Back in 1831, when Lorancie Schellhous was tasked with naming a charming little Michigan settlement, he didn’t overthink it. Instead, he cracked open a dusty dictionary, pointed his finger at the first word he saw, and voilà! “Colon” it was.
Why “Colon”? Well, according to Schellhous, it’s a punctuation mark that represents a pause longer than a comma but shorter than a period. Clearly, he thought this modest punctuation gem had just the right pizzazz for a bustling village. It’s hard to say if he realized people might think a little too much about… the other kind of colon.
The name “Canadian, Texas” might make you think of Mounties and maple syrup, but this little Panhandle town’s name has nothing to do with our northern neighbors. Instead, it gets its name from the Canadian River, which meanders nearby.
Early settlers in the late 1800s likely thought the river’s name had a certain ring to it. But here’s the kicker — even the river isn’t remotely Canadian. Some historians believe it got its name from French explorers, who called it “Rivière aux Canadiens,” referring to French-speaking settlers they encountered. Somewhere along the way, the name stuck, much to the confusion of everyone.
The name "Satans Kingdom" in Vermont is as delightfully dramatic as it sounds. This unincorporated community in Leicester, Addison County, earned its devilish titile due to its rocky, unforgiving soil, which made farming a near-impossible task.
Imagine a hopeful settler arriving with dreams of lush, fertile fields, only to be greeted by stubborn rocks and hills. In a fit of frustration (and perhaps a touch of theatrical flair), someone decided this land was more suited for the devil than for plows and crops. And thus, Satans Kingdom was born—a name that has since become a quirky badge of honor for the area.
Accident, Maryland, got its name in the most appropriately ironic way possible. Back in the late 1700s, two land surveyors, George Deakins and his buddy Mr. Luck (yes, really), were tasked with dividing up the frontier land. Deakins picked a plot he thought was prime real estate, but in true “oops” fashion, so did Luck—which turned out to be the exact same spot. Naturally, they both declared, "I found it first!" like toddlers fighting over the last cookie.
When the dust settled, someone wryly suggested calling it "Accident," because, well, it was clearly one big mistake. Surprisingly, the name stuck, and the town was born. Today, Accident is a charming little place that fully leans into its quirky name.
You might think that the folks in Bangs, Texas, might be passionate about hair care, but the town actually got its name for reasons other than luscious locks.
In reality, Bangs, Texas, owes its name to Samuel Bangs, a printer who helped during the Texas Revolution and received land as a reward. The funny part? Samuel Bangs never set foot in Bangs! Legend has it, he got the news about his land grant and looked at a map, mumbling, “Yep, that’s far enough from here.”
The name "Monkey's Eyebrow" in Kentucky is as quirky as it is memorable, and its origins are steeped in local lore and a healthy dose of imagination. One popular theory suggests that the town's location on a crescent-shaped hill, known as Beeler Hill, resembled a monkey’s eyebrow when viewed from a distance.
Another tale involves a traveling salesman who likened a bush-covered road bank in the area to—you guessed it—a monkey’s eyebrow. Clearly, someone in the early 20th century had a flair for creative comparisons.
Long before anyone thought of Slaughterville as a real place, James Slaughter decided to open a humble grocery store in early 20th-century Oklahoma. Was it the sort of establishment offering fantastic deals and friendly chats? Likely. Did his last name become the town's legacy? Absolutely. And no, there were no mass butcheries involved, despite what your overly creative imagination might suggest.
Fast forward a bit, and Slaughterville became a place of proud peculiarity. Come for the rural charm, stay for the dose of dark humor baked into the town's very name. Even PETA once tried to rename it "Veggieville" (seriously!). But Slaughterville stood its ground, proving it might be the only place where both country living and clever irony peacefully coexist.
You’d be forgiven for thinking Texas, New York, is home to cowboys or ten-gallon hats, but its story is slightly less Wild West and a bit more "Oops, we need a new name.” Originally called Vera Cruz, this hamlet had a rough go in the 1800s, including a disastrous fire in 1820 that wiped out much of the settlement.
