The Land of the Freaks

Having recently spent upwards of fifty non-consecutive hours traveling America's highways I am amazed at how non-visually stimulating some parts of this country are. I've heard that it was scientifically proven that Kansas is, in fact, flatter than a pancake. I now believe that to be true. I've heard of the long lonely strips of highway passing through the Utah desert. Now, I can say that I've been there myself.
What astounds me are the number of solitary homes one encounters hundreds of miles from the last signs of civilization. A beautiful mansion tucked up neatly into a high mountain canyon. A sweeping ranch house with a 360 degree view of perfectly flat horizon. What's with these people? Did they find some loophole in the "love thy neighbor" commandment? What jobs do they work, and what's the commute like?
These are not your average red-necked American, who given the opportunity will join with several of his siblings and cousins to buy some real estate and place on it their assortment of slightly used mobile homes. It's obvious that these people share a sense of adventure. Why else would you name your community "Tornado Bait" or "100 Year Flood Acres?" These are the remnants of the brave pioneers who forged the settlement of the west. Their mark is still visible in the form of trailer courts on the outskirts of towns like Vail and Aspen. These hardy individuals who resist the offers of their rich neighbors to buy out their land just to get rid of all those rusted out cars and lawn furniture that used to be living room furniture.
Let us all stand up and salute those brave individuals who give country music fans something to make fun of. Let us thank those whose example has led to many a housing community ordinance. Finally, let us honor those who exercise their right to bear arms, possibly the last line of defense against foreign invaders or the land buying tactics of those freaks with money who want to live where only the rednecks can.