Indiana Motherfucker

I really love my state. My friend came and visited me from Colorado. He flew a plane over to Indiana, where I've lived all my life. I was happy to see him, of course, but he looked a little downtrodden. 
"What's the matter?" I asked him.
"Nothing, it's just that I miss my state already."
I sighed. I knew he wouldn't understand the Hoosier lifestyle. I was going to have to show him around.
After we left the airport, we walked over by a cornfield, and I pulled out some corn and showed it to him.
"We grow a lot of corn here." I said proudly, holding it all angles so he could see it. "This one's sweetcorn. It's gonna be a tasty corn cob one day! Heh heh heh..."
My friend didn't look impressed. 
"Yeah, I guess it will..."
Later on, we went to a basketball arena. We walked inside and I showed him the court.
"This was the court they used in the 1986 movie Hoosiers. It's a great story about basketball starring Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper..."
"Yeah, I haven't seen it... I've heard of it in Colorado though."
I groaned. He was never going to understand the epic stories of Indiana.
After we walked around a bit, I took him into an old building, and started to draw a pentagram on the floor.
"What are you doing?" my friend asked me, squinting his eyes.
"I'm going to show you something cool..." I said back with a smile. "Watch this..."
I placed an apple seed, a cob of corn, a John Mellencamp CD, René-Robert Cavelier's clothes he wore in 1673, and a basketball in the pentagram, and started saying a magic spell, combined with a rap number.
"...Indiana Motherfucker! Indiana Motherfucker! Indiana! Indiana! Indiana is for Hoosiers, other states are for losers...... Indiana is my recommendation, Indiana is a good place for a vacation...... Indiana is... is....."
I stopped, because strange things started happening. I started seeing freaky shit.
The ghosts of Orville Redenbacher, Michael Jackson, Johnny Appleseed, James Dean, former president Benjamin Harrison, Eli Lilly, Shannon Hoon, James Whitcomb Riley, Cole Porter, Colonel Sanders (the chicken man), Wilbur Wright, and WWE's "The Ultimate Warrior" all flew down from heaven and killed my friend from Colorado!
"What are you doing, young man?" Orville asked me. "Would you like some popcorn?"
"No..." I said, scared for my life. "Why did you kill him?!"
"He was a Hoosier Hater," Michael Jackson's ghost said with a frown. "We all come from this beautiful state, do we not? Why should anyone who hates it come into it so shamefully?"
"That's right... you have a point." I said, looking over at Colonel Sanders, who started to speak.
"If I were you, son, I wouldn't mention this to anybody. Also, don't go to the south-side KFC in Indianapolis. It's a darn shame what they did to my recipes..."
"When my brother and I flew in our plane for the first time," Wilbur Wright began, cutting off the chicken man. "I didn't ever think that this place would mean so much to so many people. You should join our club when you're dead."
"Thanks," I said, smiling a bit. "But you killed my friend, so I might have to decline..." 
"Think about it, then, you'll have all of eternity to!" Benjamin Harrison chortled. The other ghosts laughed, and they all flew away, presumably back to the afterlife.
"What the shit just happened?" I cried out.
In an instant, the door to the old building was kicked in, and in marched Mick Foley, David Letterman, Jenna Fischer, Janet Jackson, Adam Driver, Mike Pence, Axl Rose, David Lee Roth, Tony Stewart, Izzy Stradlin, Larry Bird, Joshua Bell, and at the end of the line, the goddamn creator of Garfield, Jim Davis.
"What the-!" I cried, but David Letterman cut me off.
"We are like you. We're Hoosiers with a goal. With a purpose. We are Hoosiers who have never forgotten our roots. Indiana Motherfucker!"
David Letterman started doing a dance that looked like it was out of a shitty videogame. This had to be a dream. There was no way this could be happening.
"This isn't a dream, dude." Mick Foley said to me, seemingly reading my mind. "Next to Steve Austin, I was one of the toughest bastards in WWE..."
"Yeah, but how did you know about my chant, and the summoning of the ghosts?" I asked.
"It called out to us... we came here as soon as we felt the vibrations in our brains." Mick said, patting me on the shoulder. "You've got some real moxie to make the ghosts take out the Hoosier hater..."
"I didn't do it. The ghosts did it on their own." 
The rest of the famous Hoosiers laughed. 
"Well, if that were the case, why were you so mad at your friend for not liking Indiana?" Janet Jackson said with a grin. "You wanted to kill him, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't... I swear... I'm an Indiana Motherfucker, I love my homies..."
"You know why I hate Mondays so much?" Jim Davis said, holding up his hand like he wanted permission to hold the floor. "I made Garfield hate Mondays because I hate them too. Wait... TODAY is Monday! Argh...."
"What did that have to do with anything?" I asked him while squinting and shaking my head really fast, except... I started to feel lighter.
"What's going on? Answer me!"
Nobody moved. They all kept looking at me. The room started to get brighter, and brighter, until I felt myself laying on something.
"Huh..." I said, rolling around in a bed. I popped my eyes open.
What the... I thought to myself, and I had checked my phone. I recently got a bunch of text messages from my friend from Colorado:
sup indiana motherfucker?
so what you doin?
r you asleep bro?
dude hello?
you gonna come get me from the airport, I've been here for 3 hours
I hate indiana lol
Looking at these texts made me annoyed, and made me think of killing that idiot for insulting my Hoosier pride. I slipped a knife into my pocket and drove off to the airport.
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