williamallenpepper

Here's a blog because NOBODY else has one!

Mr. MCFEELY IS PISSED

Recently, the US postal service announced that beginning in August, there will no longer be Saturday mail delivery. The postal service has been losing money for years – a victim of mismanagement and an inability to compete with email, FedEx and the like. So, of course, the way to lure customers back to your service is to make that service even less convenient.

There are a lot of questions to be answered. For instance, the USPS has said that it will still deliver “packages” on Saturdays, but not “mail”. Will they still pick up mail? And, if so, will just pick up mail at the houses/businesses they deliver packages at? Or all houses/businesses? And if they’re going to pick up mail, why not just drop off my bills, letters from grandma, and stack of hardcore porn while they’re here? (Kidding! …My grandmothers are deceased.)

Mr. McFeely, I feel certain, is pissed about all this. Remember him? Delivered packages to Mr. Rogers in “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood”, clearly high on something? The man couldn’t sit down, couldn’t even stand still, just kept jabbering, “Speedy delivery! Speedy delivery!” I’m pretty sure, McFeely was on the job 24/7, intravenous caffeine drip dragging behind him. He would not approve of killing Saturday delivery. That’s not good service. Delivering mail is a privilege, not an expensive, arduous chore. Bringing you the electric bill is like bringing you a precious, little baby of your own. (Did I mention McFeely’s epic meth habit?)

Surely there must be other ways to save money. Instead of those pith helmet things the letter carriers wear in the summer to stay cool, they could auction off the right to follow off the carriers on their routes and pelt them with water balloons. All the extra exercise the auction winners get would provide a side benefit of putting a dent in the national obesity epidemic.

Sam’s Club sells those blue postman shorts in packages of twelve-for-five-dollars.

Go back to the stamps you have to lick, but lace them with bacon grease.

Mail trucks sit idle at night, of course. Why not hire them out as taxis for drunks after the bars close?

Keep delivery of the mail as is, free as always…But if you don’t pay the surcharge, your mail will be covered in poo.

No more blanket, “neither rain nor sleet nor dark of nigh” jazz. From now on, it’s all ala carte. Every thing priced separately.

NEXT TIME ON THE BLOG: I fix Social Security. Also…tacos!

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