Welcome Home?

A town is saved, not more by the righteous men in it, than by the woods and swamps that surround it. - Thoreau

There's a place.

On Route 66.

Out in the sticks.

Where the living is low octane and granny's manipulative mule kicks.

Near East Osh Kosh.

And Begosh.

At the junction of Hicksville and Shitsville.

Not even on the map.

You'll know it when you get there 'cuz the creek runs through it.

It's got a boondock.

And plenty of fresh air.

A place where life doesn't play fair.

The sign reads, "NEXT GAS 3,000 MILES".

No one smiles.

And everyone is screwed.

The people have staring contests.

No one ever blinks.

Let alone thinks.

Where eternity is just a little while.

Nowhere.

Where the folks sport bald hair.

Abutting the funny farm and the cracker factory.

You'll need your GPS to find it.

So that you don't have to guess.

Drive like Hell to get there quickly.

Don't shake anyone's hand - the residents can be prickly.

They'll be waiting for you with folded arms and upright middle fingers.

Just hang a left at the Twilight Zone.

As you smoke a blazen bone.

The streets are muddy, so you might need a four-wheel drive truck.

Good luck.

You'll need it ...

... in Bumfuck ...

Author's Note

“It gets laughed at because it is a small town, I know, but nevertheless it is a place where great men may be born any day, for fair winds and foul blow right on over it without distinction.” - Thoreau