This is a t-shirt that someone in my household ordered from a young woman in Thailand. It cost $5.15 to be mailed from Bangkok to New York, where the socialist, unionized postman had the temerity to stop me while I was dog-walking two blocks from my house, just so I could avoid the inconvenience of going to the PO to sign for it.
I resent every penny of my taxes that went toward this outrage, and I long for the day that I am able to crawl from under the crushing weight of the socialist bootheel of the USPS and their axis of foreign postal services. I want my french fries fried in animal fat, and I want to choose an independent, for-profit mail delivery service on the open market. Until then, my daily experience is but a fleeting taste of what true liberty could be.