Zeppelin versus pterodactyls? That would be a freakin’ sweet movie. I’d probably watch that. No, I’d definitely watch that. A blimp facing off against a flying reptile? There’s so much right about that premise that no amount of wrong can compromise its entertainment value. Well, unless whoever directed Crossover got the directing nod for some reason (ahem – Preston A. Whitmore), but that’s unlikely. So yeah, dude, I’d so watch this movie. A dirigible going head-to-head with a dinosaur? Man, that’s so awesome. What a combination. Zeppelin versus pterodactyls. Wow.

Those were my thoughts. I could not for the life of me tear myself away from the magnificence, the spectacle, the sheer cinematic genius that combination – zeppelin and pterodactyls, just in case you forgot – would afford its viewers. The poster even throws in a biplane for the heck of it, just to make sure those whose pants haven’t been soaked in their own excitement-induced urine don’t remain clean and dry much longer. This is like the stop-motion photography, lost-continent genre movie equivalent of Jordan versus Bird (the poster would include Sir Charles as the biplane), or Lohan versus Duff circa 2003, except a thousand times more epic.

So all that got me thinking – what other combinations would have this awe-inspiring, mindhole-exploding, blowing-in-an-unmistakably-away-direction, face-melting effect on people (namely: me) solely based on the sheer spectacle potential (S.S.P.)?

This is a preliminary list of such combinations:

• The RMS Carpathia vs. Meerkats

• Skyscraper vs. Fire hydrants

• Obesity vs. Lyme disease

• Ladybugs vs. Protozoa

• Globalization vs. The love between a man and his collection of novelty lunchboxes

• Stalin vs. Nuns at a Convent

• Hoover Dam vs. Salmon

• Electricity vs. Despair

• Locomotive vs. Beavers

• Rounded edge vs. Corners

• Blue Whale vs. Segway Scooters

What combinations have the highest S.S.P. for you?

… or how back from a three-week hiatus I am.

Thank you. Thank you for your dedication to excellence. Thank you for your willingness to showcase your talents despite the constant judgment you face by drivers idling in their cars. Thank you for unassumingly embracing your placement on the mantle of cultural ubiquity, rightfully among the ranks of the Skip-it, overly-made up cafeteria ladies, and Rosie O’Donnell’s unsolicited opinions/Ryan Seacrest’s face.

As recent a phenomenon as you are, you have nonetheless captured the collective heart, mind, and intrigue of a nation. In a time when the national conscience yearns for stability, honesty, and accountability – merely one good thing that we can clutch in the midst of adversity – you show up each and every morning at our intersections. With your “CONDOS STARTING IN THE LOW 200s” sign firmly in hand, iPod headphones fit snugly in your ears, black sweatshirt draped casually over your torso, and your sense of duty seeded deep in your soul, you daily give your fellow brethren a hope for the future, for our future.

Though you come in several archetypes, each of your variations provides different reasons to be grateful for who you are and what you do.

To the apathetic high school skater sign twirler: Thank you for reminding us that we are all, at the core, lost and confused. We all wear Etnies of insecurity, spike our hair with the gel of denial, continually seek out skate DVDs of acceptance, and take advantage of that seemingly-totally sweet summer sign twirling job for $9.25 an hour of inevitable discontentment with our jobs. You are us, yet you have chosen to brave the prying eyes of the public to bare what the rest of us keep inside. Thank you, apathetic high school skater sign twirler.

To the aspiring high school sign twirler: You are a beacon of hope in the darkness of our days. Your aspirations, your perpetual self-belief, and your back acne cream shine through your sun-bleached hoodie, announcing to the world that you will be something someday, just as each of us will become something, regardless of our current location. You remind us that even though the scope of our current lives may not extend beyond 2 large pizzas, 2 2-liter sodas, and 2 orders of garlic breadsticks for $22, we are smack dab in the middle of the hustling intersection that is life-complete. We’ve much to offer the world (take an extra $2 off with a coupon from the sign twirler) and we have much yet to take from it (endless awe, occasional jeers, and the even-less occasional and misguided tip). Thank you aspiring high school sign twirler.

