How Can You Not Make Fun Of That?

West Virginia is my home state's much-maligned neighbor to the south.

Perhaps it's the isolation of the Appalachian mountains, the coal mining traditions, and now the post-industrial poverty that gives West Virginia its bad reputation. But for whatever reason, West Virginia is known as a land where duct tape is suitable for repairing cars; a lawn chair, six-pack, and wading pool is how you spent your summer vacation; and to figure out how many dogs or children you have you have to look under the porch. A land where Monongalia County was named by a governor who couldn't spell Monongahela.

It is quite beautiful, actually. A lot of my outdoorsy friends spend their weekends driving out there to climb or bike around on their mountains and frolic in the woods. They even have Bridge Day, where they close the bridge over the huge New River Gorge to let people base jump off it. And at some point in American history, West Virginia was progressive enough to forbid slavery, which is why we have a West Virginia and a Virginia in the first place.

But I digress. The reason for this post was this article in the Post-Gazette today: http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/08238/906798-455.stm. Turns out, Weirton, WV, has a problem with feral chickens. Feral chickens.

Feral chickens. And they seem to live on Wall Street.

Now, how can you not make fun of that?

(Photo above copyright 2008 Bob Donaldson/Post-Gazette)