The post I've been avoiding for years, but dammit, it's time somebody said it like it is.
Way too many "immigrants" here in Florida are just ruining the place. They don't like our food, the way we talk, the way we drive, or how we dress. They hate everything about Florida but insist on living here and turning it into the paradise that was their homeland. . . and if they miss it so much why don't they feckkin' return there?
What? Oh! You thought. . .! No, no. I'm referring to folks from New Jersey, (with the major exception of Jimbo and Suzette . Suzette is from NJ I think, but then if you're north of the M-D Line you might as well be in Canada for all I care. But I know there are other good blogging peeps there. Just stay put, okay?) and a whole lot of others who have remained in Jersey. God bless the faithful holdouts up there. As I am fond of saying, and as Elisson recently quoted from FOTR, "God bless the Jerseyites, and keep them far from us!"
I am a Regionalist! So sue me.
Here in Florida we are inundated with folks who moved down here to live out their wet dreams of rolling the yokels for cash while they can, and to buy two Mediterranean-style houses for the selling price of their "charming cottage" in Jersey. Which are now up for foreclosure.
They really do hate Floridians; the heat, humidity, bugs, and all things Gator. And yet, they refuse to leave until they have told each and every native exactly what they think of them.
Ugly Americans? We're up to our elbows in 'em.
By and large, the majority of NJ transplants are the most unhappy people I've ever met. They are rude without even thinking about it; loud and uncouth, and love pointing out obvious things about your physique at full volume, reading signs out loud, and explaining even the lamest jokes to anyone around them; as though we genteel inbreds can't understand the nuance of innuendo. No such thing as TMI, either. Yeesh. Folks, I've lived here all my life. I'm not making this shit up. It's Seinfeldian in its surreality.
This chip-on-the-shoulder brashness extends into the farthest reaches of the northeastern environs of their home towns, too. That wannabe attitude eats them up, providing fresh fodder for British reality shows about food and hair, and sets them up perfectly for a mean-spirited put down by Stacy and Clinton telling them (and all of us) What Not to Wear (screechin' fashionista fascists).
So their put-upon Self goes seeking something they deem Lesser Than They-- and off they go to Florida.
Oh, they love how we smile when we ask them in our lazy, back-bred drawl, "mo tea, suh?" but they'll give us no end of shit about absolutely anything they know nothing about. Look in the dictionary under "assume" and you'll see a map of New Jersey.
Hell, I'd bet that Dogette's obnoxious semi-nude, bathrobe wearing, gold chain-sporting, trespassing, golf cart racing nabes are likely from NJ. Do I know this for a fact? Only by the circumstantial evidence. No Floridian jury would convict me of slander, even so. NJ transplants are totally unaccustomed to the idea of privacy and decorum, or even good taste. They do everything out loud and in the open, including broadcasted marital disputes; as though our spacious neighborhoods were actually a crowded tenament where the drama-starved can troll for gossip. Damn gossiping tenement dwellers.
Afterthought: It's a wonder Dogette's nabes haven't placed religious statuary in their yard yet, but the millennium is still fresh. Wait and see.
Meanwhile, we'll just go right on secretly spittin' into that tall glass of iced tea and then wink and smile and set it down in front of you. Er. . . ya'll.