To the “are you a homeless guy holding a rectangular piece of cardboard or an actual sign twirler?” sign twirler: Sometimes, we, the public at large, needs to be reminded that a big “eff you!” to the establishment is okay. Your irreverent mindset toward societal expectations of hygiene and kempt-ness connects with the rebel in each of us, the one we work so hard to repress but deep inside know will continue to fight and struggle not only against society, but against ourselves. Your scruff, at-times standoffish, at-times even more standoffish-to-the-point-of-threatening exterior helps us remember that we are much more than our corporeal manifestations let on, that under the scraggly beard lies skin that is purer than a newborn’s, fresher than the first spring raindrop, and most likely without any sores. You twirl your sign to be who you are, not to show who you are. And with that lesson, we are better people.

To the exhibitionist sign twirler: Whereas complete drunkenness and subsequent lack of inhibition leave us hollow and lacking the morning after, you, the exhibitionist sign twirler, show us that we can let go of all social tethers to break dance, pop and lock, robot, awkwardly writhe, misguidedly macarena, and/or minimally toe tap to our heart’s delight. You bask in the attention we pay, yet it is attention well-deserved as we are simply awestruck at this sadly foreign concept of “feeling the groove” wherever we may find ourselves. Thank you, exhibitionist sign twirler, for teaching us how to run like children again, mindless of how others judge. Also, thank you for reminding us that some people can be total douchebags. Some of you just dance with the signs to show off and prove to everyone (read: me) how much better of a dancer you are, how much sweeter your moves are, and how many more chicks you can get, even when you’re flipping around a giant sign that’s advertising an everything-must-go sale. I guess your classiness and sportsmanship is up for grabs at up to 80% off, too.

Again, thank you sign twirlers. You represent what we do not yet know but recognize we need. You smell of dignity, passion, and dedication, and we cannot help but breathe in deep and full the aroma that lingers in the just-dried hair that is your daily shift. We can but only hope to be mere shadows of your lives. Thank you.

Gratefully yours,

Everyone else

7:03 am:
hell’s not other folks
hell is your alarm beeping
out of your arm’s reach

7:18 am:
“sleep one more minute”
that sounded realistic
oh damn, big mistake

8:01 am:
cutting off your boss
to get into the right lane
makes things real awkward

8:07 am:
the fridge is too full
balance my food on others’
precariously

8:15 am:
sound of the alarm
still echoing in my ear
I feel so angsty

8:23 am:
the coffee’s not gone!
but it’s the same kind we’ve had
since august ’06

9:09 am:
the note from last week
is still on the bathroom wall
the problem has stopped

10:25 am:
ran into the boss
let him walk in front of me
can’t cut him off ‘gain

10:47 am:
why is green called “green?”
these are the things I wonder
when I am at work

11:52 am:
I must be butter
because I am so on a roll
productivity!

12:19 pm:
productivity
is dead. so hungry. need break
lunch – how convenient

12:33 pm:
my lunch tastes so good
pasta, veg, chicken medley
why am I so great?

12:34 pm:
free coke in the fridge
this is the way my workplace
shows me gratitude

1:45 pm:
smile and nod and smile
salespeople want this and that
sure, of course, I’ll try!

2:11 pm:
have a lot to do
put my head down, power through
5 o’clock soon ‘nough

2:48 pm:
so powering through
only lasted a half hour
I’m only human

3:00 pm:
two hours left – focus!
concentrate and get things done
oh, paris left jail!

3:47 pm:
having some coffee
in the afternoon feels wrong
like scotch before noon

4:59 pm:
another day done
another day that I’m paid
inadequately

if the phrase was “takes a cake,” I wouldn’t give this a second thought. but, no, the phrase is “takes the cake,” which I take to mean that the originator(s) of this idiom had a particular cake in mind. personally, I think that it had to be a cake that the he/she/they knew would have universal appeal, leading me to believe that this cake that is proverbially taken was a funfetti cake.

2) why does facebook tell you that you are online now when you’re logged in?

this is the retarded, useless, unjustified cousin of the “you are here” dots on mall maps. at least the mall dots tell you where you are rather than simply stating the fact that you are existent in the physical world. and really, I don’t think there is any good explanation for this other than the possibility (and a very good one, at that) that there are some incredibly dense, base people logged onto facebook. of course, were it not for this little reminder, they wouldn’t know it.

