Your city doesn't suck. Trust me.
Some cities have reputations for excelling in certain things. For instance, Philadelphia is world renowned for cheese steaks, Baltimore is known for its crabcakes, Kansas City porterhouse steaks are exceptional, and everyone knows about the San Francisco Treat (sodomy). These reputations are hallmarks of their locale; they are public testaments of the region's marked superiority in a particular field.
Terre Haute, IN is another city that can be included in this list. No other city, that I've ever visited, excels at sucking like Terre Haute. Sure, many other cities unquestionably suck, but the natives of Terre Haute have converted it into an artform. When it comes to crappiness, Terre Hautians bring their A game. For instance, take the name Terre Haute. It is actually a French term that roughly translates to "God Craps Here." I'd like to see Camden, NJ beat that.
Terre Haute's city planners have shown an unparalleled dedication to shittiness. It was sheer craptastic genius, to have a paper mill and a large sewage treatment plant located slightly upwind of the downtown district. As if this weren't sufficiently brilliant, they have figured out a way to make the smells alternate by block (raw sewage/paper mill stench/raw sewage...) as you travel on the major north-south thoroughfare. I think that this feat of fecal engineering will be studied for years to come.
The Terre Haute Chamber of Commerce certainly does its part, by only recruiting employers who pay $10/hour. Telemarketing and retail have replaced manufacturing as the primary economic staple, which gives Terre Haute that authentic Ugandan Civil War look which they have come to cherish. To complete the misery, many of the remaining local employers have converted their workforces over to temporaries or illegal aliens, in order to cut down on those bothersome benefit expenditures. You have to admire that kind of wire-to-wire thoroughness.
For the traveler who is determined to make their journey an excremental one, there is the Terre Haute International Airport. It is a state of the art aviation facility which provides domestic and international jet service to absolutely nowhere. The only other remaining form of public transportation is Greyhound: Travel Partner of the Criminally Insane. Of course, as any Terre Hautian will tell you, the occasional axe murdering is a small price to pay to be elsewhere.
The natives of Terre Haute complete the aura of total turdularity. When they are not consuming methamphetamine, they are transporting methamphetamine, selling methamphetamine, or purchasing methamphetamine. Unless, of course, they are manufacturing methamphetamine. To be fair, there is a faction of the population that is not typified by an average episode of Cops or Jerry Springer. This faction has, apparently, angered God and received Terre Haute as their penance. One of the repentant, has even started a website which is aptly titled: terrehautesucks.com. On this site's discussion board, residents argue about what aspect of Terre Haute life sucks worse and what the best method of escape might be.
I was fortunate enough to escape Terre Haute, after a 9 month sentence. Even though I'm over 600 miles away, when the winds are from the west, I can almost smell it calling me back.