A man from Chicago collected documents so he could tell you how old they were and how many he had. The man invited a professor of medieval history to dinner. “My collection is so interesting it deserves an exhibit,” he said, and the professor agreed. But before the exhibit could be mounted, the man’s oldest document emptied the man’s bank account, and moved to Buenos Aires, the capital of South America.

She put on a tight black dress and boots. She painted her lips Fatal Apple, and her eyebrows Midnight. After that, she practiced tossing her copper hair picturesquely over one shoulder. She knew if she spoke in a husky enough voice and paused long enough in strategic places, women would resent her and men desire her or vice versa, but in either case, no one would notice the poems.

He deserved to win. Not everyone can sing out of three holes at once, especially not in harmony, and especially not the Star Spangled Banner.