Most Hardcore

The punk community of San Pedro, California, in a rare moment of organization and concern for status, took a vote on who was the most hardcore. The rockers campaigned, told stories of their legendary antics, their epic acts of rebelliousness, the amount of contempt they had for authority. Deep down, however, most people accepted that the winner would be Trashcan Dave, who once camped in a trash can for a week rather than live in a house where he had to turn his music down. Trashcan Dave, who then used that trash can to beat down some snot nosed dirt stain who tried to start something. Trashcan Dave, who walked the whole way from LA to San Diego once to catch a Shinsplints concert. Trashcan Dave, who even in his sleep was more angry, more metal, more hardcore than most were in their most wakeful hours. The day of the vote came, and to no one's surprise, Trashcan Dave won the popular vote, but district lines being what they were, he lost when the electoral college went with Nosebleed Dan, who as a dare once ate a half-eaten In-and-Out burger someone found on a park bench.

- Originally mailed to R. Morris in Cambridge, Ontario in Canada.

Hay Racing

In the backwoods of Tennessee where wifi is unheard of, men will race anything to pass the time. Naturally they raced cars and horses, but one can't race horses every day and cars need gas. After a while, they began racing cows (ridden) and pigs (no jockey). Still, too much cow racing and the milk got weird and pigs required special pens to make them go in the direction they needed. Too much work. Chickens wandered about aimlessly and would escape the special pig tracks. Turtles and frogs were too indifferent. One day, Bartholomew Magee came up with the notion of racing hay. The bales were already round and would roll well, and besides, the crop needed to be gathered up anyway. Why not make the finish line the collection point? So they did. Though it took some thinking, they even overcame the only real obstacle. Convincing the hay to race. In the end, it was a simple matter. They motivated the hay the way most people are motivated. They told the hay it wasn't good enough for the far end of the field and let hay prove them wrong.  

- Originally mailed to A. Anderson of Portland, Oregon

Serious Sideburns

“Too wiry,” said one judge.

“Agreed,” said another, “and the hairs go in every which direction.”

“I don't know,” said another. “I like the swoops. Sideburns aren't meant to be tamed house cats. They're wild face beasts. I give it a solid eight.”

“Wild face beasts? Do you even hear yourself?” cried the first. “Look at the shape, the way it arcs away unevenly from the ear!”

“And who even knows how even the outer trim is!” agreed the second with a very serious high five.

“The arc is distinguished. Besides, real mutton chops have a curve to them. Why shouldn't facial chops?”

“Don't be so literal,” said the second. “You can't possibly think this is a good sideburn. Look at the uneven, almost abrupt shift from thick and dark to scruffy and light! If you give this sideburn a high rating, it compromises the integrity of the entire World's Best Sideburn competition, and then where will we be?”

“It will be chaos!” cried the first.

“Anarchy and chaos!” cried the second.

But the third would not budge and his eight stood.

Twelve hours later, WWIII broke out. Nineteen hours after that, it went nuclear, and by the end of the week, man had been reduced to a pack of irradiated savages picking at the bones of civilization. Centuries later, historians would misattribute the end of civilization as we knew it to strained relations between the US and China.

- Originally mailed to M. Krell in Horn Lake, Mississippi