Lick THIS, United States Post Office!

Can you think of anything that requires the use of bodily fluids to function? Sure, there's Blondgirl McGlittertits, a hybrid human who runs on cocaine and semen, but I'm talking about something we use every day that needs liquid produced by our bodies to work.

Why, in a time when we can see the textured glisten of a fresh turd in digital clarity while a tranny greedily gulps it down; and watch an entire season of "Perfect Strangers" in a single sitting, are we still using saliva to adhere a stamp to an envelope?

You don't have to pick your nose and rub it all over your tax returns (and believe me, it doesn't make the IRS want to audit you any less). You don't take a dump on your license renewal form. The United States Post Office is the only government agency that relies on spit to function.

Sure, you can get those fancy new sticker stamps, but only if you buy stamps by the gross. And I don't know anyone so in love with their prison pen pal to go through that many stamps. For most of us, it's buy a stamp at the post office for the one thing we're there to mail. Then you put your coins in the machine and pull out a lickable document that will get your minimum credit card payment to Omaha by Thursday.

Envelopes aren't getting off the hook either. They've got to have a lick to work, and that's just medieval. Some envelope companies have come out with the peel-off adhesive areas. Genius. Why is this still the exception and not the rule?????

Pick out a greeting card, any of them: "Sorry I Touched You There, Nephew,"
"Congratulations On Your Retirement - Religious," "Happy Birthday, Butcher," it doesn't matter, chances are, your good intentions will be accompanied by an envelope you slobbered all over......

Moisture-activated adhesive was invented in 367 B.C. by the Chinese. Granted, the adhesive was saliva itself. Still, it should have been replaced by a superior invention centuries ago. Or, if it's so perfect, why not use it everywhere. Instead of Post-it notes, walls should be finished with lickable adhesive. Then we could lick the wall and slap a normal piece of paper up there to remind ourselves to throw out our Post-it notes.

Decades ago, when people took the time and effort to dream up a slick future scenario for a novel or film, information delivery was window dressing. "Of course licking stamps and envelopes will be obsolete by 1984", writers assumed. Even in crappy 60s sci-fi, in which robots looked like water heaters, mail was delivered via a system of "futuristic" vacuum tubes. The banks caught on, while the USPS is still relying on us for a tonguing. It's just stupid.

Sure, bodily fluids comes in handy for many personal uses that may never have been intended – spit works for spot grooming, shoe shining, light torture (a la the saliva yo-yo) and urine is good for extinguishing small fires, arctic calligraphy and hot sex - but the parcel industry needs our secretions??? I submit no - it does not.

When are we going to wake up and scream, "I'm done frenching my mail!"

Only then will we, as a society, be able to go about our bill paying, credit card applying, thank you note sending lives with a shred of dignity. Take a stand.

Can I Get A Bar Of Soap And A Valium Please?

Hi Kids! Please forgive my lack of posts over the past couple of weeks. Long story short: I've been camping in the mountains. It sucked balls. Sweaty ones.

Once I hose off, I'll be back with the hideous details. (and some bug spray just in case I've been followed)

Retarded Bag Boy, Fuck You

Okay, toots, I admire your whole endeavor here, but I can’t handle this shit any longer. The job description probably read something like, “Put things in bags,” and at first glance, I would have considered you mildly capable. I believe I am a rational person, but you have stretched me to the limit of my patience. You carry on blindly as you routinely perform CPR on various bags of Doritos and other potato chip products. You fucking annihilated all of my Pringles a few weeks ago and they don’t even come in traditional bags. Uncool, buddy. You handle my bread each week like it’s the first boob you ever touched. Speaking of that… why in the fuck do you keep hugging me? Do you think I can't feel you playing grab ass? How far does this have to go before I’m allowed to maliciously attack you? I have to be honest. Your awkward forward lean, combined with the proximity between your head and my foot, doesn’t make me want to kick you any less.

Okay, hold on. Let me count to ten. That was wrong. Sorry about that. I lost my cool. I know you’re trying your best. I should be more sympathetic. I guess what I want to say is that I’ll be taking over the bagging duties here. Let’s just say I have a very precise way that I want my groceries bagged. You can go away now. Here’s a bouncy ball. And something shiny.

Okay, you're not stopping. What is your fucking deal? 

Man, what are you doing? Close my box of Ritz. C’mon toots, I need those for a party. Holy fuck. Is this really happening? You would at least think that you would try to face the other direction or make a slight attempt to hide the fact that you are devouring my groceries in front of me. No, instead you just smile at me and dribble Ritz crumbs all over your boobs. It really compliments the apple sauce that is smothered across your chest. Did you get any of your lunch in your mouth? Alright, enough with my crackers already. Should I be delivering a left hook to your nose right now? How am I supposed to react in this fucking scenario?
Okay, are you done? Have you had enough crackers? You could close the box at least. Hold up, toots. Don’t put them in the bag upside down.

Wow, I'm heavily sweating and my teeth are beginning to grind violently across each other. If I give you some candy, will you let ME bag the groceries? Um... how 'bout some Skittles? Okay, yeah, um - you're not supposed to put those in... oh never mind.

Paper? What are you fucking talking about? After the shit you just pulled, all you can say is, “Paper?” You’re kidding, right? You seriously think I’m focused on thinking of what type of bag you should use to pack my half-eaten and fully crushed groceries?

You are raising some serious ethical questions right now. I have a feeling that today’s events will produce several future chapters in college ethics books. Would it be fair if I spun around in a circle thirty times and then attempted to rip your throat out? What if I wore a blindfold? I could tie one arm behind my back and hop on one foot. God, there has to be a way.

What? You like Nintendo? What in the hell are you talking about? I hate you.
Wait, don’t put that heavy chicken on top of the fucking eggs. Jesus Christ in heaven riding a brontosaurus backwards. Yes, I understand that chickens and eggs are categorized together, but you don’t ever put heavy shit on top of… forget it. I’m counting to ten again. You know, I should really just take over from here, champ.

You’re still going. Do you fucking speak English? Oh, wait… please don’t separate that banana from the bunch. Hey! Fucker! Holy shit! You just ate half of that banana with one bite. You didn’t even peel it. That’s terrible. Call the police. Someone call the police. Hurry up. I need to go out like a werewolf and get myself arrested before something horrible happens. Hey Goth-chick cashier girl, you can stop ringing this order up. Counting to ten isn't working too well anymore.
Wait! Hey pal, why are you awkwardly winding up with my box of Cookie Crisp? You’re going to throw it at me, aren’t you? Yes you are. It is really taking you a long time to accomplish this task. This would work a lot better if you tried to catch me off guard. Alright, it looks like you're about ready. Here we go.

Wow, my vision is literally turning red. I didn't know this really happens. Oops, I’m grabbing your Dragon Ball Z t-shirt with clenched fists. Shaking you intensely is slightly relieving my anger. Stop laughing. You are such a cocksucker. Just hold still and keep your nose right where it is. Forgive me for what I’m about to do.

Oh shit, ouch! Fucking pepper spray? My fucking eyes! You let this fucking kid carry pepper spray? Oh, great, it sounds like security is finally arriving.
These handcuffs are a really nice touch to this embarrassing situation. Yes, I understand my rights. As I am being pulled out of the store, I fight through the searing pain to get one last glance at the mentally challenged bagboy. Of course, his arm is halfway into my box of Cookie Crisp and he is hugging various concerned women that surround him. I bet this story is going to look fantastic in the newspaper tomorrow. Fuck you, retarded bag boy. Fuck you.