Since we began accepting your correspondence by electronic mail, Black Cow Press has received a preponderance of letters from generous readers offering to help us with everything from lowering our weight and mortgage rates, to enlarging our private parts. Though we were unable to print them all here, we wish to thank each and every one of you who have shown such personal concern for the staff's obesity, debt, and teenie-weenie packages. It means a lot. Thanks!

Dear Black Cow,
I'm afraid I must share in the outrage expressed by Ms. Edgars in issue #8 concerning your "xtreme engineering" section. Butch Halverson's article on how to build your own bascule bridge is completely out of touch with the creative needs and abilities of a child.
To assume that a child could take the instructions provided, procure the tools needed for the job, and then manage to assemble such a structure is absurd.
I'm not suggesting that you cut out the section altogether, but perhaps Mr. Halverson could tone it down a bit. Instead of a bascule bridge, why not begin with something simpler, like an extension bridge? Fewer parts and less of a risk of a child pinching themselves. Please consider.

Thanks, Jessica Bightme

Dearest Black Cow,
What happened to your recipe section? You gave us only three for the poulet. All delicious, of course, but what now?

Jean Bernice
Chef, Owner
Maison Petit

Dear Jean,
Perhaps how do you say? variety is over-rated. Go back to the recipes, and learn to appreciate the subtleties in texture and flavor. Give them your own little magic each time, no? -ED.

Dear Black Cow,

I can't tell you how much your paper means to me. I have been so depressed since I was incarcerated here at Wilkesboro. Day after day in this dismal cage of a cell; I can't even remember what sun or rain ever felt like. Everything turned around when my cellmate smuggled in (please don't ask me to tell you how) the January edition of your paper. Being a long-time fan of folk hero/martyr, Liberace, I was moved to tears by the touching tribute to the great bird in your verse section.
I have also been fortunate to have met a wonderful guy through your personals section, which I believe may be the first of its kind. We keep up a correspondence by mail, but he is planning to visit me here for the first time next month.
Anyway, thanks so much for being my little ray of light in these otherwise dark days.

Prisoner # 38942-2
Tyson Poultry Facility
Wilkesboro, North Carolina

Butch Halvorsen,
Black Cow Press

I'm writing this letter to Mr. Halvorsen regarding his "Xtreme Engineering" feature in the "Kid's Corner" section. My nine year old, Timothy, was seriously injured after he and some friends got hold of a copy of "Black Cow Press," and attempted to build the blast furnace you outlined in issue #5. I'm frankly, a little concerned, no, make that a lot concerned, about a series that encourages young children to experiment with industrial lasers, or build sawmills without proper adult supervision. Timothy may never regain the full use of his eyebrows. I'm not sure you realize how your lack of judgment can have a disastrous impact on young people and their families. I'm politely requesting that you pull the series immediately.

Sincerely,
Jennifer Edgars

Dear Ms. Edgars, Real sorry 'bout your boy. As far as killing the series: No can do. In future, we'll try an' discourage any projects requiring the use of lasers, furnaces, or saw blades larger than 14" in diameter. Check out the Bascule Bridge on page 8. -Ciao! Butch.

Dear Mr. Plume
Editor, Black Cow Press

I want to thank you most sincerely for your interest in my work concerning the group of Paleolithic "Chicken People" that inhabited the American southwest about 40,000 years ago. I'll be honest with you, it's been tough sledding promoting this theory over the last few years. I've been laughed out of many rooms. The last two major academic conferences in my field of evolutionary anthropology have been disasters. I've been unable to speak at either. Two years ago I was drugged at a pre-conference banquet. I strongly suspect (but cannot prove) that some unknown party put an outsized dose of a very powerful laxative into my food or drink. I will not say any more about that incident, except that the hotel passed along their dry cleaning and carpet cleaning bills which consumed more than 10% of my pre-tax income that year. The next conference was worse still— I haven’t yet brought it up with my therapist. He mocks me, but that’s getting off subject. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. But based on your letter, you seem to "get it" more than any of my trained colleagues. They are degenerates and liars, it's true, but a relative compliment is still a compliment.;-)

The general overview of my theory is as follows: at least 20,000 years before other peoples crossed into North America over the Bering land bridge, a civilization in which humans and chickens lived in almost total symbiosis thrived in the region that is today New Mexico, Southern Colorado, and southwest Utah. This nomadic group seems to have captured chickens from the wild and domesticated them in a strange, ritualistic process where the bird was tied to its new owner with a rope of bark fiber. It was like a leash, so each member of the tribe might have resembled those professional dogwalkers you see in big cities— except, of course, the "dogs" were chickens. Wealth, power, and prestige were determined exclusively by the quantity of chickens an individual possessed. Chieftains had flocks of hundreds of birds. The two species lived in complete harmony. Chicken manure was used by the tribe members for a wide range of purposes: everything from a body paint (mixed into a paste with ground up feathers) to an aphrodisiac. I have seen paintings by these people throughout their former homeland. They show any number of remarkable scenes. For example, this tribe had remarkable freedom of movement because they didn't require shelter. When it was time to sleep, a Chicken Person would simply lie down and his birds would roost on top him, protecting him from the elements. The Chicken Person could leap off cliffs, and his flock of birds would flap their wings, and slow his fall like a parachute. There are any number of such heartwarming scenes represented in rock drawings in the Chicken People’s former range.

My major problem in terms of scientific credibility has to do, in fact, with these paintings. They were made from a mixture of equal parts human and chicken fecal matter. Because of the unstable chemistry of this mixture, the paintings have faded to the point that they are scarcely visible. You must, in fact, look very closely and let you eyes adjust for up to a couple of minutes before you can see the images. I spent the years from 1987 to 1993 in the field, looking for hours at various patches of sandstone. I found that their paintings were all over the place— the harder I looked, the more I saw.

There is an irony in all this: as a small child, my father used to lock me in the chicken coop when I was naughty. He was a forgetful man— a drinker— and often I would spend long periods of time among the chickens, days longer than my intended punishment. I grew to understand and love them, and vice versa. Our shared feelings sometimes led to the blurring of traditional boundaries between species. My father once walked in on such a scene, and after that I was locked in basement as punishment, and went into a depression of many years. This note is too long already. But I just wanted you to see how it seems almost divine justice that I should be the one to discover these People.

You asked in your note what became of them. This, I’m afraid, is where things get really odd. My research suggests that the chickens and the Chicken People merged through cross breeding and became a new species. I have not yet nailed down what that species is, but my research suggests that it is the turkey. I’m still waiting for the DNA results though.

Please let me know ASAP whether I can write a feature piece for the Black Cow Press about my research. Your intellectual boldness would be praised by history, I promise you.

Sincerely,

Delmer Fletcher
Adj. Professor of Anthropology
Northern Arizona University

Dear Black Cow,
What is up with your music page? I can't believe you think Michael Bolton contributed more to the last 100 years of American music than Jimi Hendrix. You guys should have your f****** heads examined. I mean how f****** deaf are you a*******?

-Al H, Seattle

Black Cow Press,

This letter constitutes an order to CEASE AND DESIST from making any and all statements alleging a sexual relationship between our client and a male silverback gorilla at the San Diego Zoo.

-J. Michael Osienski
Mueller, Edwards, Osienski, Diello and Klein
Attorneys for Plaintiff,
Jacob Dean Cooper

Hey Black Cow!
F*** off and go die in the deli!
And try printing your garbage on softer paper. It irritates my ass when I'm wiping it with that heavy card stock.

-Brent Chapman