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Thursday, August 21, 2003
I got home this evening and opened my mailbox to find four -- count 'em, four! -- thick Wednesday grocery-store mailing things inside! What is this shit? Does the postal service not have enough problems that it has to be added to my shit list? Is this the farewell note of the pre-postal postman? Or just a calling card of the burnt out, dopehead civil servant?

I've always been a bit of an apologist for the postal service. A sentimental appreciation, I suppose, for all the lovely letter they've delivered for me. But first they fuck-up my forwarding request. And now this -- this is just a slap in the face. I'm ready to throw in the towel and say, yeah, let the privitization hawks have their way. Let it sink. (Of course, the privitization hawks, depending as they do upon the disproportionate political influence of rural America, will never let the postal service sink, since -- with its 6-day a week delivery to Unpaved Podunk Lane -- it's a classic example of governmental inefficiency that benefits them.)