3) why do stripes have a slimming effect on everyone but me?

seriously, I see someone wearing pinstriped pants and their thighs look a little less thigh-y. I like pinstriped pants on myself – my magnificent rear (magnificent in mass, not in stature, character, or chiseled-ness) (heh, mass = m+ass) doesn’t look all that bad in them.

as for shirts, they just don’t work for me. I see someone wearing a vertically-striped shirt and they look like they’ve been practicing The Secret (read: complete horsepucky) and thinking of nothing but -8 pounds. I see myself in a vertically-striped shirt and I look like a jet stream diagram. the lines of the shirt just help people visualize the outline of my figure easier, which seriously diminishes the number of women who are inclined to mentally undress me.

oh well, if that’s the price I have to pay for taking the funfetti cake, so be it.

if you have answers to any of these questions, leave a comment. these are the questions that matter.

7:32 am:
eff eff eff eff eff
dammit I’m gonna be late
eff eff eff eff eff

7:38 am:
hot water feels good
still tired. don’t fall asleep in
the shower. again.

7:50 am:
should have ironed shirt
last night. can’t leave home wrinkled
damn my high standards

8:01 am:
even though I’m late
I’ll still rock out in my car
I’m best at air drums

8:16 am:
hope noone noticed
that I walked into a chair
my eyes are half closed

8:25 am:
empty coffee pot
seven syllable swear word
calm down. just make more

8:36 am:
hm, no new e-mails
feel kinda empty inside
does noone love me?

9:14 am:
women have it good
they can wear coulottes and shorts
the draft must be great

9:14 am:
guys are unlucky
pants can get stuffy. but man,
I look good in stripes

10:10 am:
third time to the pot
two packets splenda, creamer
go through the motions

10:49 am:
printer’s not working
system update is needed
uhoh, can’t work, darn.

11:15 am:
I’m told that there is
a passive-aggressive note
in the bathroom. grand!

12:38 pm:
it’s lunch time – awesome
three people, two microwaves
awkward pause. screw it.

12:48 pm:
why does tupperware
get stained by red pasta sauce?
this is serious

12:51 pm:
really, why does it?
it’s truly a bizarre thing
I should google this

1:07 pm:
sigh, the long march back
to my desk to continue
my corp’rate duties

1:27 pm:
my post-lunch coma
is rearing it’s sleepy head
give in to the warmth

1:33 pm:
must make itunes mix
to pump me up and wake me
pass on norah jones

1:41 pm:
went to the bathroom
the passive-aggressive note
was comedy GOLD

4:04 pm:
that itunes playlist
rocked so freakin hard. increased
productivity!

4:45 pm:
most everyone’s gone
so this is how it must feel
post nucle’r fallout

5:49 pm:
I can give up now
or finish this one last page
man up. just do it

5:52 pm:
just checked commute
regretting choice to man up
traffic just got worse

6:04 pm:
crank up the music
continue the air drumming
I’m unstoppable

6:08 pm:
dead stopped in traffic
wonder if guy next to me
has watched the notebook

6:32 pm:
finally at home
take off shoes, takes off pants, shirt
still lookin’ good, me

Anyway, perhaps my general unfamiliarity with this whole “Can I buy you a drink?” social script piqued my interest in the song “Buy U A Drank (Shawty Snappin’)” by T-Pain, featuring Yung Joc. I understood the gist of the song during my first listen, but was curious as to exactly what T-Pain was singing and Yung Joc was rapping. While Yung Joc’s verse of rap was surprisingly straight-forward and relatively airtight, T-Pain’s words left me with more questions than answers..

1. Ay Ay / She snappin / Ah she snappin / Shawty snappin’ / Snap ya fingers / Do the step / You can do it all by yourself

• Maybe I missed the memo, but when did snapping become acceptable – commendable even – in the club scene?

I can’t be the only one who associates snapping almost exclusively with the Sharks and the Jets. I’m not implying that snapping isn’t cool; after all, nearly every activity that can distinguish the cans from the can’ts is cool to some extent. But seriously, can anyone pinpoint the date, or week, or month, or even the fiscal quarter during which snapping became okay in a nightclub setting?

2. Baby girl / What’s your name? / Let me talk to you / Let me buy you a drink

• Is it that difficult to wait for a response?

Bro, I think the majority of people would agree with me that it’s standard social protocol to wait for an answer when you ask a question, especially one as foundational to a conversation as “What’s your name?” Perchance it’s just me who likes to know the name of the person I’m talking to.

On top of that, you ask to interact with her – the her who I guess you refer to as As-Yet-to-be-Identified Shawty – in two ways (talk with + buy drink for) in rapid fire mode. Give her some time to process, please! If you continue executing your conversational skills in this manner, you’re no different than that single, middle-aged, frazzly-haired woman who inevitably picks your line at the grocery store and machineguns her way through a one-way conversation with you while you’re dying to pay for your sorbet and get the hell out of there. No. Different. And last I heard, people like that aren’t too successful at picking up shawties in clubs.

