Bowling ball sized hail is falling outside. The hairs on my arm stand up because a tornado is six miles up the road. Devastation is on my door step so I turn on the TV. The handsome national weather man is standing in front of a map of our beautiful country. Instantly, I notice the angry red blob covering the south east corner of America.
He smiles and says, “Now this is a dangerous part of the country right now. Death storms are swirling across Texas, West of Oklahoma all the way to Tennessee, and this area above Louisiana is really gonna get wiped off the map.” His hand hangs over the Natural State, over Arkansas….but he never ever says the word. ARKANSAS.
Why don’t weather men ever say the name of our state? It’s bizarre and kind of hurts my feelings. Arkansas is part of the club, we pay taxes, we have Wal-Marts, we vote and have guns and we know the secret hand-shake. But weather men ignore us constantly.
We are more than “the area under Missouri” or “this expanse from Dallas to Memphis”. That’s Arkansas you moron. Why can’t you just say the name of the state?
We were granted statehood back in 1836, so it’s not like we’re the new kid in class. You should be able to remember our name.
It’s true, we have an obesity problem, and a poverty problem, an education problem and a football problem but we are a great state. Lot’s of awesome people came from Arkansas, including Al Green, Johnny Cash, Glen Campbell, Sonny Liston and Bill Clinton.
So when the zombie apocalypse begins and Little Rock and Hot Springs are taken over, when the country is flooded and a thirty foot wall of water rolls over Malvern and Bismarck, when a freak lightening storm sets the entire freaking state on fire and we are nothing but a scalded, smoldering wasteland….say our name! It’s ARKANSAS!!