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.
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