Looking to rebuild—not just physically but also in spirit—the townsfolk decided a rebranding was in order. With the actual Texas territory freshly making waves, and probably because "Texas" had a nice ring to it, this Oswego County spot borrowed the name and hoped to channel some of that big, bold energy.
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico – possibly the most peculiar name in the Southwest. But how did this sleepy hot springs town end up with such a moniker?
There was a popular radio game show back then, aptly called Truth or Consequences, led by host Ralph Edwards. For the show’s 10th anniversary, Ralph Edwards decided to throw an offer out into the ether. Any town in America willing to rename itself “Truth or Consequences” would get a live broadcast of the show and some stellar publicity. The town of Hot Springs, New Mexico, bit the quirky bait. And just like that, a radio prank led to a town's forever identity. No regrets yet!
Deep in the heart of Texas lies a tiny unincorporated community with a name that always gets a chuckle – Ding Dong. But how did this Lone Star State gem acquire such a whimsical name? Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with a doorbell...or a prepackaged dessert!
Back in the 1930s, Bert and Zulis Bell owned a general store in the area. When they decided to put up a sign to advertise the business, they called on a painter named C.C. Hoover. Naturally, Hoover got creative. Instead of the standard-issue “Bell’s Store” sign, he painted a pair of bells and, in the spirit of fun, added the words “Ding” and “Dong” beneath them. The quirky signage caught on, and eventually, the community itself adopted the catchy name.
Tucked away in North Carolina, Whynot holds a name as unique as its small-town charm. But how did it end up with such a "questionable" name? The story harks back to the 1860s when area residents were deciding on a name for their community. Naturally, a debate ensued. Ideas were tossed around, and like many town meetings, the discussion got long-winded. Opinions clashed, frustration brewed, and folks just couldn’t seem to agree.
After what probably felt like an eternity, one tired soul – possibly exasperated or just trying to inject some humor into the situation – quipped, “Why not just call the place Whynot and be done with it?” The suggestion stuck. And so, the name Whynot was born, proving once again that sometimes the quickest way out of a debate is with a clever, offhanded remark.
The name "Bald Head" in Maine is as straightforward as it is amusing. This coastal village in York County owes its moniker to a nearby rock formation, aptly named Bald Head Cliff.
The cliff’s smooth, bare surface, devoid of any vegetation, apparently reminded early settlers of—you guessed it—a bald head. It’s as if Mother Nature decided to give the landscape a clean shave, leaving behind a geological cue ball.
The name “Coward, South Carolina” might raise a few eyebrows, especially since it’s the kind of name that could make a town sound, well, less than brave. But don’t judge this charming spot too quickly!
The town isn’t a tribute to timidity; it’s actually named after a man. William J. Coward, a local landowner in the late 1800s, lent his surname to the town when a post office was established. Poor Mr. Coward probably had no idea his name would someday leave people chuckling and imagining timid townsfolk.
Utopia, Ohio, is a tiny town with a very big name to live up to. It was founded in 1844 by followers of French philosopher Charles Fourier, who had some wildly optimistic ideas about humanity’s ability to achieve perfect harmony, possibly involving synchronized beekeeping and communal living.
These early settlers named the place “Utopia” as they set out to build their ideal society, presumably imagining endless feasts and singalongs under the stars. Unfortunately, Fourier’s starry-eyed plans didn’t include a crash course in economics or weather-proofing for Ohio River floods. After just a few years, the whole dream dissolved faster than a sugar cube in tea.
Oblong, Illinois, is proof that sometimes inspiration for place names comes from sheer geometry. Back in the 1800s, when settlers laid eyes on the unusually shaped prairie, someone must have declared, “Well, it’s oblong… so, Oblong it is!” And thus, a town was born on this oblong-shaped plot of land.
