A couple of years ago my In-laws received a thing in their mail. It wasn’t regular junk mail. It wasn’t an advertisement. It wasn’t a political flier, though at first it could be confused as a campaign flier for a local sheriff’s election. But a closer inspection would reveal it was unlike any piece of junk mail they’d ever seen.
It was an 8.5x11 inch page made of high-end glossy card stock. On the front was an alarming graphic—scrawled desperately in black paint the words “BAD SHeriFF.” The graphic included a seeming splattering of blood across the words. Next to the words, a large “X,” is smeared in blood.
As attention-getters go, the thing in my in-laws' mailbox was right on the money. It didn’t stand out because of a great design, a catchy tagline, or an irresistible offer. It was random, shocking, and highly mysterious. I can't imagine anyone who found the thing in their mailbox could help but keep reading for answers, or at least more information. Sure enough, on the back of the thing was certainly more information. But as for providing answers, the flier had the opposite effect.
On the back was an imposing block of text. At the top, a title: “Vote: Moral Man.” Was this more political crap? Was it a flier from a local church trying an edgy approach to attract more congregants? After a number of non-sequiturs, the author eventually describes a Mr. (John) DeGeorge who is running for sheriff of Fillmore County. The author extols the many virtues of Mr. DeGeorge, remarking that:
He’s tall
Anyone who doesn’t like him doesn’t count because they’re a criminal behind bars
“The neighborhood” supports him, as evidenced by the lawn signs galore which sport his praise
He embraces liberty - allowing justice for all
He has lots of friends (while the author has no friends)
The author indicates that these, among other qualifications, are what makes Mr. DeGeorge the best candidate for Sheriff of Fillmore County. In spite of Mr. DeGeorge’s countless qualities which make him the top candidate, the author goes on to state they will be running against Mr. DeGeorge for the same role.
Why should we vote for the author? He explains why (kind of):
My disqualifications A-R-E my qualifications. I "level" cones at construction zones. My "cursor" leaped from laptop into mouth. I would inherit a fleet of "race" cars burning "free" fuel. I would span Fillmore County in minutes - whether you called or not. Perhaps NOW I can now "catch" Joe's 4.09; THE ILLUSIVE THIEF AT THE PUMP! I would polish lawless into flawless. I would desecrate Mr. Dangerfield's grave - keeping the legend "alive" in the deadness of my soul. I'm accused of 'split personality' when there is nothing left to divide. There is one thing in life more complicated than a 'Bad Girlfriend'- it would be the induction of a bad, bad, sheriff. I wouldn't recommend voting for me... I WOULDN'T!
Yet I have not wavered in my resolve to run for sheriff of Fillmore County. How will I win this election if integrity no longer casts the final vote? I don't need all that publicity. There is an easier way to win elections...
I have a plan.
The thing was not addressed to my in-laws specifically. It landed in their mailbox by default of their being a “Local Postal Customer” of Fillmore County. Thoughtfully, they saved the mailer for me, likely because they’d become familiar with my unfortunate sense of humor. They were at a loss and wanted answers. Maybe with my affinity for senseless, dark humor, I could decode the thing?
I read it over in disbelief. I read it again and somehow understood less of the thing the second time around. I must have read it three times over in bewilderment. Who is the author? Is it the sheriff? Did Mr. DeGeorge create a maniacal fictional opponent to whom he could contrast himself? Was this just a cringy drive for votes? If it was DeGeorge, the man running for sheriff, is Fillmore County as fucked as I think it is?
I recently posed these theories to my friend Eli. Eli grew up in Lanesboro, a small town in Fillmore County. He noted that if it was John DeGeorge, it wouldn’t be the first time Fillmore County was policed by a psychopath. He recalled how, in 2002, Lanesboro’s Police Chief John Tuchek set fire to and burned down three buildings as a "hero fire." A hero fire is a fire set by a person who intends to rush in and save people, making them a hero. I’d never heard of such a thing. But I found an article in the Brainerd Dispatch, which stated:
Tuchek's original story was that he saw someone running away in the alley around the time he saw the fire. The complaint indicated he later changed his story and admitted that he started the fire, initially depicting it as an accident. Tuchek eventually revealed he had intended to burn just one piece of cardboard, but the fire got away from him.
Tuchek said he wanted to put the fire out himself or get there at the same time as the fire department and wanted to do something that would make his ex-girlfriend proud of him.
