Holy Fucking SHIT! : NEW JERSEY!!! :

What can I say? New Jersey is a place where some people live, and I’ve been there. Little did I know before undertaking my pilgrimage east that I would discover a land where Donald Trump and a sheep farm live only 10 minutes away from each other. Where real preppies run around in smartly worn chinos. The land of Shins and Zach Braff and Natalie Portman living in perfect horrible, horrible, horrible haramony. Of course, New Jersey is more than a terrible movie and sheep farms. As anyone who has ever been there knows there is more to New Jersey than Newark. And if you don’t know this, it will be reiterated to you by every single person who learns of your visit to New Jersey. Strangers will come up to you in the English village inspired outlet malls and say: “I hear you’ve never been to New Jersey before. As you can see there is much more to than just Newark.” Oh my yes.

Not only that but I learned New Jerseyianos either love or hate New York City. Here’s a helpful tip for dealing with the Jersian: You can easily deduce one’s opinion of the Big Apple by their sportsjacket or lack thereof. The rule is simple—if the person is wearing a sports jacket they consider themselves New Yorkers; if they’re not, they hate New York and wish it and its lack of parking would ignite in a righteous fire of poor urban planning. As you no doubt can imagine this came as a shock to my refined and glorious Chicago sensibilities as it is well known everyone within a 300 mile radius bows down to Windy City’s majesty and glory.

Taking all this into account I think it is fair that only one thing can be said about New Jersey. It is my mecca. My Calvino-esque alabaster city on the top of a crystal mountain where a thousand naked virgins recline, velvet ribbons in their hair. I mean, do I have to spell it out for you? Inferiority complexes, gentlemen sheep farmers, outlet malls, preppies…The place has it all.