Hawaii is alone in a corner of the bar, away from the other states, drinking a cocktail from a coconut.
Idaho is drinking Keystone Light and pretending they are part of the South.
Illinois is a larger gentleman, eating deep dish pizza and drinking a Goose Island. He’s reminiscing about the ’85 Bears and how “this is the Cubs year”.
Indiana is in line for the toilet, drinking a Budweiser or a Coors, checking out the ladies and thinking about how bullshit it is that you can’t buy alcohol on Sunday.
Iowa is sitting next to Illinois, just trying to have someone pay attention to him.
Kansas is dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans and clean boots. He’s friendly enough and even buys a round to get the party started. After a few drinks, it’s obvious he feels sorry for Oklahoma, hates Missouri, and is hung up on Colorado. After striking out with California, him and Wisconsin get hammered drunk and sing Country Boy.
Kentucky would be drinking bourbon and arguing with anybody who will listen about college basketball.
Louisiana is celebrating that lack of open container laws by standing outside of the bar with an Abita Amber or a Sazerac and looking disdainfully at the drinking abilities of all of the other states. “Amateurs.”