3. I’m T-Pain / You know me / Konvict music / Nappy boy / ooh wee

• Is the“I’m Keith Hernandez” route the wisest way to go?

Imagine the embarassment if, despite the name and two-part self-description, the aforementioned AYTBI Shawty did not recognize T-Pain (though admittedly I find it incredibly difficult to believe that there’s anyone out there who wouldn’t be able to recognize the young man who sang the American classic, “I’m N Luv (Wit A Stripper)”). I have my reservations about seduction rhetoric based on the presumption of one’s own reputation, but I guess when you’re T-Pain (or Keith Hernandez, for that matter), you can do what you want, say what you want, and seduce the way you want simply because you’re your reputation incarnate.

4. I know the club close at 3 / What’s the chances of you rollin’ wit’ me / Back to the crib

• How does T-Pain wish to be given the odds?

a) a ratio (“3 to 1 says I will”)
b) a percentage (“75 percent, baby”)
c) qualitative description (“sky high, boo, sky high”)
d) filter questions (“What zip code do you live in? Do you have your own place? What are you expecting to accomplish if I do, in fact, roll with you back to your crib? How soon will you forget my name?”)
e) a pie chart

5. Show you how I live / Let’s get drunk and forget what we did

• Why bother showing the shawty how you live if you plan to forget everything?

Really, why bother. I anticipate that once you arrive at your place, you’d be pretty eager, if not downright anxious, to proceed with the assumed activities. Would showing the shawty your fine china and alphabetically-organized DVD rack really be the best use of your time? Didn’t think so. Oh, and you want to be forgettable? That’s a new one.

6. Im’a buy you a drank / ooh ooh / Im’a take ya home with me

• How does a “drank” differ from a “drink?”
• Is it prudent to assume that buying a drank will automatically allow you to take someone home?

I’m willing to concede that “drank” might just be a regional variation of “drink.” But then again, I can just as logically assume that it’s not a regional variation as so much it is slang for something else like “roofy-laced drink.” Also, establishing what seems to be a causal relationship between buying a drink for a shawty and taking her home lends a bit more weight to my second suggestion as to what “drank” means. I’m just sayin’.

7. I got money in the bank / Shawty, what you think ’bout that?

• What does she think about that?

Money. In the bank. What else is stored at the bank? I guess one could count safety deposit boxes with passports, social security cards, wills, and whatnot, but I don’t think that’s what T-Pain was referring to. Per T-Pain’s pretty straightforward observation, I don’t believe Shawty thinks all too much of it. Quantifying the amount of money (“lots,” “940 thousand, 300 dollars,” or “more than you can imagine”) may help to impress her.

8. Find me in the grey Cadillac

• Which grey Cadillac?

Have you ever been to a club with any less than four Cadillacs (I assume Escalades) in the parking lot? Exactly. Also, describing your sweet status-symbol SUV as plain “grey” probably won’t win you any marketing awards, or the attention of the shawty, for that matter. Cadillac’s two closest colors to “grey” are Gold Mist and Quicksilver. While referring to your car as “the Quicksilver one” may be equally lame, you can just as well describe it as “silver.” Also, telling her what model of Cadillac you’re in could help her locate you a bit faster.

9. We in the bed like / Ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh / We in the bed like / Ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh

• What was that you’re in the bed like again?

Yeah, “ooh ooh ooh” can represent carnal pleasure, but can’t it also reflect other bedroom activities? Activities like Jenga perhaps. There’s no doubt this game produces a lot of “OH!”s (right around the 15 second mark).

10. Talk to me / I talk back

• Should I be surprised?

Again, T-Pain graces us with blatant reminders of his normality. He possesses knowledge of when the club close[s], he uses the bank to store his money, and now: the man will talk to you if you talk to him. I’m unsure of the efficacy of this particular personal selling point.

11. Let’s talk money / I talk that

• Isn’t there a better topic of initial conversation than money?

Sure, we’re not to talk about religion or politics at the dinner table. And last I heard, there’s no widespread saying outlining the parameters for acceptable and tasteful club talk. But deliberately directing a conversation toward a certain topic because you can “talk that” seems a bit passive-dominant.

