on my postal commie nightmare

I watch, each day, with loathing and great trepidation, as an agent of the socialist ideal drives up to a box at the end of my unpaved driveway into which he deposits slender pieces of folded and stamped paper, or, occasionally, a carefully-wrapped package. Then, his foul work done, he speeds off rapidly, as if part of an escape pattern calculated to send shivers down my spine. I have seen the agent close-up, and he wears the uniform of the United States Postal Service. Be warned, citizens of America: there are commies in our midst.

The U.S. Postal Service, or USPS, is a stubborn and tenacious holdout of the communistic infestation that has blighted this nation since before we had a presidency, a Congress, or a Supreme Court, and before the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence were written (let alone drafted). For nearly two and a half centuries, we have suffered from the benefits of this institution; for too long has it served all persons equally, and at low cost; for too long have we wallowed under this communistic oppression. The bastard Benjamin Franklin served as post-master to the state of Pennsylvania; he allowed this stubborn poison to infect his adopted colony; he even encouraged its spread to other colonies of the time. Such a man was Franklin, such a base and vile miscreant, such a foul agent of ever-creeping socialism, that in his supposedly enlightened time he was seduced and enslaved by forces acting in the interest of the general Welfare.

It is well that under the presidency of George Walker Bush the United States Postal Service was all but annihilated through clever and dastardly schemes (in part by being forced to accumulate within a short amount of time a full decade's worth of pension payments); if he had been but successful, we would still be singing his praises not only for engaging America in ground wars in two separate, sovereign nations, but also for wiping from the face of our shining land the final remnants of foul socialism. There is no option but the capitalistic option; there may be no services rendered but for those done by for-profit corporations; the dream of a state bent on improving the general Welfare and seeing to the domestic Tranquility was just that – a hollow, worthless dream conjured up by such scum as foul olde Franklin. Let no further socialists darken the threshold of my home – not to bring me my new shoes, nor to bring me the bill for my new shoes, not even to drop off a Festivus card – for I refuse to interact with commies, no matter how sunny their demeanor, how pleasantly they might smile, or with what sort of conviction they perform their duties in rain, sleet, and hail. A pox upon all commies, I say.

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