If you can't get into law school, write songs about the depressing rain. Alternately, if you live on the other side of the Cascade Curtain: If you can't get into law school, write songs about the depressing lack of rain.
Home of Depression
Have You Ever Seen the Rain by CCR
That strongly depends on whether or not there are any dark lords active in the Columbia Plateau
They don't use cars
Umbrellas, body bags
Apples, musicians, lawyers
Fun Fact # 1:
There's a troll under a bridge in Seattle that eats VW bugs.
Fun Fact # 2:
No one here really cares that anyone else is here.
Fun Fact # 3:
Boogers taste good in one small patch of land. (There's also no gravity in the same area by coincidence)
Fun Fact # 4:
We let criminally insane people wander around the fairgrounds!
Washington is a state filled with beat poets and other commie sympathizers.
The real name of the state is Baja Canada The half of the state with people in it happens to be filled with trees.
Washington is home to Washington's Second Congressional District. Scientists who recently studied the state decided that there are now only two districts.
Washington is on California's side against New York.
A rossaurian dinosaur nicknamed "Dino Rossi" ran for governor in 2004 and would have won except that it died and was eaten by orcs when trying to pass over the huge and foreboding fire-spewing peaks that separate the dinosaur fields of eastern Baja Canada from the woodsy site of the state's capitol.
Washington was first founded by elves who inhabit the western region of the state. The Dark Lord Sauron later used the eastern side of the state to raise his army of Orcs, Trolls and Balrogs. After losing his ring he went into hiding.
Washington's dinosaur park was built in 1934 as a Big Deal contract thought up in one of FDR's nightmares.
The construction crews then built the 156-lane super-highway that connects Baja Canada with the "bud fields" of British Columbia (that's what they call Canada up there).
Though not the original home of vampires, we have had issues with them overpopulating our state. If you see a vampire or think you see a vampire here are the precautions you must take:
1. Check to see if their skin sparkles. If it does, someone clearly tried to explain something that can't technically exist logically. You may kill these ones at your own discretion, there is no law against it.
2. If their skin does not sparkle, but they're still not burning in daylight, they aren't a vampire. You're safe (unless it happens to be a British vampire, it is well-known that the British ones don't burn in direct sunlight).
3. Check for fangs. If they do have fangs, gently tap them with a hammer to see if they're real. If they are real, they should break away and leave the vampire in great agony. If they're fake, they fall out and the person you smacked in the face with a hammer won't remember you.
In a heart-wrenching plea on the December 13, 2007 edition of the Colbert Report, Stephen urged residents of Bellingham to help him get Stephen Jr. to return to the US. (It's an indication of just how desperate the proud father had become that Stephen was willing, for the moment, to consider Bellingham part of the US.)
Although most residents of Bellingham are totally stoned by 11:30 pm when the Report airs, they did their best to respond. Stephen had asked them to head toward the border waving salmon to attract young Stephen Jr. from the Vancouver, BC garbage dump where he'd been recently hanging out.
A few actually understood the instructions and did exactly that. Most were confused about what they were supposed to do. They had heard the words "Bellingham," "salmon," and "eagle" and they had heard the hortatory tone in Stephen's voice. Some B-hammers responded by dressing up as eagles, some dressed up as salmon. A few tried to dress up as Stephen, but ran into problems trying to duplicate the neat haircut since the last barber in Bellingham went out of business in 1968.
The B-Hammers ran for the border despite dire warnings from Seattle TV stations that they'd be subjected to "hurricane force winds." They looked to the north and began swinging their offerings in the air or dancing in their costumes. Stephen-Jr-watchers in Vancouver noted that the young bird started to respond by flying south.
Unfortunately, as happens whenever more than ten B-hammers gather in any place, a drum circle soon formed and started pounding out non-rhythmic white-guy "beats." Stephen Jr. wisely headed back to his garbage dump when he heard that.
No matter what they say in DC newspapers, Washington is not a matriarchy. It's true that both of its US Senators(and Democrats t' boot), but most voters of the state are happy to send the men-folk off to the House in DC.
Dinosaur-keepers and non-illegal-immigrant vineyard workers in eastern Baja Canada are allowed to participate in an exercise called "voting" every couple of years. They seem to enjoy it. But vote-counting equipment in King County (where Seattle is) is designed to automatically cast two contrary votes for every ballot submitted from dinosaur-land. This system is activated only for state-wide races. Voters in Spokane are allowed to vote for any closeted Log Cabin Republican that they can find.
Everyone who runs for the state legislature from Seattle is required to pass a mandated gaydar test administered under contract with City Government (Soviet of Seattle) by sexologist Dan Savage who is also editor of a local alternative weekly called The Stranger.
There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he saws his bow
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.
The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.
They also keep a hornéd cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.
And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
And these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.
The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced
and the little dog chased his tail.
The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.
Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
'The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!'
So the cat on the fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
'It's after three!' he said.
They rolled the Man slowly up the hill
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.
Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.
With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.
The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
they all went back to bed!