The town of Millsboro, Delaware is more congested than Dick Cheney's bulbous heart.
Why does this tiny rural town straddling Rt. 113 boasts traffic congestion that rivals Singapore?
Deciding I needed to answer this question, I was compelled to research the cause, which could then allow me to propose a logical solution.
I spent hours pouring over land records in the Sussex County Courthouse, moving old tomes that plumed clouds of dust every time I closed one shut. Tens of thousands of names dating back to the 1600s scrolled past my eyes - Jacob, Jebediah, Abraham, Carl.
I interviewed locals, whom I thought could share some insight.
"Mister, I don't know shit about shit," said Brian, a plump man wearing camouflage head to toe. He was pumping gas at the Royal Farms into his ATV that was sitting in the back of a massive truck. "Now take your bony skeletal ass on out of here before I show you my radical left hook."
After weeks of research, I was back to square one.
But then I awoke one night after eating one two many slices of pepperoni pizza laced with diluted ketamine, and the answer hung low right above me, like a wire-haired lower slower scrotum.
However, I can't tell you just yet. You see, in uncovering this secret, I've made myself somewhat of a target of the Millsboro Illuminati, who call themselves The Antler Men.
I've already said too much. This message will self destruct after I start eating this keyboard;kladja;lkdahj;lkfhab;lkhafb;lkha