1.The Commonwealth of Kentucky is a southern border state. Many famous artists, writers and media celebrities hail from Kentucky. It is known for horses, bourbon, basketball and southern hospitality. People are friendly and polite. In areas such as Lexington and Louisville a metropolitan, artsy culture prevails. In rural areas a friendly down-home culture produces delicious cooking.
2.A state that knows how to party.
3.Home to a college basketball dynasty.

Lextown aka Lexington, Kentucky. Home of the University of Kentucky Wildcats, Keeneland Horsepark, and many very fucking expensive thoroughbred race horses.

A town of about 200,000 people who possess the mental and cultural capacity to appreciate only three things: 1) college basketball, 2) horse racing, and 3) themsevles.

A kind of pseudo-Southern-gentility exists among the town's wealthy elite, trickling down into the abhorent, God-fearing middle class, 90% of which have locked themselves in gated suburbia if only to avoid any contact with a massive population of the working poor.

Originally, Lexington was setlled in 1784 by syphillitic Baptists fleeing the emerging metropolis of Louisville. Once settled, the town wasted no time in developing a foundation for its primary export: horses. The elitie gentry that resulted from a rash of illegal land claims moved quickly to establish this fledgling industry by breeding these animals with a vigor that would not be seen again until Adolf Hitler defined his genetic criteria for a "master race".

Eventually, this equine-frenzy resulted in the creation of a quasi-Satanic horse cult. Rituals were held on Keeneland, the town's sole horse track, and virgin sacrifces coincided with the wxing and waning of the moon. Word of these murders and assorted acts of bestiality spread, and eventually a local militia arrived to occupy city hall. To this day, the hereditary effects of syphillis and ritual animal sodomy are celebrated twice a year with races held at Keeneland.

During the Civil War, while Kentucky was split over its allegiances, Lexingtonians decided it would be a good...

They are pimps from the whitest of white families. They are cool because they wear aviators. These pimps can be found lurking th hallways of highschools or other areas that they would least likely get shot in. These Pimps wear polos of many colors, preferred ones are: bright purple, bright pink, and the occasional white "Lacoste". Their pants are typically Khakis that have absolutely no defects in them and are worn just above the buttcrack so not to give the impression of sagging. They will Alway, I repeat ALWAYS have a can of Skoal in their back left...occasionally back tight pocket. Another must is that they must be seen at all times with a girl that everyone knows, this must be done in order to give off the impression that they have "their little boos". Their voice must be a low C at all times in order to give the impression that their balls are hanging lower than their ankles. Everyone of these pimps can be found at
a.Keeneland
b.Keeneland
c.A Lacrosse Field
Should you ever confront a pimp of this sort DO NOT walk up to them and try to ask them how they did at the race track. Chances are...they own it. Want to be one of these? I highly suggest that you do not go down this path but if you choose so you can start by retrieving a hat from a college that is in timbucktoo and this must have the flattest bill in the earth. You can place it on your head in the fasion that makes it look like a

The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home
Tis summer, the darkies are gay
The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in bloom
While the birds make music all the day
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor
All merry, all happy and bright
By 'n by hard times come a-knocking at the door
Then my old Kentucky home good night

Weep no more, my lady
Oh, weep no more, today
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home
For the old Kentucky home far away.

They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon,
On meadow, the hill and the shore,
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by that old cabin door.

The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,

With sorrow where all was delight.

The time has come when the darkies have to part,

Then my old Kentucky home, good night.

The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
Wherever the poor folks may go
A few more days and the trouble will end,
In the field where sugar-canes may grow.
A few more days for to tote the weary load,
No matter, 'twill never be light
A few more days till we totter on the road,
Then my old Kentucky home, good night.

THE BEST DAMN PLACE TO LIVE, right here in KENTUCKY