Monday, March 5, 2007

Monday Moment of Zen

Forget pliers. Forget ropes, chains, red-hot eye pokers. The greatest form of psychological torture, sure to elicit screams of mercy from any terrorist on 24, is standing in a twenty-five person line at the post office and watching as two of the three clerks -- who have been moving at speeds generally reserved for slowly eroding rock formations -- put "closed" signs in their windows as they sit there, averting their eyes, typing on their computers.

I had been wondering why there were so many prominent signs declaring that assaulting a postal worker with a gun carried up to a 25-year prison sentence.

Now I know why.
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