Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Another very compelling interview

The latest in our series of sit-down conversations with those individuals in society who may often get overlooked but are nonetheless important to everyone's well-being. Kind of like hands (really, we never stop to say, "God I love my hands," but if we didn't have hands, life would be, well, tough to get a hold on...hahahahahahaaha...sorry). So anyway, an interview with a true hand of American existence: the mailman.

Cleanest River: So when did you start delivering mail?

Mailman: Oh, sixth grade I guess. Had a paper route.

CR: Ah, so you were more of paper boy?

Mailman: Well, newspaper delivery is really a kind of mail. Gotta think broadly. Mail is about more than just what goes in your mailbox, you know.

CR: Uh, right. So what's your favorite part about the job?

Mailman: The flapjacks I'd say.

CR: We're not following.

Mailman: Well, every morning, all us mailmen wake up at dawn, cut down an acre or so of trees, then come on inside, take off our flannel shirts and have us some pancakes the size of your face. The hardest part of the job is keeping the axes sharp...

CR: Sorry, but you seem to be describing the life of a lumberjack.

Mailman: Nope. Life of a mailman.

CR: You mentioned cutting down trees.

Mailman: Exactly! Cutting down trees is part of the mail service. It's a wide-ranging industry. Some mailmen cut down trees, others design x-ray machines, some mailmen actually make the tides in the ocean.

CR: Okay, we know for a fact tides are the product of the moon and the rotation of the earth along its axis.

Mailman: Wrong. They're created by mailmen pedaling giant bikes underwater.

CR: How come we've never heard that?

Mailman: Mailmen in Congress keep it a secret.

CR: No one in Congress is a mailman!

Mailman: Keep on telling yourself that, cowboy.

CR: We're not a cowboy.

Mailman: I know. Cowboys aren't even cowboys. They're mailmen.

CR: Listen. Can we just have our mail?

Mailman: Oh sure.

[starts cutting down a tree]

CR: Hey, that's our oak!

Mailman: Got to get the mail distributed. Timber! [tree falls down]

CR: You're a real cock.

Mailman: Nope, I'm a mailman. [takes a giant bike out of his pocket, hops on and pedals off into sunset, whistling "My Girl."]