The thing about West Virginia jokes is that everyone thinks they’re so clever and original when they tell me that my parents are obviously siblings or they feign surprise that I can read. Right, in all my life, I’ve never had anyone anywhere assume that I’m ignorant, inbred, easy to take advantage of or unfamiliar with flush toilets. Garsh, I thought I was supposed to warsh my feet in them! Well paint me red and call me embarrassed!
People have even gone so far as to ask me why I dropped out of college, because I couldn’t have graduated, cause ain’t no rednecks got no book larnin! I would not be surprised if someone offered to teach me how to tie my shoes, since this is clearly the first pair I’ve ever owned and I just bought them yesterday to fit in with the real people.
What makes it even worse – and yes, it gets worse – is when the twat waffles in question clearly don’t even know where West Virginia is. A salvage yard owner in Oregon once told me that my gas tank had rusted out because of the “salty coastal air” in West Virginia. I took my business somewhere else.