NOVA SCOTIA OR BUST!

Nova Scotia or bust! I’ve got my passport, my hat, my stonewashed jean jacket, my bubble gum cigar, and my six-o’clock shadow. It was a five-o’clock shadow, but in Nova Scotia they’re an hour ahead. I’m prepared for the Scoche, baby!
What’ll I do first when I get there? Dip my toes in the carbonated Nehi Sea-hi? Nibble on the fabled Skyscraper Hot Dog? Wander aimlessly through the transparent Museum of the Invisible? There are so many sights to see and new experiences to experience, new-style. Certainly more than in this raggedy old burg. I need to shake the dust of this town off, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll take advantage of Nova Scotia’s free dry-cleaning system. Yes, it was a controversial decision for the Scotialites to go with universal dry-cleaning over health care, but really, who wants to feel healthy in unclean clothes? Nova Scotia or bust!
Here are some fun facts to pass the time. Residents of Nova Scotia settled on the term Scotialites after trying out Nova Scotiersteins, Scottie Dawgs, Scott Howards, Scotianistas and Nova Scotianeers. The official bird is the Vampire Peacock, chief exports include coffee mugs, nectarines, bowling pins and fake IDs and most importantly it boasts the cutest kittens per capita than anywhere in North America. Historically speaking, Nova Scotia was founded in 1695, when explorers Siegfried Novus and Scotia Pippinstock left their home (what was then called Venice, but which we now call What Cheer) in a hot air balloon, determined to reach the moon. After consuming all their wine and doing whip-its their first day airborne, they passed out and ended up in what is now, of course, known as Nova Scotia. At first believing they were on the moon, they proceeded to live as they felt the astronauts would, hopping around as if in zero gravity and eating freeze-dried brie and crackers. It was their loved ones back home who eventually tipped them off to their whereabouts, as all their postcards from the moon said Greetings from Nova Scotia on the front. This is why some of the elder Scotialites still refer to the native buffalo as Martians, since the settlers believed these creatures to be visitors from Mars and unsuccessfully tried charging them rent for roaming the lunar fields.
Some people refer to Nova Scotia as the Land of Milk and Cookies, or the Land Time Forgot to Remember, where the deer and the antelope have deer on antelope relations. Scotialites brag they built this province on rock and pop, and for a while their credo was, “If you seek a pleasant peninsula, check out that one,” referring to the Peninsula of Pleasance, located in the backyard of Halloween star P.J. Soles. Nova Scotia is for lovers, too. For young lovers, there’s Make-Out Point, for the more adventurous there’s Three-Way Canyon, and for the anything but crowd, there’s Mutual Masturbation Cove. It has so much to offer, and it’s where I plan to start my life over, leaving behind only a dead end job at a Dead End Manufacturer and crappy little one bedroom apartment overlooking a cotton candy depository. It’s here I plan to make a lasting contribution to the world, like teaching sign language to the Sasquatch, or feeding Hungry Man dinners to all the hungry men, and occasional woman. Then I’ll retire and move into one of those condos hung from a tree branch, probably married to one of the Scoche’s famous lady mimes. And, God willing, when I die, I will be frozen and interred at St. Tobias’s Funeral Home and Wacky Wax Museum, so that future generations can admire my hairline and possibly mistake me for Liberace. And yes, I will have to put up with the little things, like the province’s vague smell of circus peanuts, the fact that all the pigeons have been conditioned to point and laugh, and the way the libraries use the less conventional Louie Decimal System. But that’s small potatoes compared to the large potatoes that’s living in the greatest land in the world. And yet it’s all a pipe dream until I actually arrive. I’m determined, though, that the next person to stop for me will take me all the way. And why wouldn’t they? Nova Scotia or bust!