Even if we were to look past that, the versatility of money as a conversation topic seems iffy at best. Beyond boasting or lamenting about the amount of it you have, where it’s located (see point #7), and its smell, talking about money can get either incredibly boring or entirely too serious. A less-skilled conversationalist may panic after burning through the aforementioned topics and resort to asking about favorite anti-forgery measures, conspiracy theories behind the art of bill-folding, and feelings toward the government’s efforts to encourage the use of new dollar coins. An overly-skilled conversationalist may become trapped into thinking that sophistication means interest, deciding to fill silences with the up-to-the-minute currency exchange rates, the history of the dollar, and the pros and cons of the free market economy.

Either way, there are endless topics okay for the club scene – money doesn’t seem to be one of them (unless you’re giving it out; then we can reconsider).

12. Crunk juice bombs / Oakley shades / Shawty got class / Oh behave

• Is it just me, or have the standards of “class” depreciated like crazy since the last time I checked (about three months ago)?
• Who is being told to behave?

If all a shawty needs to have to be considered classy is crunk juice (I’m assuming this is the cocktail made of Hennessy and Red Bull rather than the trademarked energy drink from none other than Lil Jon) and Oakley sunglasses, my, has our idea of classiness changed. What’s a woman (or anyone, for that matter) wearing sunglasses in a club? It’s already pretty dark in there. And if flashing lights are bothersome, maybe a club isn’t the most ideal place to be.

Also, who’s the one being told to behave? Is it the shawty? If it were the shawty, this wouldn’t make much sense since classy woman rarely, if ever, need to be told to behave. Also, as the singer’s plans for the near future (see points #4, 5, 6, and 9) indicate, requesting that the shawty “behave” seems kinda counterintuitive. Maybe it’s the singer’s own carnal, lustful thoughts that are being told to behave. But come on, who are we kidding – I don’t think he’s trying to repress them. I guess this ambiguity is the ultimate beauty of lyric and melody.

13. Let’s get gone / Walk it out (now walk it out) / Just like that / That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout

• Walk it out?

Apparently, this is walking it out. And apparently, this is too.

14. We gon’ have fun / You gon’ see / On that patron / You should get like me

• Is he getting frustrated?

T-Pain seems to be getting a little defensive, if not indignant, about what I think have been his rejected proposals to buy a drink for a particular shawty. They’ll have fun, he says. She’ll see, he says. Did anyone ever tell him explicitly that he’s incapable of providing said fun? Didn’t think so, so what’s the deal with the preemptive “You’ll see!” sentiment?

Yes, you may have spent two verses and a chorus trying to convince a shawty to accept a drink from you, but that doesn’t mean she won’t. Chill out, T-Pain, maybe shawty’s just playing it cool. Or maybe she’s into chicks, in which case you’ve wasted a lot of time. But seriously, maybe she’s just trying not to look desperate. Maybe a fresh voice can convince her. Ah, and conveniently enough, Yung Joc steps in on your behalf. It’s good to have friends, isn’t it?

Though I’m left with all of these questions, maybe T-Pain is a lot more cunning than he seems. I’m left with a lot of open questions and I really do want to know the answers to them. Maybe he can give them to me, you know, over a drank.

7:52 am:
bird poop on my car
come on, I just got it washed
story of my life

8:01 am:
rock on, sign twirler
with your spins, flips, and iPod
keep doin’ your thang

8:07 am:
hey, leafblower man
how’s it going? looks like fun
they should pay you more

8:30 am:
question – should I write
a passive-aggressive note?
empty coffee pot

8:47 am:
dark side of the room
no, not a pink floyd album
just my sad workplace

9:49 am:
eyes hurt already
the computer monitor
is bright and blurry

11:10 am:
why hello, twix bar
choc’late car’mel cookie crunch
damn. next stop – my thighs

12:10 pm:
teriyaki bowl
special of the day, you say?
what a small serving

12:16 pm:
tufts of gray and white
no, not the clouds in the sky
some old guy’s chest hair

1:15 pm:
why do you look mad
you have coffee and cig’rettes
oh wait, you’re at work

1:42 pm:
sales guy in black suit
you sure do talk really loud
blah blah new jaguar

2:02 pm:
hello again, twix
you look as good as ever
no, I won’t give in

3:30 pm:
dark, empty, pitch black
it’s the back of my eyelids
ah! wake up! wake up!

