You don't have to be told what Aksarben is or that it's Nebraska spelled backwards.

You take pride in knowing that on Saturdays, the University of Nebraska football stadium is the third largest city in the state.

You lie to other Nebraskans about being from Omaha.

Kitty Clover potato chips and Roberts Milk were the best part of the meal.

You know how to pronounce Beatrice, Norfolk and Kearney.

Back East means Chicago.

You know that U.P. isn't an order.

When people talk about a fly-over state, you think they're talking about the pheasant season.

You think pheasants are the most beautiful birds in the world and you wish you could shoot more of them.

You're proud that you have the only unicameral legislature in the country.

You wonder what really goes on in those bicameral legislatures, anyway.

You know that the statue on the dome of the state capital is actually sowing seed-not bowling.

You're proud that Nebraska isn't one of those square states like Wyoming or Colorado.

You know that "penis of the plains" is an affectionate nickname for the state capital building and not any of the state legislators.

You can drive through towns like Wahoo with a straight face.

You don't associate trees with national forests.

You miss the hog reports on the radio, even though you never owned any.

You don't have to be told what "knee high by the Fourth of July" refers to.

You can't figure out why Johnny Carson left in the first place.

You think Highway 6 is more scenic that I-80, which you think is the best thing to come out of Iowa.

You can drive from Grand Island to North Platte without falling asleep.

You know that Grand Island has nothing, really, to do with water-except the Platte River, which doesn't really count.

You have signed a petition demanding sainthood for Tom Osborne.

You are still surprised when radio stations don't include polka on the top 40.

You know that people from Oklahoma and Colorado all married their second cousins, do drugs, can't read the labels on a Coors can and are the reasons that someone needs to clean up the gene pool.

You can still see the ruts of the Oregon Trail in your backyard and keep promising the wife that you'll get them fixed.

You don't understand why other states even bother to try raising beef.

You believe that the worst steak in Nebraska is still better than any other steak any where.

You believe that vegetarians should be banned in Nebraska

The smell of a feedlot is really the smell of money.

The smell of an alfalfa plant in full production can bring tears to your eyes.

You really believe there is no place like Nebraska. And you are right.