Dear United States Postal Service:
I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but we have a common enemy, and I think it's high time we put aside our differences and fabricate a conspiracy to eliminate that most heinous of foes: the Postmaster General.
Don't pretend you haven't been ill at ease since the wormhole closed; I know for a fact that your employees have been getting devilish and ornery without their twice-weekly visits to the old west to blow off steam shooting holes through the hats of cowboys. Yes sir, those mail carriers are a mean, aggressive, casually-evil bunch of backstabbing frontstabbers, and so is the Postmaster General.
So why, pray, would he close the wormhole? Is he trying to provoke a war between the postmen and the UPS guys? The postmen and the freemasons? What about the Girl Scouts? They have the power to destroy us all! Danae said she'd shrink me if I didn't buy three boxes of thin mints! I know she can do it! Danny DeVito is her cousin! How do you think he got so little?!
I'm sorry, I appear to be getting a bit emotional. It's these fumes, you see. Jacobean-style dollhouse furniture won't paint itself.
I am available to foment on tuesdays and thursdays between four and six. Wednesday won't work for me, that's when I follow my wife around all day begging her to give me another chance and crying and crying like a tiny baby. Please let me know when you are available to foment.
I have to go now. Bucky needs to go for a walk. I need some fresh air, too; he's beginning to look like a small dog.
