WELLFLEET I was examining some of my rare stamps and perusing the latest issue of What Have You Done For Me Philately when I heard an odd slurping sound directly behind my chair. Spinning around, I noticed that Randall, my butler and astrologer, was licking valuable stamps and sticking them to his forehead.
A chase ensued, but the spry Randall was an elusive quarry. I nearly caught up to him at the end of the driveway, but then slipped on a carelessly discarded slice of Gorgonzola and collided with the mailbox. Letters flew about like confetti, and as they fluttered to earth, I saw that most of them were addressed to Pond Name Guy.