I have an addiction. It's bad. It's called Netflix burning. The minute I get my Netflix I have to burn them. I have about 800 movies from this process. 300 which I had seen already. 200 which I probably watched and then rest turn collect dust and showcase my addiction.
And when I can't break break the copy protection, let's just say I get extremely frustrated. I wonder who would do such a thing? Put something on a DVD so I can't copy and own it forever for FREEE.
But there is only one thing that frustrates more. It only recently bubbled up to my angry surface. If you knew me, you know I get angry quite infrequently. But I hate my Postman. My Postman is 6"5, 400 pounds. He doesn’t fit into the normal costume. On the average day, he sports an XXL Raiders Sweatsuit for Big and Tall. On a day with a chance of rain, he wears the outfit of a long shore fisherman with the chance of rain. SO I can tell the weather report by my postman, too bad if I waited for him, I wouldn’t know what the weather was until the day was over because he never fucking shows up.
The Postal System is a joke in general. Can't they figure out a way to get robots to do this shit? It takes like 40 people to sort out mail for a town that is about 20 blocks. They eat 5 times a day. Then they give you the neighbor’s mail. And here's what really perturbs me. As a result of the late mail delivery, my Netflix are never on time anymore. And if they do come on the right day, They come between 4:30- 5 PM. Giving me 30 minutes to burn and turn (meaning get the DVD, burn it, and send it back on the same day), which any true burn and turner knows is impossible.
Can Mr. Giant Postal Worker just fucking bring me my movies? My first week here, he just figured I didn't live here, so he didn't bring them. This guy has enough common sense to do that, which makes no sense, but has no way of getting me my mail nearer to the Noon- Two O'Clock mail time I've gotten in the 10 other NJ towns I've lived in.
I work at home so I'm always here to get the mail. Every day at around 3:30, I ball up my fist. I ponder where I would make the first strike into the Giant Snail. Today, I was outside for a little break at 4:55. He walks up to the porch nonchalantly. It was raining. (I understand rain slows down the mail, but neither rain nor sleet... whatever is supposed to slow these fuckers down).
But he comes up with a proud goofy smile. He says, "Bad weather today. Here's your mail." I mumble, "Bad weather every day I guess." He turns with that smile in tact and asks, "What'd you say?" "Must be tough on day's like today." I start to walk inside. He calls, "Hey Buddy.. missed a piece. When it rains, the magazines lose their label. You get GQ?" "Not here." "Well, here's your In Touch." I'd like my foot to be in touch with his behind so he'd mozy along a little quicker. "Yea, it's for the lady of the house." And I turn again, this same thing happens twice more. An invitation to call the Inventor Help Line and then the missing child card with ads on it. He gives me like 5 more pieces of mail. He must take like 8 trips to each house.
You’d think with he'd be able to sort this shit out. It’s his J-O-B!!! Can we please get a bunch of Monkeys up in this Post Office biatch? I need my Netflix… ON TIME. I am going to start writing letters to my congressman.
Dear Congressmen who I didn't vote for,
Please replace Postal workers and Cops with Monkeys. Then lower taxes or build something cool with the money saved (which I don't pay, but he doesn't have to know that.)
- Your Perturbed no, scratch that
-Your VERY AGITATED Netflix Loving Constituent.
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