Things TV Has Taught Me: Small Towns Kill.

Never, never, ever, ever live in a small town. Small towns got bad juju. If you die in a small town you gonna die in a strange way, like from an exotic disease carried only by a beetle larva found in lower Burundi, or you will be killed in an overly complex love triangle involving several generations of back story (which in turn require several flashbacks) the horse trainer, the butler's degenerate niece - who happens to be the gardener's illegitimate cousin - and your great-aunt. Especially avoid all towns with Angela Lansbury. And if by a horrible twist of fate you do live near her, DON'T MEET HER. Knowing her is like the kiss of death; have you seen her show? Good lord. Knowing her and having the slightest rouge of a scandal are her town's most reliable predictors of an early death, so for god's sake, always do your homework yourself and go to church every week or you're gonna get it.
I'm telling you, don't live in a small town. I know this because I've been watching ungodly amounts of television lately and I'm an expert: Don't move to small towns! Doooooon't!! They're death traps for the quaint and relaxed. Green Valley's motto should be: We're the real Death Valley! Just stay the hell away, people. Stay the hell away.