It was their undying love for the chair that brought them all together; the thousands of depraved silverchair fans strewn across the bleak face of the country properly known as The United States of America, but more commonly known to chair fans as "The Country That Doesn't Carry Any Silverchair Stuff". That same subconcious craving for the chair is what brought them to the page, where they hypnotically read "silverchair" over and over, until they all had been brainwashed by an unknown outside force. They now stood, silent and staring with blank expressions, by their mailboxes, waiting...
All across the U.S. (aka the C.D.C.A.S.S.), post offices were just starting to receive tiny PostPak packages from Australia, with a return address of "The Llama Appreciation Society".
"What the hell is this?!" exclaimed Craig, who had just begun working for the Collegeville Post Office in Pennsylvania. He held the package in front of his face, staring at the four words.
"I don't know," Lew responded. "We've been getting those damn things in ever since I can remember," he said scratching his head. "They only come in about 3 or 4 times a year, but it seems like every year there's more of them! Just deliver them like regular, nothing special about 'em, 'cept that they probably belong to some llama lovin' wierdo. Some people, I swear...they're whacked!"
"Yeah, really," mumbled Craig as he tossed the package aside. It glared at him.
Hazel was growing very fond of her mailbox. She woke up everyday, would wipe the morning dew off the silver door if there was any, and peer inside for what seemed(and probably was) the millionth time. "Dammit! I forgot, I already checked that before I went to bed last night. When is my LAS package going to come?" she asked aloud to nobody. The late morning sun beat down on her already sun-soaked hair.
Hazel sighed and plopped down on the rich green April grass. She sniffed it. It smelled like dirt. "Dirt is mud, and mud is dum spelt backward, so I shouldn't play in it coz- OH! Here comes the MAILMAN!!!" She lept up and brushed the dirt from her hands, and waited for the tiny white truck to stop before her.
"Hello again!" Perry, the mailtruck driver, greeted her. "I see you're still out here. Sorry, no package, but here are some name stickers, I think, and oh, a surf magazine too." He handed her the two items and Hazel smiled at him and waved goodbye.
First, she opened up the name labels. They all had her name and address printed on the left hand side, and in the upper right-hand corner there was a picture of a penguin. It was standing on an iceberg, looking down, and underneath were the words, "SAVE ME".
"What kind of sick f**k would send me address labels with a suicidal penguin on it?!" She took the labels and placed them in her mailbox, along with the previous days' mail and a bag of Florida oranges. "I wonder," Hazel began, "if Daniel had called his song "Suicidal Penguin" instead, would people think he had a little imaginary penguin following him around & talking to him? Hmph."
Hazel decided to spend the remainder of her day preoccupied with her surf magazine. "I bet," she said to herself, "that if Ben was surfing and lost his shorts, he'd continue to surf naked."
Hazel began to laugh hysterically at the thought of this, when something caught her eye. She redirected her interest to a tiny picture of a llama at the bottom of the "letters" column. "Oooh, how did YOU get in here? Llamas don't surf. You'll have to sit here with me now," she said to the little llama as she ripped it carefully off the page. "You can be my new friend. I think I'll call you Shnaz."
Hazel and Shnaz examined the rest of the magazine, looking for anymore "lost souls", until the sun began to sink down below the horizon, and darkness slowly filled the fading fire sky. Hazel and Shnaz slept peacefully under the white stars.
2 days later at the post office, things we're not going smoothly.
"Bruler just called in sick. Now him AND Perry aren't here to drive truck. That's just what I need on a Monday," grumbled Lew. "Here," he said, handing a pair of keys on a 'Mailmen are #1!' keychain to Craig. "It's a nice day out. Go for a drive."
"Arrgghhhh, do i HAVE to???"
"YES - now get your ass out there, and for Christ's sake, take that Llama package with you!! You've let it sit there for 3 days now. Are you afraid of it or something?!"
"Yes," replied craig dryly. "It belongs to some llama lunatic and it glares at me." With that he picked up the little package and walked out the back door to where the mail truck was parked.
"What a great way to spend my day," he muttered, as he stacked the cartons of mail into the truck. "God, I can't wait to get rid of you!" he said to the LAS package as he placed it on the front seat of the truck. It just sat there staring back at him, looking muttled and confused.
"Shnaz, it BETTER come today! What, you think it will? Oh good, i hope you're right!" Shnaz sat in the grass next to Hazel staring at a tree.
"All right, what's up with you and the tree? You have been staring at it since you woke up. Is there some kinda psychic love connection going on with you and the tree that I don't know about? Am I missing something?" Not getting an answer, Hazel pushed herself off the damp ground and walked over to the tree. there was a long line of sap running down from its middle to the roots. "Ooooh, look, organic honey! So THAT'S what you've been trying to tell me! I could make millions off of this stuff, I bet I'm the only one in the world who has an organic honey tree. Umm, don't say anything to anyone about this tree, OK Shnaz?" Hazel looked around suspiciously, but there was no one in sight. She heaved a sigh of relief and smiled. "Smart smart Shnaz." She picked him up and began snging "Findaway" out of desperation because the mail was running awfully late, and she was becoming awfully impatient.
