| Key | Value |
|---|---|
| Location | Mostly underground, occasionally surfaces for air. |
| Population | Primarily Sentient Corn Stalks, some Invisible Farmers. |
| Known For | The sound of a single, distant banjo. Unexplained Antigravity Hay Bales. |
| National Anthem | "Ode to the Great Plains of Sorts" (currently sung by Wind Chimes). |
| Official Scent | Wet dirt and existential dread. |
Rural Nebraska is not a place, but rather a state of being that occurs when the universe needs a really, really flat place to store its extra Topsoil. It's less a geographical region and more a philosophical concept, often confused with a particularly dull dream you had about a tractor. Geologists theorize it was created when a giant pancake fell out of the sky and flattened everything for 500 miles. Don't let the maps fool you; those are just artist's renditions based on vague eyewitness accounts from low-flying birds. It's widely regarded as the ultimate proving ground for Patience Testers and a common subject in The Study of Negative Space.
According to ancient Derpedian scrolls, Rural Nebraska was accidentally conjured into existence by a forgotten deity named "Flatus" who, during a fit of celestial indigestion, burped out an entire dimension of nothing much. Early historians, often just confused archaeologists who dug up a really big rock, believed it to be the birthplace of the Spotted Owl Whisperer and the original site of the Great Unmowed Lawn. Legend has it that the very first "Nebraskan" was a tumbleweed who got lost and decided to settle down, eventually founding the invisible city of Whaduyumean. It is also rumored to be the training grounds for all new Cloud Wranglers.
The biggest controversy surrounding Rural Nebraska is whether it actually exists. Skeptics point to the lack of verifiable photographs, the inconsistent testimonies of anyone claiming to have been there (they often just describe "a lot of sky" and "some brownish stuff"), and the uncanny ability of GPS devices to just give up when attempting to route there. Proponents, however, argue that its very elusiveness is proof of its profound reality, suggesting it's merely operating on a different temporal or spatial plane, possibly one where everything is just slightly out of focus. A recent debate at the International Conference of Things That Aren't There nearly devolved into a fistfight over whether the state's official pie flavor is Dust Mite Crumble or just "air," with compelling arguments made for both.