All Things Profane and Sacred

I just finished my least favorite chore: writing out the bills. Throughout every month, I received approximately 5 tons of fucking mail. Comming home to an overflowing mailbox isn't exactly my idea of relaxing after a hard day of letting hardened criminals out onto the streets to prey on an unsuspecting citizenry, so I usually let the mail sit until the mailman starts making his, "Oh god, just take the fucking mail in already" face as he desparately attempts to cram another load into my box (Jebus-let me make clear I do NOT have freudian fantasies about my mailman).

Fully half of that mail is from the ABA, who will never, never stop sending you piles of craptastic magazines, even after you make clear that you will never, never send them membership dues ever again. In fact, from my experience, paying dues only encourages them to ask you for more money. Either they have some sort of highly archaic billing system, a highly sophisticated billing system involving "new math," or they figure a busy law student isn't going to notice how often they ask for mo' money.

Ninety percent of the remaining half is junk mail-bales of credit card offers, coupons, and vaguely threating looking letters marked OPEN IMMEDIATELY. This pile pisses me off because I have to run most of it through the shredder so as to not suddenly have new credit cards floating around god knows where. Worse, most of the envelopes are so bulky that I have to actually open them and run the individual pages of crap through the shredder. Trust me, it does NOT pay to have good credit.

And the bastards are getting sneakier. J came over yesterday and showed me a weird one-a plain manilla envelope with "auditing department" in the return address. So he opens it up, and it's a pitch from Western Business College. Since he already knows how to operate a cash register he's not to interested anyway, so why fucking bother with the sneakiness?

Anyhow, I digress. Most of the remaining mail is bills, with the occasional bit of personal mail. Now my major beef with bills is not so much the paying part, but the sifting through all the crap they send with the bills. I don't want any of the doo dads and junk they want me to buy from their shady little friends. I just want to see what I owe, why I owe it, AND THAT'S IT!

Instead I'm completely irritated as a pile of crap offers the size of Cleveland stacks up next to my chair. And then I can't even seal the goddamn envelope because it has a fakey flap, so I rip open the semi-congealed envelope and end up taping it back together in a pre-schoolerish lump.

Fuckers. How I fucking hate them all.