I’ve discovered the wonderful world of petty mail-order junk. I love it. A computer is a grand tool for opening the world of spending petty cash for a guy, but it’s not really essential. You can do without one if you just get on the catalog list. The simplest way to do that is to send away for a catalog, listing your address and name, of course, but beneath your name add the title “Purchasing Coordinator.” Then you add a note telling the catalog folks not to give your name out to anyone else or little old ladies will pull out their whiskers, one at a time. It doesn’t hurt to add that the chairman of the board mustn’t find out what has been ordered. Then be sure the item you order is really cheap (hey, why waste money?) and makes no earthly sense at all. Think porcelain frog soap dish here.
This will immediately start a flood of catalogs coming your way. You have no idea of the obscure junk people are anxious to sell you. Why, just the flood of catalogs itself is a postal thrill. One of the first items to buy, of course, will be one of those paper log rollers so you can make fireplace fodder out of the outdated catalogs.
But to ensure a Niagaristic flow of fun, each payday buy one little thing. Just one. Then you can wait anxiously for its arrival. The man in the brown van will get to know you by name. Your days will be filled with a delicious anticipation and longing. Your closets will runneth over. Thy neighbors will presume thou art wealthy or operateth a crack house.
And we know that soon … maybe tomorrow … we will be the richer for one more doodad and piddle-diddle to caress and care for and put on the shelf.
For it is written … no one willingly ends his own life when there’s a faux-ivory imported-from-China full-length backscratcher due to arrive at any moment.
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