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Mr. Wrong

Mail Bomb

By Joe MacLeod | Posted 4/11/2001

So the United States Postal Service is making noises now about preparing to maybe do a study to examine the possibility of planning to plan about theoretically, hypothetically, and maybe even alphabetically eliminating Saturday Delivery. No mail on Saturday. Great.

Eliminating Saturday Delivery sounds like something that has got to be Bad for America. It must be, right? I mean, isn't Saturday Delivery of the mail in the Constitution of the United States of America or the Declaration of Independence or the Bill of Rights or the Magna Carta or something? Isn't it? It's the fucking United States Postal Service, owned by We the People, right? But it's slipping away, see? They're spending all this promotional dough on bullshit like the vote-for-your-favorite-stamp campaign--stuff like, "Hey, America, do you want the Fat Elvis or the Skinny Elvis?"--and now they want to eliminate Saturday Delivery. Super. Especially since America let me down and voted for the Skinny Elvis, which is completely ridiculous, because the Fat Elvis contains the true essence of all things Elvis-American, i.e. excess avoirdupois coupled with prolonged pharmaceutical, bacon, and jumpsuit use. The Elvis-American is a long-ignored and dangerously overlooked section of the U.S. Demographic, and when all the Other-Americans went and voted for the goddamn Skinny Elvis to be on the Elvis stamp, they forced the hard-core Elvis-American deep into the underground, which is something we're all going to have to deal with later, when the Revolution Is Televised.

And don't kid yourself, the Revolution Will Be Televised, because eventually there won't be any kind of reliable Saturday, Friday, Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday, or Monday delivery from the United States Postal Service, because the knuckleheads who divvied up the Phone Company will get their meat hooks into the U.S. Postal Service and crack it into a thousand stupid little postal companies that will force you to subscribe to a postal service and pay a monthly fee just so you can get bills, junk mail, and the occasional postcard from your Aunt Effie when she goes on those mysterious "meditation retreats" down in Jamaica.

Of course, all the fine mailmen and fe-mailmen out there wanna have both weekend days off, and don't you forget it, so you can't blame them for supporting this No-Saturday-Delivery thing, but someday we are gonna look back at no Saturday Delivery and realize it was The End. No Saturday Delivery. The End for the honest and reliable U.S. Postal Service, the very first Postmaster General of which was Benjamin Franklin, aka the only Founding Father-guy smart enough to invent electricity (or the lightning rod or something electrical like that), nominate the Turkey for National Bird, and not get elected president. That's right, he was Postmaster General, but smart enough not to get elected President. That's a plus, in case you haven't been keeping up on your current events, OK?

Anyway, with the exception of Benjamin Frank-ski--who definitely woulda voted for the Fat Elvis stamp--almost all those other idiots who got made president wanted to be President of the United States of America, but who's on the numero uno slice of currency, eh? The nice-nicest bill in the fold, eh? Yeah baby, it's all about the Benjamin. This guy was a fucking genius, 24/7, 1776, including the part about the Turkey. The Turkey should absolutely be the national bird of the U. S. of A. Many Barbaric-Americans annually devour the Turkey on one of the greatest holidays in this country, a holiday devoted to sloth, gluttony, and back-stabbing friendly locals, and it is only fitting that we consume the symbol of our nation to make us stronger, right? There ain't a lot of meat on one of those Bald Eagles, baby. I mean, come on, I watch some of the finer, more cerebral cooking shows on my digital cable teevee, and I have yet to see the Two Fat Ladies or even one Iron Chef prepare any kind of succulent, eagle-based entrée. ("Fukui-san! I noticed Iron Chef Italian just took all the feathers off one of the live Bald Eagles and is parboiling it in a mixture of miso broth, ketchup, and Jack Daniels American whiskey! Yes! The Iron Chef just told me he's going to use them later for a festive presentation involving squid ink, fusilli pasta, and an innovative Bald Eagle-flavored ice-cream sauce!")

And when's the last time you heard anybody at the dinner table fighting over the talon or the beak or the Bald part or whatever? Sure, eagles are magnificent and shit, but they do not feed the nation or provide sufficient breast meat for any kind of halfway decent sandwich later on. This Franklin guy knew The Score way more than four score and seven years ago, and I bet he knew the Post Office should be part of the Government and not some private company like it's turning into where they advertise on teevee with the Steve Miller music and the Eagle. Jesus Christ, it's a fucking government-sanctioned monopoly.

Look, everybody knows the Post Office is a monopoly, and we look the other way because it's a good one. Plus, it's the national built-in excuse for all kinds of procrastination. You tell somebody the check's in the mail, or the mail is slow or whatever, and you never get an argument. Works for me when they start calling about the digital-cable teevee bill. Hey, if there's no Saturday delivery, that gives me an extra day. What was I thinking? God save the geniuses at the United States Postal Service.

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