A four-street shithole in the northern panhandle of West Virginia. Founded in 1905 when a man named Newell gave up his last
hope of finding anywhere decent to live and settled down with a one-eyed, toothless, backwoods woman and produced Newell’s first official
retard. Newell’s two claims to fame are its large population of
mullet-wearin', wall-eyed,
gun-totin’, tobacky-chewin’ illiterates; and the presence of Mountaineer, a gaming resort filled with coffin dodgers and welfare cases spending their gubment checks and shitting themselves because they don’t want to leave the nickel slot machines. Outsiders often hear the
sound of “Dueling Banjoes” in their heads when driving through it.
Outsider: What the fuck is that? Banjo
music?
Newellite 1: What's he sayin’,
Cletus?
Newellite 2: Cecil, you know I don't know forrin’.
(
Newell, WV)