Michigan 1:3

A letter from Mikey, to the people of Michigan culled from the events of 1995.
Well, would you look at this bunch of crybaby, green faced, spine slouching, pick up truck drivers.
A wind of whining seems to be slapping me in the face regularly. I will point it out to you once again, though you will not find it unfamiliar.
"OHHHHH, I've got to go to work, I hate going to work."
and if unemployed.
"OHHHHH, I've got to file for unemployment, I hate filing for unemployment."
Which will you choose, you lameoids. Will you squander what few gifts remain with you in your frozen, talent free tundra, scarfing down cheetoes and calling Marvin on the first Monday of the month?
Choose or loose my friends, your life slips from you like a football in the hands of Eric Hipple or Eric Kramer. You are without direction.
Every day that I spend traveling throughout this great blessed land, your sins against your beating hearts is magnified an exponent more. Imagine the thousands of losing lottery tickets that wouldn't be found in your city streets if each of you simply cared to hope.
Imagine.