There are two things you can’t choose in your life.
And where you live.
Somehow, those stinky bastards to the west of us got beautiful, snow-capped mountains. We got plains. Plain plains, with no trees. The people who established our state had to be tough mother fuckers, building homes out of sod and gathering cow shit to burn as firewood to keep themselves warm and cook their dinners.
They stand on their peaks, looking down, noses in the air, making fun of our flatlands and our beef. Our ability to grow the food that feeds the world. Our ability to make a life out of the beautiful state of Nebraska, a place where the land demands so much from us.
Walk through the streets of Boulder, and what do you smell?
Weed... but not by itself. No, weed by itself ain’t so bad. There’s something else.... hmmm.... mushroom dirt.
Yes, that’s it. Weed and mushroom dirt, and the smell of an old polyester shirt worn by a person who hasn’t showered in weeks because, man, that’s just a waste of resources.
You know what a good waste of resources is?
The fact that Colorado has control of Colorado. Nebraskans should just invade, make it one state. Push those wannabe shitheads outta that state.
There’s a game.