Stick ‘Em Where The Sun Don’t Shine


Almost-Full Sturgeon Moon

The person who thought up the scheme for sending a batch of personalized return-address labels along with their solicitations for donations should be plastered head to toe with thousands of those blasted stickers, like in the olden days when a no-good varmint was tarred and feathered, then run out of town adhered to a rail.

Furthermore, whose idea was it to send dimes, nickels or shiny pennies with their pleas for some of my cash, expecting me to return them along with a check?

I’ve also received a couple of calculators. What’s up with that? Several stacks of small note pads line my junk shelf, along with enough return-address labels to last me until I die. How am I ever going to move out of this place before using them all up?

The majority of the appeals sent have the salutation, “Dear Friend,” written on the letters. It’s gotten to the point upon my reading their spiels, I say automatically, “I’m not your friend,” as the whole shebang ends up in the trash.

I send the coinage back in the return envelopes, and that’s all. When the first calculator showed up, I sent the solicitor back a donation, with a note saying, “Don’t send anything  to me again. I won’t respond back.” Would you believe they sent me another one? Both of them are stashed also on the junk shelf.

I make regular donations to my pet organizations, but the problem with that is the non-profits sell their donors’ mailing lists to other charities, I presume. Otherwise, how did all the sundry charitable groups get my name and address? They all send me return-address labels, note pads with my name embossed on each sheet, calendars, planners, etc. The extraneous pleas now all go in the refuse bin. I’m fed up with them.

My reason for this tirade is from sorting through all my piled-up mail earlier this evening, as I pay my bills on the 25th of every month. From fear of identity theft, I tear up the sections on all the junk correspondences that list my name and address, before throwing them out.

From receiving such an abundance of these unwanted entreaties, I go through said paces before discarding them, two to three times a month; otherwise, I’d be inundated due to my usual procrastinate behavior if done every thirty or thirty-one days.

Why not get rid of them upon receipt? See the previous paragraph.

What else can I complain about? I spent most of last week bathed in calamine lotion from my annual summer bout with poison ivy. It’s gone now, but I’ve got a few mosquito bites from last night’s photographing the almost-full Sturgeon Moon at my neighborhood haunt in Andalusia, PA, along the Delaware River.

Probably more bites will accumulate Sunday night, while I capture the orb when it’s totally full, should my bottle of insect repellent remain again in the medicine cabinet at home.   It’s always something.

For if the sky becomes overcast on the 26th, I took the following shots on the 24th in case:

Another heat wave is forecasted for the Philadelphia area, with real-feel temps expected to be in the triple digits for a few days next week on Monday through Thursday. When will it all end? Soon, I hope.

Labor Day Weekend is next week. Here’s to another summer I’m glad to see ending, although not officially until September 22nd. Surely, with the way it’s been, another heat wave or two will take its toll before fall arrives.

Thanks for allowing me this rant, and for your continued support. Have a great last week of August 2018.




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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