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Posting this here for posterity.
If and when RadTown disappears, The Snake Post Office Post will still be available here:

The Snake Post Office Post

A zine brought to you by your friends at The Snake Post Office.

Thank you so much to everyone who contributed!

Boost this Mother Far and Wide!

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Apparently the capitalization of PostMaster is bothering some of you, as Postmaster is one word on its own.

To you I say, Fuck Off. I am the Post Master, Master of Posts.

Honestly, the snakes have no objections to wearing masks while they work, but none of us have any idea how to get the masks to stay on their little earless faces.


At this point in the pandemic, if I'm Vaxxed and Boosted, is it unreasonable of me to not want to work in close proximity to an UnVaxxed Coworker for a day?

What kind of candy do you think it was that guy smelled anyway?

Sex Words 

According to The Joy of Sex (1972) no one should ever shave their armpits because it ruins Cassolette (armpit fucking).

The absolute injustice of a car driving by while I'm outside, potentially perceiving me without my consent.

When The Youths talk about 90s fashion revival I point them to Color Me Badd's video for the song, All 4 Love, and ask, "This? You want to bring *this* back?"

And then we both just end up watching the video because it's a fun song.

Sometimes I put on a podcast and just completely ignore it. I don't hear a single fucking word for 20-30 minutes.

The Snake Post Office doesn't have an official celebrity spokesperson, but we have done a few very successful national ad campaigns with Sam Jackson.

The Pythons won't work with the Cobras, the Rattlers won't work with the Anacondas, who won't work the Cottonmouths.
Nobody wants to work with Copperheads, and the Mambas are very good sorters, but the Garters are the *best* sorters and they *hate* the Mambas. The hognoses are willing to work with anyone, but everyone hates that they play dead whenever the floors need sweeping.

Scheduling at The Snake Post Office is a fucking nightmare.

I took this picture yesterday on my way out of town. And like, I assume it's a Trump supporter because of the handwriting, but it could just as well be a disgruntled leftist.

I spent the whole of today telling myself that if I got through the unpleasant thing I did not want to do, I would reward myself with Taco Bell, since I'd be in relative proximity to one.

Of course it was fucking closed.

My favorite part is how much of a shit they did not give when I flipped on the light.

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Anyone here good at identifying birds?
I got a couple of weird birds at my feeder.

Look, you don't judge a Copperhead on his ability to asphyxiate, nor do you judge a Python on her ability to envenomate. The great equalizer is Postal Work. All snakes are good postal workers, this is known.

I miss living within 10 minutes of a Taco Bell.

Otherwise, I prefer it out here with the crows and turkeys and ducks and geese and groundhogs, and sure the occasional wendigo might call my name from within the shadowy thick of the forest's edge, but like, it's home, you know?

The Snake Post Office is not responsible for lost or stolen packages, especially if those packages contain delicious mice.

There's a pair that come together every day. One of them will take a peanut, take a few steps away, open it, eat it, and then step back, and repeat. The other one fills their beak with 3-5 peanuts, flies 30-50ft away, eats them all, and then flies back to do it again.

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If any of the snakes have personal mastodon accounts, *I* don't know about it. Please stop asking me.

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