I love the Post Office. Too bad e-mail is ruining its business. Now it may have to lay off 120,000 postal workers and close down maybe 3,700 post offices to save money.
There’s something about the existence of a Post Office—always flying its American flag—that adds a sense of community to a town or neighborhood. You don’t get that feeling from a Fed Ex or UPS building.
The U.S. Postal Service has been in hard financial straits for a long time. Congress has been too busy being entertained by lobbyists to give it enough serious thought. My own serious thought about it is that our Postal Service should be funded the way the military is funded. “The postal presence” is worth preserving. It says something about the strength and cohesiveness of our country. Nobody expects the army to turn a profit.
The way we think
All older grownups need this information now. For you very young ones, cut this out and keep it in your wallet until needed:
° If you’re open-minded, that doesn’t mean your brains will fall out.
° Age is a very high price to pay for maturity, but worth it.
° Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.
° For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program.
° If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.
° Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.
° Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.
When the rich businessman choked on a fish bone at a restaurant, he was lucky that a doctor was seated at a nearby table. Springing up, the doctor skillfully removed the bone and saved his life.
As soon as the businessman had calmed down and could talk again, he thanked the surgeon enthusiastically and offered to pay him for his services. “Just name the fee,” he croaked gratefully.
“Okay,” replied the doctor. “How about half of what you’d have offered when the bone was still stuck in your throat?”
This week’s blonde
A blonde calls her boyfriend and says, “Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle and can’t figure out how to get started.”
Her boyfriend asks, “What is it supposed to be when it’s finished?”
“According to the picture on the box,” says the blonde, “it’s a rooster.”
Her boyfriend decides to go over and help with the puzzle. She shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table. He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says, “First of all, no matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.”
He takes her hand. “Second, I want you to relax. Let’s have a nice cold drink, and then,” he says with a deep sigh, “let’s put all the corn flakes back in the box.”