UPDATE: If you’re looking for the post by Peter Grant — yes, this is how well I’m functioning today — please look here.
For some time now, I’ve been puzzling over the missing eight (No, truly, check my math, 1+7=8) US States that have vanished from our geography and our history without a trace.
I’m the first to admit that when I first heard of their potential existence, it seemed impossible, however after watching more than four years of coverups and dense-cluster scandals, I’ve become aware that it’s possible to hide just about everything from the American public. And after reading some of the books wished upon my kids by their history classes, I also know it’s possible to make the American public forget just about everything. (Oh what fun it is to sit one of the boys in front of, say, my collections of reprinted WWI news, and watch their illusions shatter. And if the sources are about WWII you can warm your hands to the flames of burning lies.)
But still, even given all that, what could possibly have happened to eight American states? It’s not like they could simply have been inadvertently thrown out with the broken crockery. They’re states.
So we did what we do here at ATH headquarters and engaged in some exhaustive searching. Yes, okay, we looked in Havey’s litterbox. Look, it’s where big things that go missing usually end up. Small things, too, like screws and coins. (That cat is going to cost us so much money one of these days.) That or thrown up all over the upstairs floor, like last week when he decided it was a good idea to eat the (fortunately soft-bristled) broom.
When this failed we employed our minds in an exhaustive search, and we’re happy to report our findings.
First, some of the missing states can be inferred by squinting really hard at the map, and their fates discovered by
pulling from air judicious inquiry.
Take East Virginia, for instance. Between the depictions of West Virginia in movies and popular series and Virginia’s insistence that it is “for lovers” what could poor Virginia do but slowly shrink out of sight, out of sheer embarrassment. This is a process often observed when you have three teenagers in the back of the car, two are behaving boisterously and the third just keeps shrinking and shrinking, and shrinking, trying to escape the association. (It can also be observed when teenagers are forced to walk anywhere with their parents. Our younger son could almost be suspected of possessing a cloak of invisibility.)
There is also the sad case of Old Hampshire, whom we think has disappeared due to our emphasis of youth culture. It might have moved to England.
And since West Virginia and Virginia proves (to us) that there should be, as well as an east and west and a north and a south, a state that goes by its plain unvarnished name, we’re right now putting out a call for Dakota and Carolina. We have not been able to find a trace of you, and have no idea what we did to you, but do come home. All is forgiven. We probably can live without Dakota which is probably too cold, but we desperately need Carolina. There are still some people living in the rust belt, and they need somewhere to move to.
Nwadna is perhaps the most baffling of the missing states. In fact, the only trace remaining of this once great state are yellowed and crumpling bumperstickers adhering to the rusted bumpers of fifties cars.
We know Nwadna must have been a tourist destination because the bumperstickers proclaim “Nwadna by Godna” and “Nwadna or bust.”
However where it was located, or what happened to it, no one knows. If you look at the more conspiracy theory type of books, you’ll find hints and throat clearings about whole states of votes disappeared to ensure this or that election. We suspect a careless pole worker discarded the state along with the votes, and thus we lost Nwadna forever. Did it have purple mountain majesties or crystal clear lakes? We don’t know and we mourn not having the chance to find out.
There is one more state we’re missing. We’re not absolutely sure of its name. Look, the truth is, it has changed its name so often, we’re not sure it’s sure of its name. These days it’s going by Guido, but we think that’s a name of accommodation. There are indications that in the past it went by Jeffersonia, Franklia, John Smith and Bob.
Guido is said to be living in Italy. There are indications and hints that
Jeffersonia Franklia John Smith Bob Guido was created as a mobile state by our founding fathers. With its ability to change names and merge abroad, it was an invaluable asset to our secret services. Why send spies, when you could send a whole state.
This would account for all the people born abroad who know, in their hearts, that they’re American. (Not that we know anyone like that.) They were probably born within the mobile territory of Guido.
Of course — removes shoes to count — the more alert (and probably more caffeinated) readers of ATH will know that there are still two states missing.
We promise to continue our endeavors to find them and will take any tips.
If all else fails, hey, Friday is the day we do the litter boxes!