09/05/2026
At this point, Pennsylvania isn’t a state. It’s a swamp with a Sheetz every six miles. It’s rained so much the last two months I saw a groundhog paddling a kayak down Broad Street. My basement has more water than Lake Wallenpaupack, and nobody in this Commonwealth has had dry socks since June.
You can’t even tell what season it is anymore. One minute it’s 87° and humid enough to breathe through a straw. Twenty minutes later it’s 72°, raining sideways and your phone is screaming about another weather alert.
Scranton has moss growing on the potholes. Harrisburg looks like Seattle’s depressed cousin. Pittsburgh hasn’t seen the sun since the last Steelers playoff win. An Amish buggy hydroplaned in Lancaster. Knoebels is about three storms away from selling ponchos with the pierogies. SEPTA is considering replacing shuttle buses with canoes.
Primanti Bros. is serving sandwiches with snorkels. Terrible Towels have been replaced by ShamWows. Wawa needs to put floaties next to the Tastykakes.
If it rains one more time, I’m throwing in the towel.
Unfortunately, the towel is already soaked.
Welcome to Pennsylvania: where summer 2026 was apparently sponsored by mildew and thunderstorms.
