Enter Your Reply

Well, hey, Larry--SHAZAM!! Bullseye! POIFICK! I couldn't have come up with
a better move for him myself! (Hey, I've used some of the moves you came
up with in the Jeddara game; Tony's not quite up to dealing with Warlord
yet, but we'll cross that bridge, too. Someday. I hope and 'speck.)
There's another 'Postal' piece, too, called the 'Franker.'  He's the
guy who runs the automatic franking machine when the congressional mail
comes through--5000 pieces of letter-size not-quite-cardstock rocketing
through a little ditch in a stainless steel table at nine hundred and
seventeen miles an hour, and one corner of one gets folded and hung on the
little wheelie-thing and in seven nano-seconds the whole batch is 5000
little greasy paper accordians that you can't throw in the trash where
they belong; the lucky recipients of these mangled missives will wonder if
it's some kind of joke. The Franker gets to straighten these pontifical
pennings out, one by one, after disassembling the
hunnertandeightyseven-piece mechanism in order to extricate the last two
thousand and twelve, which have become compressed into a block of the most
incredibly strong material known to man, separable only by exacto and
microscope.
  I am open to input on precisely what the Franker does when this
delightful event occurs.  Blow in place, maybe.  Go Supervisor hunting
sounds likely.  Head for the nearest bar.  Stack up three or four more
5000-packs and see if you can blow the jam free with Overdrive.  I dunno. 
I'm too close to the problem--y'see, it was part of an earlier, checkered
life, in nightmares of which I still awaken, trembling, drenched with
sweat, in the wee, still hours.