Spokane

You know that a city is truly awful when, even on the main street, buildings are boarded up and the parking lots boasting the most cars are Goodwill, Pawn One, the army surplus and Spokane Discount. That’s right; Spokane Discount. This town is trash. Another good indicator of trashdom is when the prize for being the twentieth caller to the local Top 40 station is a free tattoo at Silver Safari. And what does the dumb cow who wins want to get emblazoned on her skin? “Cherries!” she cries. “On the back of my neck!” I guess that will look really good when you’re lining up at Social Security with your two grade-schoolers, eight months preggers, Ford Pinto rotting outside with a “This is America! Speak English!” bumper sticker stuck on its ass. Don’t for a second imagine that you could leave your snotty offspring in the car, however, because Spokane has enough registered sex-offenders per capita to keep the Spokesman Review’s opinion page occupied until the next time a homophobic mayor solicits local high school boys online. I’m sorry, did I get a little off track? The only track I’m really interested in is I-90 West. Let me reiterate: I hate Spokane.

People who use the work "Spokompton" to describe this awful hell-hole are usually not trying to be clever or bad-ass. They're most likely just trying to explain how ghetto Spokane is. "Spokrapton" is my personal favorite and I like to think I made it up, but I imagine others have come up with this monkier before.

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