Invasion of Privacy: My Mailman

The Survival Guide (like any other quantitative science) struggles to understand the world around us. And as you might imagine, this line of work that both Leon Firestone and I are a part of has allowed us not to only understand the world around us, but I’d go so far as to say it has made us the two understandiest people around. Even still, we are pioneers. And what I am pioneering today is a way that will better understand the individual. Arguments can be made that this is hardly a new fascination. Some may even argue that the focus on the individual is responsible for modern science.

Those people are wrong, although I believed the politically correct term is “retarded.”

My associate, Leon Firestone, conceptualized the idea only yesterday as we conversed over an episode of Nip/Tuck. We were talking about how boobs are awesome except for the times they’re being cut up by scalpels. In those instances, we agreed, breasts have what we call a “reverse boner” effect.

Anyway, I came to the conclusion that I can probably get away with extreme invasions of privacy if I spin it as research that aspires to answer the daunting question of what exactly unites us all as individuals. Also, I could probably steal a lot of shit.

Long story short, I found out where my mailman lives and broke into his house while he was working. In a moment of ultimate irony, I was not home when he rang the doorbell to sign for a package because I was kicking down his screen door.

What I found:
Upon entering his home, the first thing I noticed was a giant collage of Johnny Depp. Collage is an unjust term to be honest, because it was not limited to two-dimensions. A giant cardboard cutout of Edward Scissors Hands jutted out of the center of the wall occupied by the collage. This cardboard cutout, in turn, was embracing an anatomically correct paper mache model of Depp (ala Sweeney Todd) made entirely out of ticket stubs. The door adjacent to this Depp beacon led to a room that was filled with giant rubber dildos. Each one of these was mounted on a plaque bases and named after a president of the United States. Located on a desk and underneath a ribbed little number named “Andrew Jackson,” I found a draft of my mailman’s autobiography with a working title of I’m Gay And No One Knows It: A Mailman’s Struggle.


What I learned:
My mailman has a deep appreciation for character actors and an affinity for both writing and making paper mache. Also, he had a 19-inch HD television in his bedroom, which conveniently fit in the front passenger seat in my car.

I wouldn’t go so far as to make sweeping generalizations, but I think we can all agree this was a big step for understanding mailmen across the globe.