The Question Back when Herb was a sophomore in college, he spent a quarter at the University of Colorado at Boulder to take some intensive philosphy classes. A passionate snowboarder, Herb spent much of his free time surfing the slopes of the majestic snow-capped Rockies around him. But the weekend before finals, Herb and his board-buddies encountered the mountain conditions of their dreams. Saturday night a freak storm dropped two and a half feet of the most bodacious powder they'd ever seen. They boarded all day Sunday, with clear skies and crisp weather, and had the best runs of their lives. When they returned to their cabin, it started to snow again, and they decided that they had a moral obligation to stay. The only glitch in their plan to ditch school was exams, the first one being philosphy that Monday. After a grueling best of seven Rock-Paper-Scissors tournament, Herb's friend Irvin was chosen to call their professor and bullshit their way out of the test. After perusing his cranial menu of excuses, Irvin selected the Car-Broke-Down option. The Suburban, explained Irvin, was no longer swervin' after curvin' over an unexposed railroad stake . Their spare wasn't made for the snow blah-blah-blah, could they take the test Wednesday while they await a new tire? The professor obliged, said to come to his office whenever they made it down from the mountains. Everyone slapped good ol' Irvin five, and Herb broke out his infamous Herb Urban Bourbon. On Wednesday morning the four of them strode into the Philosphy building, faces red and raccooned, sharpened pencils in hand. The professor led them to the main lecture hall and sent them each to opposite corners. He handed out their exams, told them they could begin, and betrayed the slightest hint of a smile. For when the four of them opened their test booklets, they only found one question: "Which tire?"