Mr. Postman!

Believe it or not, but I really like that Kevin Costner movie The Postman.
I mean besides being a self serving epic like Waterworld(which I also liked) it's got a great plot and some good drama.
Seriously, in a post apocalyptic world, it's entirely possible that something like the mail, a form of communication, could reunite folks and make everything better.
Sort of like what the internetswebz thingy is doing today.
Making folks feel better.
More on that later.
Oh, and that is not what this is all about.
The Postman and I, in my case actually a she, a Postperson, is sort of like my Mrs. Jones.
See, we got a thing going on:



Anyways, like I was saying, me and the Postperson, we got this thing going on. She brings me the goods, the bicycling goodness, and leaves it right at my door.
I don't usually see her, but oh, count on it, I know when she's been here. She's unwittingly become a partner in crime so to speak, an accomplice, an unwilling participant in my quest for the evilness.
She covertly brings me my goods, and quietly leaves with nary a hint or clue of every having been part of this deceitful scheme.
Except for the other day.
The other day, I was singing another tune:



Boy this is a first.
I actually linked not one, but two videos!
I must be desperate for material.
So anyways, I go to the mail drop and find this:



WTF?!
It looks like some envelope I crumpled up and threw away!
Wait!
I've been waiting on something, more goodness, could this be it?
I mean could this be the wonderful bicycling goodness, the stuff dreams are made of, the stuff I'd been waiting for?
Say it ain't so joe!
I mean Ms. Postperson!



Tell me it didn't fall off of a truck somewhere on I ninety something only to be run over by half the commuters heading home from work!
Tell me it didn't fall on the sorting floor only to be flattened by the passing carts of Express Mail.
Tell me it wasn't the sorting machines fault!
There was a love note:



I usually do not use expletives here but No Shit Sherlock!
Okay, actually I was pretty amused by the condition of this package.
For one thing, the item I received was sort of bullet proof, or should I say USPS damage proof.
I mean they, the mail folks would really have to try to damage this:



You'd have to sort of go out of your way, and really really try to mess that up.
Wait a minute.
It sort of looks like they did!
I mean it looks like they tried everything short of an oxy-acetylene torch on that package.
Oh Ms. Postperson!
What have I done to make you treat me with such disrespect?
The Saturday Postperson means nothing to me!
I swear!
Then I got sad.
What if it was some ultra light carbon fibre doohickey that I had been saving up for, something that I'd sold off my first born male child(a masculine child!) for?
I feel jilted.
My faith irreparably damaged.
Like my package.
Boy, maybe I should start leaving doughnuts in my mailbox.
Or something.