For Jer, and let's hope that damned package turns up soon eh?
The International Postal System
Is run by a series of accidents
Disguised to look like organisation.
The mail, sorted by sugar-high monkeys
Is then fed to dyspeptic dragons
Which, being dyspeptic, regurgitate it
Into a mud pit inhabited
By lumbering drunk Godzillas
Duking it out with highly hyperactive Mothras.
The resulting carnage of postal material
Gets sucked down the Black Hole of Doom
From which nothing ever escapes.
It’s said there is a vortex within the Black Hole
Swirling thick with countless billions
Of lost pieces of mail, each spinning endlessly
Forlornly, for eternity.
So the legend goes anyway.
No one’s emerged yet to tell the truth
And neither has any of that damned mail.