to revolt. At every step of they way, the poor stupid people of PA failed, and continue to fail with each passing day to stand up (DO NOT STAND UP WHILE DRIVING) and say, “Hey. Isn’t that a bit much?”