Of rednecks and yokels....

Sometimes the weirdest things happen. Take this blog for example; I'm probably the laziest blogger out there, but when whoever reads this thing thinks it's over for good (because of the lack of posts...) there I go again, some random thought makes me want to write some more nonsense.
Today I will tell you of a beautiful and magical country.
It all begins when, while going west towards Toronto, you see a glorious tower standing high above the tallest buildings in your wildest dreams (that is, if you're a yokel that never went further than the corner store to buy a pack of smokes... It's actually a grain silo and it's about 100 feet tall). 'What is that place?' you ask yourself, having never heard of it before.
'Have I been living under a rock for the past [insert your age here] years?
-Let's visit this wonderful place!' says whoever is in your car with you.
So you drive past the silo , come to a traffic light (so they have electricity, it's a good start), pass a garage, a funeral home, a corner store and a post office, and then you're done, you're on the country road again with nothing but empty fields around you. 'What? Is that it?'
No, it can't be... So you turn around and pull over on the side of the street (which has no sidewalk, only a narrow parking lane) in front of the post office to ask for directions. You walk in the post office, and that's when you meet Betty and Skeeter.
Betty is a slightly overweight late-middle-aged woman dressed with very fashionable and also very used matching sweat pants and sweater, the latter embellished by a washed out picture of a wolf in nature. A subtle scent of cigarettes and fries completes her charming features. She gives you a warm smile (which allows you to catch a glimpse of her five remaining teeth) and says "Hi there! What brings you in this part of paradise?', to which you answer:
'Well, I was driving by and...
-BAM! You saw our beaut'ful new sign! See! I told ya t'would bring tourists!!'
That was Skeeter. He proudly stands 5'1" tall, his blue jeans is gray and brown from all the oil stains, and the coarse leather jacket that covers the rest of his body has probably seen more winters than the three of you combined.
He presents his weathered hand and says:
'The name's Skeeter. I'm the town's plumber and mayor. Oh, and I also drive a snowplow during the winter.'
You think you've stumbled on a movie set, but instinctively you shake his hand and make a fake impressed face: 'Wow, quite the handy man! You must be very busy!
-Not really... I had a call on the telephone machine last week, some kind of salesman I think. And yesterday I went to the city dump to find me a hot water tank.
-The city dump? But isn't that where all the garbage goes? You can't find a working hot water tank there!!
-Who said it had to work? I just want to cut it in half and weld it to my pickup truck to use as a snowplow!
-Oh, I see! So anyway, it must be my lucky day! What an honor to meet the mayor! Can you tell me what should I visit and how to get there? All I saw was this street called "Main"...
-Well that's the Main Street! It has everything! A garage, a funeral home, a corner store and this post office!
-...Oh, ok! Well then, I guess I'll be on my way! It's been very nice meeting you and...
-Wait! You can't leave like that! I still have to show you my brand new snowplow!'


And that's when you have to make the following choice: fake a heart attack to get out of there as fast as possible, or buy a house in that incredibly charming country called Odessa.