"OK, here we are you evil little...THING!!" Craig said to the package, which was making obscene faces at him. "Satin street, that's your stop."
Hazel heard the mail truck before she saw it. "Ok Shnaz, here he comes! Aw, wait til I give him a piece of my mind...and remember- NOTHING ABOUT THE HONEY TREE! YOU PROMISED!! I mean it, you stay quiet!!"
Craig peered out the window of the mail truck at the girl in silver shorts and a white tank top. "What a psycho, waiting for the mail like that - Lew was right about those Llama people!" Finally he stopped in front of Hazel's mailbox. But before he could even get a word out, Hazel started.
"You, sir, may be new, but you are late, 3 hours and 44 minutes LATE, and it is of great importance to me and my friend (points to Shnaz behind her on the ground) that i receive a certain piece of mail very soon, because I've been waiting out here for 6 days, 6 F**KING DAYS (starts yelling), and god help the poor fellow who is keeping me from this certain piece of mail, because if I find out just who that is, they'll be getting the lucky honor of a game of "footsie" involving MY foot and THEIR ass! Understood!?"
"Hey, lady, calm down! Here, if this will make you any happier, here's a package, I'm assuming it's yours because you DO look like a llama freak - here, take it!" Craig thrust the package at Hazel, who snatched it greedily from his hands. "It's been sitting in the office for, oh, days...I just forgot to put it in the deliver bin," he added.
Hearing this, Hazel's excitement drained from her face and was quickly replaced by a malicious stare. Glaring at craig, she hissed, "You what?!?!?"
"Oh Jesus lady, don't look at me like that! I swear, I'll never speak a bad word about llamas for the rest of my life! Please, don't hurt me, I love llamas, see?" Craig quickly unzipped his vest, revealing, yes! the meditating llama shirt!
"The meditating llama shirt!" gasped Hazel. The hatred quickly dissolving from her eyes, she looked questioningly at Craig. "You..like silverchair?" she asked him.
"Well, yes - I don't know much about them or anything but I love their music! When I first heard them in '95, I was living in Hartford (Connecticut), so, there wasn't really any good chair stuff up there. All I could find was this shirt...and it's kinda been my lucky shirt, because I always had such a hard time finding any silverchair merchandise."
Hazel couldn't believe what she was hearing. Here he was, a fellow chairhead like herself, handing her the long awaited LAS package - he was her saviour, completely unaware he had just given her a sacred silverchair object.
Uncomfortable by the silence and Hazel's jaw-dropped stare, he went on. "I heard that you can order chair stuff on the internet, but I don't have a computer, so I don't know if it's true or not," he said, seeming a little embarassed he was so far behind the times. [no wonder he wasn't affected, he had no computer to be brainwashed by!!]
Hazel, the "spell" broken, shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. "What's your name?" she asked the blond haired mailboy, who was looking nicer by the minute. How did he ever get stuck with a job like this? she began to wonder.
"Craig," he replied enthusiastically. "Do you like Silverchair too?" he asked shyly, looking hopefully at Hazel.
"Do I!" smiled Hazel. "I think you should see something, really. Come with me a minute. Well, c'mon! Get outta the truck, silly! I gotta show you something."
Gladly! thought Craig, as he stepped out of the god-awful embarassingly oversized excuse for a golfcart. "Y'know, i'm beginning to think that this shirt IS lucky," pondered Craig, as the three of them (Shnaz too, remember) walked up the driveway to Hazel's house. "Without it, I probably woulda been mauled to death." He grinned at her.
"No," Hazel thought a minute, then replied, "I would have just maimed you - badly." She grinned back at him.
They walked through the archway over the door and into Hazel's kitchen. Shnaz began to make everyone coffee (how sweet!). Hazel and craig sat at the table, and opened to the package, as she started to explain to craig about what the LAS REALLY was...Ah, yet another happy ending for two devoted chair fans. And as fate shines brightly on these two members of the Llama Nation, bonding them by their adoration for a great band......another group of chair fans unite to form a massive sek and destroy party on post offices nationwide. Moved by a spell that will cease to break until the obtaining of a small, postpak package...they raid post offices, overturn mail trucks, and rip open mailbags, searching for the "holy grail" of the contents of the U.S. mail and post offices.
Driven to madness by lack of sleep and silverchair merchandise in the United States, they continue to search and search and search, all the while a girl sits at her computer, looking at the message she typed up days ago. It reads:
silverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchairsilverchair.....
*now you have been secretly brainwashed*
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