The motive, or possible motives for the mailer was as unclear and startling as the incoherent, raving message printed on the back. Conspicuously absent from the message on the back was a call to action. There was no argument. The mailer had no message, at least no message that wasn’t either hopelessly vague or contradicted by other messages in the same diatribe. While the flier did suggest voting for Moral Man, it made no attempt to indicate who this Moral Man was or, for those of us who would have burning questions for Moral Man, where he could be contacted.
After some discussion, my in-laws and I chalked up the flier to a political ad gone horribly wrong. But sometime later, they got another mailer. And sometime after that, another still, and another. All told, they might have received four or five of these fliers, maybe more.
The messages of the subsequent fliers were as scattershot and indeterminate as the first edition. But these latter messages dropped from any talk of sheriffing or elections or, notably, any update on the author’s aforementioned journey to “work” on his self-control. Instead, the author adopted a tone of emphatic urgency, harkening to something between religious fundamentalism and dementia.
One flier titled “demigods” is a long list of antonyms that aren’t antonyms. It reads like a multiple-choice quiz a forensic psychologist might administer to assess sociopathic tendencies:
payday! - judgment day?
republic - monarchy
state - church
capital - social
comprise - compromise
giving fire - consuming fire
please - appease
grow - inherit
destination - "destiny"
domestic - foreign
And so on.
Another flier titled “DEMIGODS” offers another list without introduction. This time it is a single list of bullet points titled “BULLET PROOF - BULLET POINTS” which includes phrases such as:
Embracing a friend is called thankful. Embracing an enemy is called surrender. Religion proves who is right. Sports proves who is best. Righteousness proves otherwise.
We are called to a spirit of completion. NOT a spirit of competition.
A "winner" never strives for #1.
We become our enemy - when searching for power.
Keeping your neighbor #1 - places you in the winners circle.
A contest is your arena for defeat.
Never entering a contest - keeps you in 1st place.
Another flier titled “The Exorcist” offers more of the same crazy shit:
“SUPERNATURAL MONARCHS”
all have one source of authority. Removing abstract entities is key to freedom. "Breaking their spell" is resolve [sic] to small illnesses and vexations. As listed, but not limited to - include:
Confusion
Depression
Oppression
Nervousness
Suicidal thoughts
"Bad days"
Anxiety
Loneliness
Jealousy
Torment
Nightmares
Panic attacks Insecurity
Rage/hate
Feeling hopeless
Overwhelmed
Fear
Paranoia
C-19?
Head Colds
Epileptic seizures?
Nicotine addiction
Alcohol addiction
Addiction to narcotic drugs
The fliers remind me of the nut-jobs lurking at the fringe of Pride or teeming proudly across the street from the Minnesota State Fair—their bright signs promising a fiery, eternal damnation, signs that warn of a God who pretty much hates everybody.
I like to watch them, shouting deep cuts from scripture into bullhorns, wagging bibles like bludgeons at people hurrying by.
Most folks don’t stick around to watch them as long as I do, or with nearly the same degree of fascination. Most folks avoid eye contact and pass them as one might politely slip past a lunatic in the throes of a psychotic episode. I have developed the same casual obsession with the mystery fliers of Fillmore County.
I imagine whoever is behind the fliers is a lot like those frenzied street preachers save for a few obvious distinctions. The most notable and intriguing difference is his medium—these mailers. And there is the unnerving effect I imagine a mass mailing of its sort would have on the peaceful, quiet county of Fillmore.
These fliers are so creepy because they suggest a more deliberate method to the madness (if more cowardly) than that of a sign-wielding zealot. The whole format seems at once patient and deliberate while also self-defeating and farcical. The screeds are conviction without the spine to back it up. Sanctimony that is seemingly void of reason and fatally crippled by contradictions. It’s obvious the fliers required a significant investment of time and resources to create but their messages were crafted without much consideration for clarifying obnoxiously esoteric, inside references, let alone adhering to basic standards for grammar, formatting, punctuation, and, in many cases, spelling. The author’s extraordinary measures to reach and impact his neighbors are masked by equally extraordinary measures to conceal his identity.
For all we know, this could be some teenager in Guam who decided to randomly fuck with Southern Minnesotans.
So, who is the mystery mailer of Fillmore County?
Despite their futility and absurdity, (or, more likely, because of it) the mailers remain fascinating. I’m hooked! I am hoping to catch the next episode before this unsolicited serial drama turns out to be the kind of sad discovery investigators always seem to make after-the-incident, those seemingly inconsequential warnings that suddenly take on a chilling significance in hindsight.