The Chosen One


Junk Mail Drives Me Nuts!

An e-mail sent to me from Time today said I was chosen. Never had I thought ever to be a chosen one, but my fifteen seconds of jubilation and self-assumed fame turned into anonymity quickly again upon my discovering they just wanted more of my hard-earned money, by offering cut-rate pricing for subscriptions to their other publications.

Give me a break. I already subscribe to their flagship magazine, but the greedy marketing department wants to draw blood from a stone.

Methinks I’m the chosen one for receiving unsolicited junk mail from everybody in the world.

That’s like AARP, another organization that gets my goat, soliciting for cash donations at least twice monthly. With my assuming they send out letters to their millions of members as well, postage and handling must cost them a fortune. Let’s figure this out, shall we?

According to records, AARP has a membership of 37,000,000+ old farts like me. Their revenue, based on the fiscal year of 2014, was $1,486,310,000. That’s well-over a billion dollars. Their expenses for that year totaled $1,468,824,000, yielding a net profit of $17,486,000.

If, for argument’s sake, the organization sends out two letters per month, begging for donations from all their members, they’d have to pay marketing bulk-mail postage on 76,000,000 envelopes monthly, times 12 for an annual total of 912,000,000 solicitations.

Taking the low-end price for a bulk-mail stamp, which costs 21¢ if mailed from a US Postal Sectional Center Facility, the yearly expense comes to $191,520,000. That’s definitely not chump change.

Then the expense for stationary, printing, and other miscellaneous charges compounds that to presumably another $91,200,000, guessing the supplies cost 10¢ per mailing, for a grand total of $282,720,000.

Granted, they have to solicit to get money, but, considering their net profit as mentioned above, is all the hassle and cut trees from massive quantities of paper worth it? Close to a third of a billion dollars spent begging for money seems redundant to me.

Making charitable contributions to various organizations land well-meaning donors onto mailing lists that go round-robin to the rest, sold from one outfit to most every other charity from here to kingdom come.

Since contributing to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, veteran groups, police associations, ACLU, the Red Cross, a few food banks and flood-relief concerns, I’ve now received from a boatload of associations, a cache of return-mail labels, a stash of calendars—at least two for every room in my apartment—stationary with my name embossed atop of it, pens, and enough greeting cards to send out to those on my annual Christmas-card list. Everybody wants a piece of the action.

Entering a sweepstakes from Publishers’ Clearing House condemns a soul to eternal receipt of yet more chances to win money for another drawing from which one will never receive any of the prizes in their lifetime.

I made the mistake last June by sending back their entry form for a contest and have been hit up regularly to enter another form of the same sweepstakes, sent to me almost as often as AARP sends out their junk mail. I just received another one in the post yesterday.

When will it all end? My tongue has a permanent layer of glue embedded in its pores from licking all the stickers for plastering them on their return, super-prize certifications.

Oh well, I’m my worst enemy, it seems, so enough of this week’s rant. Just finished my latest cover tune this evening, by the way. Please allow me to share it with you. Hope you enjoy it. It would be nice to mention in the comments’ section if you do. Even if you think it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard and it hurts your ears, I would appreciate the input.

Incidentally, I’m heartbroken that the NY Yankees lost the ALCS tonight, but they gave it one heck of a try. Congratulations to them for a fine season.

Thanks for stopping by and for your continued support.

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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