The Tale of the Black Mailman
By Robert Ross
Once in the post office of Marta-Vista Colorado a white mailman sat down eating his lunch. The postmaster walked into the room and looked at the white mailman. A vein on the postmaster’s forehead began to pulse and little clumps of applesauce were pumped through his body. The white mailman looked at him in horrid and wondered why he looked at him with such menacing anger on his face. The white mailman then said, “Why do you look at me with such menacing anger on your face?” The postmaster’s face just began to grow exceedingly red and more veins surrounded the first one, which only grew in size and power. The white mailman began to get nervous, taking bites of his sandwich nervously as he watched his postmaster. The white mailman glanced at the clock nervously, the white mailman was quite nervous, he was not calm at all, and he was indubitably not of regular attitude. The postman then shouted, “Are you nervous white mailman?” The white mailman nervously answered him, “Yes.” Continued the white mailman, still nervous, “I am quite nervous postmaster.” The postmaster had heard enough of this white mailman’s nervousness. Nervous was the white mailman and there was no question about it, there was not a single question, which doubted him, no longer did he feel casual, for he was indeed nervous. The postmaster then exploded and a cloud of red filled the room. Fragments of bone sunk deep into the face of the white mailman. Shards of clothing covered in steaming blood sizzled on the walls; organs sprayed blood continually even once they were rid of their blood. Blood begot blood, begotten blood begot more blood, begotten begot blood begot more blood and begotten, begotten begot blood bore whiteness against the suitor’s daughter. A stench of a freshly cut wound filled the white mailman’s lungs and filled his uterus. The scalp of the postmaster dangled upon the broken fan, which had been broken by the chunks of muscle. Before the incident none of this had occurred but was never doubted to have become. The scent of a fresh would suddenly disappear as the postmaster’s bladder and large intestine were purged of their continence. The acids of the postmaster’s stomach and the acid covered partially ingested food burned into the white mailman’s eye sockets and into the surrounding furniture. The white mailman’s face was shredded and holes covered him. His blood pressure lapsed as frothy blood ran down his clothes. Vomit was unleashed upon the room cleansing it from its old companion of blood.
When total Chaos was thought to be unsurpassable a small girl entered the room where the white mailman lay convulsing holding in his entrails. The girl began to fall apart as the thought of rain gutters filled her mind. A leg, then an arm, then a leg, arm, leg, arm, arm, leg, leg, arm, leg, leg, leg, leg, arm, leg, arm, leg, leg, arm, arm, arm, leg, and arm. The 3 were soon no doubt dead. The postmaster was in particles around the room. The white mailman was filled with holes, his face was torn apart, his eyes were burned out, his legs were bent the wrong way, and his entrails made there way spreading around the room. Then the girl lay limbless with an access of 11 legs and 9 arms.
The white mailman had leaded a good life and his faith was right, earning his way into heaven. In heaven the white mailman’s god told him that no man should ever gain suffer the fate, which fell upon the white mailman. The white mailman was sent back to earth in a new body and would now be known as, the black mailman. As the black mailman he was youthful again and quite in good shape. He would lift a house, and jump over a brick, the new mailman was unstoppable.
The End
Moral: Airmail is how the Black mailman gets his packages. |
