My Two Cents
I mean, who the fuck decides to raise from 37 to 39?!? That makes no cents, man. Rise that fucker up to 40 or even 50 cents. Shit, errbody has to go and upgrade all their 37-centses anyway, so let’s get that thing to an Even Number, and then we won’t be looking at, like, what, a 43 cent stamp in a few years? I hate pennies. Did you ever smell a penny? Would you hold some pennies and then touch the backs of a bunch of stamps and lick ’em? Oh, right, they got the sticker-stamps, I forgot.
So whatever and meanwhile, I don’t want to get locked up in a concentrated camp at an undisclosed location for stealing from the Government, so I’ma go and get my two-cent on, right? And look, don’t buy into that crap about how the Post Office isn’t actually a part of the Government. That’s bullshit. Look at those Uniforms. At some point, those Carriers are gonna be strapped and patrolling, and I’m not about pissing any of ’em off, but somebody at headquarters needs to get this two cents thing fixed,
I mean, I wanted to Obey, but I didn’t want to go to the Post Office and stand on, in, or near a line. I mean, I would rather be in a drug-induced coma than be queued up inside of a line I’m standing on for some fucking two-cent stamps.
And what’s with all these “drug-induced comas”? Why don’t they just say “heavy sedation” or something? Why they gotta get all dramatic and drop the c-word? These news freaks are like fucking lemmings, man. It’s bad enough hearing about all the plagiarism and making stuff up and crap like that, but look at ’em, all getting on the bandwagon with “drug-induced coma” and copying each other. How hard is it to put you heard somebody else say something or you read what somebody else wrote? I’m a paid fucking professional columnist, man, and my shit only runs every other week, but if I read something (not likely) or saw something on teevee (yes), I’d bloody well fucking say something like “Hey, I read somewheres,” or more likely “Oy, I saw on the teevee,” and like that, you know? Plus, when you do that, it adds to your word count, and that’s how you get paid, for filling up the space with your junk, jeez.
Anyway, every time I go to the Post Office I always end up in line behind somebody who’s sending “parcels” to, like, Paraguay or something, so I went to the Post Office after hours when you can only get to the vending machines, and there were four fucking post-bots there and not one goddamn one of ’em was functioning properly enough to sell me a two-cent stamp, and some of the machines still had the 37 cent postages all up in there. I guess you can order the two-cent shits on the internet, but the internet is making me fat, man. I need to get off my ass every now and then and do things, you know?
So they need to raise the rate, but have like a Postage Amnesty and make the old stamps good for a year of the First-Class, that way there’s no bum rush for the filler-upper stamps, and then I can use all these nice Interesting stamps like the “Isamu Noguchi” and “Art of the American Indians” ones, instead of making ’em look bad by slapping somebody else’s two cents on ’em.
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