goin' postal

259 word count

Today is the day I go postal. No. Not THAT kind of postal. I just mean I’m heading out to the end of my 3-mile-long lane to destroy my mailbox. Why? I could say it’s because I don’t like the mail I get. Well, that’s part of it, I guess. What does that mailman leave? Bills. And junk mail. Mostly junk mail. Bills are now coming by computer. But the mailman insists that she can’t just heave junk mail into the trash bin at the  Post Office. She has to stuff it in my mailbox so I have to get rid of it. Think how many trees died to fill my mailbox with junk.

What bugs me are those so-called offers from credit card companies. They are willing to let me borrow money at some atrocious interest rate that would put me into eternal debt to them.

But even that’s not the main reason I’m chopping off the box. No, it’s because I just won 4-million dollars (American dollars) from some dangblatted Triple Sweepstakes I never heard of. Seems some idiot robbed my mailbox one day and sent in the form. Didn’t even know he’d not get any money because it was in my name.

So now I’m famous. Don’t want to be famous. I’ll go fetch the mail in my 40-year-old pick-up  with the porta-potty in back.

With no mailbox, some other idiot can’t put my name in another sweepstakes. You want to talk to me? See my lawyer. He’ll send me a bill for services—by computer.