more information concerning the mandatory “stupor” recall

I received the following letter from Steve Hughes, the publisher of “Stupor,” late last night, accompanied by a tear-stained note asking that I post it on the site.

What is funny about waking up and realizing that you’ve slept through the night in a patch of poison ivy? Nothing. That’s not funny. But that’s what it was like for me when I opened page one or two or four or six of the last mini issue of Stupor. Well, I was devastated and I developed a sudden and severe pussing rash. What’s this crap! I published crap! It was an accident. I knew it was an accident, but who else would know. My reader would think I was an idiot. Idiot! Ugh. I left home, explaining to my wife that I needed time to sort this whole thing out. I left Hamtramck and drove into a strange and wild eastern section of the Detroit. I stopped finally, seeing no light but the moon. I wandered into the dark soupy night with forthright determination. I remember slipping, I couldn’t tell on what, but I found myself lodged in some fetid suckhole, a Detroit bog? I’m not sure but it was cool and slushy and it helped with my itch by it didn’t give me any ideas about how to–Yuck! I stumbled through the murky dark my mouth gone dry, heart palpitating, dandruff flying from my head. I plunged through the brush and scrub, past heaps of concrete into what seemed to be an abandoned trailer park. I stopped only after I was coated with pinesap and streaked with small tingly lesions. I tried to spin a cocoon with my own saliva. I failed. At one point, I found myself on all fours bounding hither and dither, barking like a seal. I achieved nothing in this effort either. I woke the next morning, still in the trailer park. Finally my head had cleared and I found myself wearing only mismatched socks and my very dirty Spiderman outfit, clutching a soiled copy of Stupor: Pooped and Plundered — Jellyfish and their Amazing Sting. I was feeling strangely happy and light-headed. I made a decision — one I’m not happy about, but I’m going to follow through with. I weighed the cost of a potential lawsuit verses the amount I’d have to spend to repair each individual Stupor out there (30 at a total cost of $15), and decided that I had no other choice than to begin a massive recall, the biggest recall ever in the history of zines. This issue would need to be destroyed and replaced. I have found, since my dark night of soul-searching, that the best way to destroy the rotten Stupor was to hit it with a hammer, then throw it in a mud puddle, then stomp it, stomp it, stomp it good, then back over it in the truck, forward in a truck, back over it again and finally to run it down with a lawn mower which easily changes the issue into a good, really nice and fluffy confetti, that is if it’s dry but since mine was wet, it sprayed muddy paper pulp on me and a shard of a staple which shot out and stuck into my big toe. My toe is okay now. Later after destroying my last remaining issue, I addressed the problems which had ruined the issue, slapped a new cover on it, and finished what from here on out will be known as the “Replacement Issue.” I then began plans for the massive recall. I sent letters and made some phone calls to some key organizations, namely Markmaynard .com. I even tried to hire a crop duster to shower Hamtramck, Ypsilanti and the few remaining, relevant parts of Ann Arbor with the “Replacement Issue.” This was my plan but in the meantime, I plan on it not working and hope, by chance, that the readers of said first copy, wondering