Dear Neighbors: This is me....

   Dear Neighbors:

    This is me, you know, your now deceased local mail clerk.  I'm the one, I admit, who drinks so much I write late night letters
on social sites, lying about my neighbors (they aren't really next door).

   When I'm drunk I'm not even sure where I live, but I write garbage anyway to get even for them not
approving of the PTSD's and other drunks like me handling their mail (oh, how I miss checking out all the secrets inside those envelopes).

    And jus to let everyone know, when I'm not a drunken PTSD er, I find a place to hang out with my bestest new friend, the PIG of the county!

   I don't miss being a mail clerk, but (hehe) I do miss that fat paycheck. They forced me to retire, you could say, so that I could devote more of my time to drinking and hurting others. So kind of management.

   So don't make fun of me, and don't forget your local postal, cause I haunt each and every one of you (not kidding either) You all used me!  Just to get your mail!  Disgusting!

   Goodbye,

   Your friendly neighborhood drunken postal. Farewell forever!