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Esteemed Denizens of the Donut,
The Wizard Lounge, often a place of the best sorts of things (like half-
decade-long naps, sipping of flowery fluids through straws, and light
drafts of air stirring lazy window drapes) it can also be a place of bitter
rivalries held only barely in check.
So it was that, upon waking from one of the aforementioned naps, I found
myself subject to the burning gaze of one of the most feared and loathed
individuals to ever haunt the halls of the immortals. Yes. It was none
other than ... Postmaster.
Let me tell you, this is not the first thing ANYONE wants to see through
bleary eyes after a long (and comfortable) nap.
But, there he was. And those eyes - they do burn.
I saw in them more than 1,200 sparks, each telling the tail of an unread
mail that this foul entity knew was waiting in my box, stuffed there by he
himself.
Did I mention bitter rivalries? Me and this guy go WAY BACK.
Anyway, there was no way to deal with this in any responsible manner, so
making sure I didn't break eye contact with him for even a second, I
casually took the antique hellbore-cannon my grandpappy left me as a child
and opened it full throttle on my mailbox, torching the entire thing in
one pull of the trigger. And, yeah ... be blinked. Heh! All those 1,200
sparks gone from his eyes in a blazing instant!!!
So, I apologize to any of you who had words for me in that conflagration.
I trust that anything important enough you can resend me. I'll try not to
take any more 3-5 year naps any time soon. No promises though. And please
do not let Postmaster buy you a drink and tell you any of his sob stories
about me. You might die before the tales are finished.
Best,
G.