#5 People Who Used to Live in Michigan

Dear Former Michiganders:

Look, jerkwads: you moved out. You decided that Livonia and Roseville and Allen Park were just too poor for you, so you moved to L.A. and embarked on your hipster career. I'm not hating. Good for you, actually!

You couldn't stand it when you were here, and so you learned how to sniff out wallet leather. Its fine Corinthian scent grabbed you by the nose and lifted you away, like the green clouds of cheese aroma in a Tom & Jerry cartoon. You lost your accent, you learned to love public transit, and you finally developed that cocaine habit you've been dying to have. And now you can't shut the fuck up already about Michigan - the town you used to live in, the friends you used to have, the crappy shopping centers that you used to skate at, the punk rock band you used to play in.

Let's look at Baltimore for a second: even The Wire, Homicide, and a boatload of awesome crime journalism still can't get anyone to care about that place, and we really should care because that city is slowly poisoning the rest of the country with super-AIDS, heroin, and MRSA. Do you honestly think that your Brooklyn hipster friends really give a shit that you used to live in Livonia? Do you really think that your awesome new fashionable friends in those huge cities think that any story in the world is worth telling except for the one they live?

Let me tell you who cares: we do. (A little.) We live here. And as soon as you decided we were not cool enough for your dreams, we moved on with our lives. Who the shit are you trying to impress with your stories about St. Andrews and the abandoned mental hospital in Northville?

You're pathetic. You love Michigan so much, come back here and live in it. Otherwise shut the fuck up. And as God is my witness, if I hear so much as a ghost of a whisper that you're talking bad about us, I will come out there and smash that pair of Blu-Blockers into your face. Asshole.