Ah, Missouri—the Show-Me State, where the weather can’t commit, the barbecue is sacred, and half the state says “Missour-ee” while the other swears by “Missour-uh.” We’re stuck in the middle of everything: the map, the Midwest/South identity crisis, and an ongoing feud between Kansas City and St. Louis that could start a civil war over toasted ravioli and burnt ends. If you haven’t grumbled about these Missouri-specific struggles, friend—you might just be visiting.
The Weather Being Drunk 90% of the Time
Snow on Monday, tornado watch on Tuesday, sunburn by Friday. Welcome.
No One Agreeing on How to Pronounce “Missouri”
It’s a never-ending debate and a secret handshake all in one.
Kansas Trying to Claim Kansas City
Sorry, Kansas. You get the name. We get the barbecue, the culture, and the bragging rights.
Being Asked If You’re From “Misery”
Oh, you’re the first person to make that joke. Truly.
Potholes That Could Swallow a Show-Me-sized Ego
Honestly, they might be portals to Arkansas. We haven’t tested it yet.
People Sleeping on St. Louis Toasted Ravioli
It’s fried, it’s beautiful, and if you dip it in marinara wrong, we will judge you.
Being in Tornado Alley Without the Glory
We don’t get the movie deals or storm-chasing fame—just the sirens and roof damage.
Branson Traffic Being a Special Kind of Punishment
If the neon signs and bumper-to-bumper tour buses don’t break you, Yakov Smirnoff just might.
Everyone Thinking It’s Just “Flyover Country”
Fly over us one more time and you’ll miss the world’s largest rocking chair and a gas station with 47 kinds of jerky.
Humidity That Punches You in the Face
You walk outside in July and instantly become a human swamp.
Getting Stuck Behind a Tractor on a Two-Lane Highway
You’ll be late. It’s just your fate now.
The Constant Battle of BBQ Bragging Rights
Kansas City BBQ isn’t food—it’s a religion. Just don’t bring up Memphis unless you’re ready to throw hands.
Sure, we Missourians love to complain—about the roads, the pronunciation debates, and the fact that we can’t ever figure out what season it is—but we wouldn’t trade our state pride, quirky charm, or barbecue-soaked identity for anything. Complaining here is just part of the culture—served with a side of baked beans and a weather alert.
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