90210

BFD. We here in 27864 are pleased that we don't have no truck with them stuck-up show-offs and wish we had less to do with them do-nothings at 20500. We do have our own official United States Postal Service office for the aid and comfort of the computer illiterate. OK, I confess, I was in need of snail mail and needed to buy a stamp to consumate my deal. It was Friday evening so I figured I'd go in the morning in case they closed early on Saturday. Oops! Closed all day Saturday. Alright, I'll stop Monday on my way to Bridge. Allowing extra time for my transaction, I left home a little after noon. There are no cars in the (3 car) parking lot so this should be a snap. Alas, the one human who runs this operation has "needs", even as you and I - the office is closed for lunch between noon and one o'clock. I shall overcome. Tuesday, I will get there BEFORE noon - ha ha! I get there about 11:45 and am somewhat dismayed to see the lot is 2/3 full. I take the open space and walk inside only to see 4 or 5 people in line, all holding those little colored slips that say you may pick up your mail at the post office. If you've ever had one of those slips to cash in, you know that means the clerk goes behind the curtain and dissapears for 15 to 20 minutes. Oh well, not to be stymied again, I will buy stamps from the machine. This turns out to be the biggest joke of all. The vending machine, circa 1940, has three little windows touting its wares. One is marked "out of order", the other two offer 2 twenty cent stamps and 4 one cent stamps for only 50 cents (quarters only please). No bills allowed, only quarters. My 3 dimes and a quarter added up to 55 cents but only one was a quarter so I am foiled again. The snail wins again. I will return tomorrow armed with a roll of quarters and hope than no further mishaps will cause me to deface gummint probity, where my conviction will have me spending the rest of my days behind bars.
God bless America and all the Bushes and their shrubs.
The Most Reverend Snodgrass