Here's another thing about Delaware. You can't smoke. In. The. Whole. State. Now, I'm not going to bother ridiculing the nico-nazis who have seen fit to ban smoking in yankee stadium (god those clouds really gather in the open air, don't they) or in bars (bars are where you go to be healthy, right?) because it's all too obvious and tedious. But Delaware. If you are lucky enough to have never seen Delaware, let me enlighten you. Take Pennsylvania and remove the wit and aesthetic charm. A screen door factory would actually be an improvement to the skyline, which as far as I can tell is mainly comprised of strip malls, bait stands and that scary-ass farm equipment that looks like it was stolen from the set of Wicker Man. This place would _benefit_ from a nice thick cloud of ash. Delaware is where Mets fans go to die. Oddly enough, in DC, where you'd probably have to hire a midget for your basketball team in the interests of fairness and equity, you can smoke just about everywhere. Maybe I shouldn't point this out- I wouldn't want to draw attention to it. Next time I go to Delaware I'm bringing a crack pipe, a hookah and a respirator. Bastards.