I READ THE INSTRUCTIONS

I read the instructions for the collection of my parcel. It was to be collected from a secret underground bunker in Hamburg between the first bloodening of the full moon and the emergence of moral thought in mammals, at no less than 40 words per second in request time and the delivery of the serial number to be layed out like the twoallbeefpatties business of yore. I wondered whether this devious chicanery was intended to make me give up on the idea of ever collecting my package, and pictured these delivery company hobgoblins rolling around on a pile of uncollected packages in glee, cackling and tossing them up at the fan.