Before this stroke of nomenclature genius, however, they briefly went with "Henpeck," a nod to Henry Peck’s general store at the town crossroads. While “Henpeck” certainly had its charms, especially for poultry enthusiasts, the townsfolk eventually went with the more, um, rounded choice. Well, rectangular, technically.
Nestled in the rugged beauty of Arizona, Top-of-the-World earned its ambitious name in a way that’s both optimistic and delightfully ironic. Originally tied to a 1922 camping and recreation facility perched high on US-60, the name suggested breathtaking views and lofty adventures.
And yes, while the elevation is notable, at 4,528 feet, it might not have exactly earned the title of “king of all peaks.” But hey, if you’re rolling into town from the flatlands, it probably did feel like the top of something. Bravo, marketing team of the 1920s.
The town's name is apparently an American Indian term that means "owl's hoot," though it has many other competing definitions. We'd probably change the towns name.
This Kentucky town's name has a much more tame meaning than you may imagine. A knob is another name for a prominent hill, and a lick is a small transient stream. It makes you wonder why the town ever changed its name from Knob Creek—or Antioch, for that matter.
The German immigrants were probably giving the area a compliment when they named it after Vienna, Austria. Unfortunately, "w" and "v" are different sounds in English. Interestingly enough, the city is known for the Arkansas Rice Festival every October. Clearly, they missed their hot dog calling.
This town used to be called Mayamus and Upper Landing but changed in the late '70s. The town has an elementary school, and that’s about it. It's so small it doesn’t even have its own zip code. The town was originally started to be a community for families of World War II veterans.
Would you be able to tell people what town you lived in with a straight face? With less than 300 residents, it’s no surprise that this place got so run down. Some people in Boody didn’t even have running water until 2007, and the old elementary school went up for sale as a five-bedroom house.
Toad Suck is an unincorporated community, meaning it’s governed by the larger Faulkner county area instead of by its own local municipal corporation. It’s a tiny town situated on the Arkansas River and holds the popular Toad Suck Daze annual fair. The name comes from prohibition days when people would go to a tavern hidden on the river and “suck on a bottle so much they swell up like a toad.”
This town was named after the indigenous Kickapoo tribe, and the name means “wanderer.” This is another town that’s so small it doesn’t even have a post office. The name might sound funny, but it’s full of a rich history that should be remembered.
Don’t worry; the town isn’t crawling with worms, it was named after Worms, Germany. This place was established as a Lutheran community and is now too small to even have its own post office. It was originally had a large European immigrant population in the 1850s, including people from Poland, Denmark, Norway, and Ireland.
Just imagine what the police cars look like for this town. Named after P. P. Creek, the name comes from when an early settler carved the initial P. P. on a tree. While it has its own post office, you’d have a hard time finding things to do in this tiny township.
This isn’t technically a town, it’s another unincorporated community that’s governed by the Chester County. The population is less than 100, and the town has no stop lights, street signs, or post office. There’s even an old two-room schoolhouse that got turned into the Sweet Lips Grocery store.
No, the town was not named for its large population of crazy people. This small Texas city was named after John Looney, who owned a store there in the 1870s. It used to be a cozy place for settlers to come and earn an honest living, but now the population is so small there isn’t even a post office or a school. Now, only a church remains because the building Looney’s store was in caught on fire in recent years.
This is another example of a town with a name that would look hilarious on police cars. The name comes from the word “Boogie Man,” referring to the dozen murders the small township experienced in 1917. This is one rural area you might want to avoid; it has an intense history of violence that makes it a popular destination for ghost hunters.
It might sound bad, but the name Humptulips isn’t supposed to seem offensive. The name comes from a Salish word meaning “hard to pole,” referring to the difficult and dangerous terrain on the upriver path.
While this is now technically a ghost town, it deserves to be on this list because of where the name came from. The town used to be a logging camp that was so remote; people would say that only an idiot would work there. That saying must have caught on because the camp was torn down and nothing was left behind.
