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| U.S. Military's Predator Drone |
According to our substitute postmistress, who lacks charm but certainly makes up for it with inefficiency, the Department of Homeland Security is coming for me. "They could show up at any time," she exclaimed just yesterday morning. They want details on who I am: Name, street address, driver's license number, passport, mortgage holder, blood type, DNA and RNA. (Just kidding about the last three.) This interest is sparked by my outrageous effrontery of maintaining a post office box in my little town of South Freeport, Maine, population 1,300. Let it be known: I must show a photo ID! I must fill out updated information! I must furnish answers to the following questions: Am I an alien? Have I ever been arrested? Who else lives in my house?
To illustrate just how backward things are up here in Maine, they want me to fill out a paper form--with a pen-- to provide them with these facts. How antiquated! Why, in some cities across America, all they have to do is swoop in pretty low with one of those remote-controlled, Air Force drones and snap a few pictures while you're sitting at your desk paying bills; you don't have to lift a finger, except to make sure the blinds are open and the shades pulled up. Now that's progress! Our state motto: Maine, The Way Life in a Gulag Shouldn't Be.
and for the record, I am still angry with whoever it was at your local post office who sent my gift to you to the dead mail place in georgia. I hate that person. the package could have been saved for you on the shelf behind your box. they could have phoned you. they could have sent it back to ME!!!! damn them. I will never use the PO for a package again. ever. thieves.
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