3:48 pm:
check the paper tray
can’t someone else get paper?
i’m the paper bitch

5:30 pm:
oh blue clock-out screen
you stand for liberation
until tomorrow

5:41 pm:
large man in mini
that car’s much too small for you
you look so absurd

5:43 pm:
woman pulled over
cat on your car roof. what the -
do you need some help?

5:50 pm:
front door to my place
past your threshold I can nap
damn, bills came today

But within the past few months, I’ve learned many less-than-flattering facts about the Keystone State. The sheer number of stupid, sad things about this particular state is almost shocking. Appalling. Divinely uninspired even.

REASONS WHY PENNSYLVANIA SUCKS (part 1):

1. County Names

A) Washington County, Wyoming County, Delaware County, Indiana County, and [New] York County (circled in RED)

Don’t believe me? Check out the map.

Seriously, Pennsylvania? 4 1/2 of your counties share their name with other states? LAME. Everyone knows that states take precedence over counties when names overlap. Municipalities know this. Townships and boroughs know this. Even my immigrant parents know this.

B) Lycoming County (circled in BLACK)

Just because you replace the “W” in “Wyoming” with “Lyc” doesn’t mean that no one is going to notice your complete lack of creativity. And it’s only two counties over! If you’re going to pull a shenanigan like this, at least make sure there are at least four states separating Wyoming from Lycoming. That’s right – at least four.

C) Carbon County (circled in MAGENTA)

Yeah, I get it. Lots of coal. Carbon County. It makes sense, but in a way, it makes too much sense. As inane a name as it is, I’ll consider this a light infraction because three other states have a Carbon County (granted the other three states are Utah, Wyoming, and Montana).

D) Centre County (circled in BLUE)

Really thinking outside the box here, Pennsylvania. So this is where Penn St. is located. Can’t you commission its students to find one person interesting enough to name the county after? I’d fully support JoePa County.

Also, what was the rationale for not taking the name of Middle County? Too sexy?

E) Lebanon County (circled in GREEN)

From a strictly geographic standpoint, this would make Lancaster County Israel. Lancaster County was the site of the Christiana Incident of 1851, an attempt of a slaveowner to re-enslave four slaves who had escaped. Obviously Lebanon County took their name in order to indirectly correlate Lancaster County and its slavery-driven fiasco to the Israeli conflict.

Sounds pretty anti-zionist to me. Not cool, Pennsylvania. (okay, this was silly, but this entry isn’t tagged as “haphazard logic” for nothing).

2. The Amish

The Number One reason the United States of America is losing Operation Iraqi Freedom? You got it – the Amish. Had the Amish pulled their weight in war efforts, we’d have been out of the Middle East in March of ’06.

3. Florence Foster Jenkins

Consider her the William Hung of the first half of the 20th century. Born in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, her infamy has had a puzzling resiliency that’s spurred three plays about the tragecomedy that was her professional career. Warning: the following clip is NSFL(ife). But check it out anyway – this reason alone might be sufficient to prove the suckfest that is Pennsylvania.

4. Hershey’s / Hershey, Pennsylvania

For all the talk and concern about the obesity epidemic, both the town and company of Hershey seem to be making a pretty penny off the cocoa-based killer. Sure, Big Tobacco gets a bad rap for causing the deaths of millions of smokers, but why does Big Chocolate get off so easy?

[Edit: So it looks as if Hershey's isn't doing too hot.]

5. Chase Deer, Hit Deer, Kill Deer, Eat Deer

From MSNBC, courtesy of WGAL-TV:

LANCASTER, Pa. – A deer led police on a chase in Lancaster this morning. Police said an injured deer showed up at Shaub’s Shoe Store on the first block of North Queen Street around 6 a.m. Several cars had already hit the deer, so officers shot it. But it got up and ran to the King Street Parking Garage where it proceeded to run up to the third story.

Once there, the deer jumped from the third level and landed in the Lancaster Convention Center site, narrowly missing a construction worker. The deer died on impact.

A construction worker and foreman told News 8 that some of the workers took the deer and put in in a cooler. The workers said they plan to eat it.

Police said it’s the second incident involving a deer in the last week. On Thursday at noon, a deer ran into a cruiser at King and Prince streets. It dented the car in several places. That deer was also hit by cars and the officer had to shoot it.

Only in Pennsylvania.

And so there they are, the first five reasons why Pennsylvania sucks. There are, of course, a lot of reasons that support the sentiment that Pennsylvania indeed does not suck (read: Boyz II Men and the hilarity that is Billy King), which I’m okay with; I’m just not focusing on them.