That Explains Why Nobody Visits Montana

Today, I dragged myself out of the comfort of my cool down comforter and my messed up hair at the ridiculously early time of 9:15. Why would I awaken at such an ungodly hour? To mow the lawn, of course!

I, like millions of young boys (err... notice the comma there), was forced to cut the grass in my house after my older brothers were working and didn't have enough time to do it, anymore. I also ran a small business on the side for cutting the lawns of neighbors and whoever wanted to give me a pittance. I never liked grass-cutting unless it met at least one of the following criterion:

1. I cut with a ride-on mower
2. I cut with a ride-behind mower (or I would cut with one of those sulkies, too)
3. I cut with headphones on (with music, preferrably)
4. I let the Robomower cut the lawn

But, times have changed... my music is now in MP3s, and my MP3 player USB cable isn't working anymore, and the only mower we have is a walk behind that was generously donated to us by a relative.

I learned through my years of acting like I know how to cut lawns while people gave me money, that you should vary your cuts every time so that the grass doesn't grow at odd angles. So, the front yard (or door yard, for the New Englanders) received the diagonal cut and the back yard got the concentric cut. About half-way through the back yard, I realized that the grass remaining in the center perfectly matched the shape of Nevada.

It was only a few logical steps later that I discovered that Nevada was actually in my back yard! Somehow, the rest of the world never realized it, but the "wide open" state is actually in a white trash neighborhood in Michigan. I didn't believe it myself, until I saw further proof. I looked where Las Vegas should be and I saw a bustling anthill. The ants had rigged up a complicated light fountain that was really amazing. I believe I saw several with Spock ears, but I can't be sure. I marched up north a bit looking for Reno and, sure enough, there it was... a sizable hole in the ground.

Still living in disbelief, I had to prove one more thing. Directly to the southwest of Nevada was our neigborhood's runoff. Who knew southern California would be here, too?