The town of Millsboro, Delaware is more congested than Dick Cheney's bulbous heart.
But why?
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
Bob
