Here I am, sitting on an unmade bed, drinking coffee and blasting my head off with Green Day, and I’m telling you, it’s hard to drink coffee when your head is spread across the ceiling. I’ve got a day off school today and I’m sifting through the junk that has gathered in my room since I moved into it, just over a year ago. I am currently puzzling over a photograph (well, technically I am scribbling away at great speed at this second but that’s irrelevant) featuring a gnome, a Tango salesperson and a small purple goat. I am undecided as to whether I will post the photo onto the website or not, I don’t know how nice I’m feeling, what with being schizophrenic and all (and also my scanner’s on the blink). I have also just found a big bundle of all the letters I received in the summer of ’99. It was then that I first became aware of the Post Fairies. No, not by a sugar-induced hallucination from eating too much comfort food, it was when I opened a letter from the aforementioned gnome and a fine residual dust puffed out everywhere, blocking up the vacuum cleaner and killing the fish. I would just like to make it perfectly clear, before any solicitors get involved, that the gnome in question cannot be held responsible for the death of these innocent fish. Actually, I can’t say the fish were that innocent or that I miss them that much because they were always moaning and bitching, in fact, it was like a story line from Dawson’s Creek the way they carried on so it was just as well they were put out of their misery.

Anyway, back to these Post Fairies. For a few weeks I received letters and all of them contained this dust until one day, instead of the dust, there was a letter in the envelope, and, more relevantly to this story was a note saying the Post Fairies had gone on strike. However, I personally believe that the people who watch us (see Conspiracy Theory) informed the Post Fairy General that his underlings were guilty of fish-slaughter and these negligent Fairies are being tortured even as we read. It is up to me and any willing people (minimum requirement: a pulse) to rescue these poor Post Fairies and explain to the Post Fairy General that the fish were better off in the deep fryer.

The Photo

By Schizophrenic Pyromaniac