Sunday, May 29


If you enjoy the Free Quality Programming here at The Midnight Mailman Show, we'd like to ask you now to give a little bit of your money to help us continue the Free Quality Programming you enjoy so much. Quality Programs including The Continuing Adventures of The Midnight Mailman and Mr. Happy Puppet Head, The Big Scary Monster, Howie the Little Girl and her Pet Old Man Head, Roboctopus, and many others. Free Programming that is Quality Programming.


The Midnight Mailman Show is a poor recent college graduate doing the best he can. Though we work over forty hours a week, we just barely bring in enough to support the type of Quality Programming we think you deserve.

For every Donation up to $5 you'll recieve a piece of Mr. Happy Puppet Head Fur and a small Original Drawing.

For donations $20 or more, you'll get the Fur, a Framed Drawing, and a Mr. Children-for-Hands DVD.

That's Exciting!

Remember when The Midnight Mailman and everyone else turned into Giants and ate everything? Remember when that one guy got stuck on a deserted island and ate his best friend and hung out with a Ghost Pharoh? Remember just the other day when all those girls drove off a cliff and some of you thought it was nicely written?

So please click the Donate Button and give what you can. We'd Donate if we had any cash. This is one of our favorite web sites.

Saturday, May 28

"It's Summer now," says Mark Candle. "Just like you wanted it to be for a long time."

"I know," replies Mark Burgerstienburger.

"So let's go have fun." Mark Candle always says that he has lots of hands for lots of fun. "I don't have all these hands for nothing."

"There are just a few more. Almost done." Mark Burgerstienburger picks up another heavy box and moves it accross the room.

"Those boxes aren't going anywhere," says Mark Candle. "But the sinshine and our youth are. Come on."

A large thorny bug pokes it's head out from a box at the top of the stack. "What's up? Do it already."

"Um..." Mark Burgerstienburger looks around the room to make sure there aren't any more boxes. "Okay. I'm ready." He pulls the handle and the large metal weight falls from the ceiling with graceful fluidity upon the stack of boxes, crushing the bugs inside. They go Squish!

"Okay,we can go now," says Mark Burgerstienburger.

"Don't those bugs mind being squished?" Mark Candle fiddles some of his many fingers.

Mark Burgerstienburger grabs his jacket. It is far too hot to wear a jacket. "When they're born, their first words are always, 'Oh, is this all?' and their last are always 'What's up? Do it already.'"

"Maybe we should take them out sometime," says Mark Candle. "Show them a good time."

Replies Mark Burgerstienburger, "Nah."


"Quick! Turn left!" yells Mark Candle.

"I can't! Where?" yells Mark Burgerstienburger. The bright red car is close behind them.

"Left! Left!" Mark Candle cradles his broken second left hand tenderly. "I wish we'd never found out about Guido. Bad news, bad news..."


"Wait, what?" the woman behind the cash register asks.

"What year is it?" repeats Mark Candle.

"You boys forget? Or are you time travelers?" She rings up their one item: a can of tomato paste.

"We'll all know that when you tell us the year, sugar-lips," croons Mark Candle as he leans up against the counter. Mark Burgerstienburger looks the other way, embarassed.


"What's up? Do it already," says the large thorny bug.

"Um... maybe you'd like to go out with me and my friend tonight? You can bring your family." Mark Burgerstienburger asks. "We'll pay, of course." When the bug looks over to Mark Candle, Mark Candle waves with three of his hands.

The bug crawls quickly down from the top of the stack of boxes, skitters acccross the floor, and stings Mark Burgerstienburger in the toe with his stinger. He quickly skitters back accross the floor, climbs up the stack of boxes, and asks, "What's up? Do it already."

Tuesday, May 24

Four very good friends on their way to the beach accidentally drive off a cliff.

The girls scream and scream, waving their arms and holding on to anything they can.

But they keep falling without hitting the bottom. The car spins as it falls, so they can't really see how far they have left before impact. They stop screaming and a strange silence comes over them.

"I'm so sorry I killed you guys," says Samantha. "You have no idea how sorry I am."

"It was my idea to go to the beach," says Lauren. "Everyone else wanted to go to the lake, but I had to go to the beach. Now we're all going to die."

"I love you guys so much," says Samantha. They all agree. Lindsay throws up on her sandaled feet.

"Ooohh...." moans Lindsay. "I'm sorry, I just--" She throws up again.

"It's okay, don't worry." Belinda pats her on the back. "A little vommit won't matter."

"Yeah," Lindsay wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "But it's still nasty."

"Hey, remember that time we went skinny dipping in Jordan's pool when he was out of town, and his parents came home?" asks Lauren.

"Yes! And remember when we--" The car bumps up against the side of the cliff, setting off a new round of shrill screams. They scream for only a few moments before they realize they're still alive.

"Ow," says Belinda.

"Everyone okay?" asks Samantha.

"Yeah, Lindsay just whipped me in the eye with her hair," explains Belinda. "I'm okay, though."

The car spins sickeningly as it plummets ever downward.

"What do you think's going to happen when we die?" asks Lauren.

"We might not die," says Lindsay.

"Yeah we will," says Belinda. "We're totally going to die. Cars explode when they fall off cliff. Do you even know how big this gas tank is?"

"Whatever, you don't have to be mean about it." Lindsay stares out the window, watching the horizon spinning around them.

"I'm not being mean," says Belinda.

"Guys," says Samantha. "This is no time to argue. We've been best friends for years. Since middle school! Are we going to die arguing?"

"Hey, let's see what's on the radio." Lauren reaches for the tuner, turns on a loud pop song.

"Oh, change it."

"Yeah, I hate that song."

Belinda changes it to a sad country song. No one objects so she leaves it.

The car hits the rocky ground and explodes into an enormous ball of seemingly liquid flame. The echo of the detonation reverberates through the air for a long time, even after the flame has burned itself out. A plume of smoke rises from the debris. It looks like a question mark, punctuating the end of four lives. One of the girl's cell phone rings. It's their friend Tony, wondering where they are. His call goes unanswered. His message is funny, if too long and rambling.

Monday, May 23

The Annual Educators Field Day is something Mr. Happy Puppet Head drags me to every year. It's supposed to bring teachers and everyone that educates in the community together. We are always the only TV personalities there. The rest are real type of people, with cars and paychecks and families. None of them can take off their arms and legs and still function. None of them can float.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head loves it. He drinks punch out of plastic cups and makes bad jokes with the guys. He flirts with the women, and they laugh and blush. He eats hot dogs and chips and tuna salad until he can barely lift himself off the ground.

No one ever talks to me. And now that I've lost my arms and legs, they don't even look at me except out of the corners of their eyes. I feel naked, leaning against a tree, hoping I don't have to play any of the games.

"Midnight!" yells Mr. Happy Puppet Head as he bobbles up to where I'm standing. This is the first thing he's said to me in over an hour. "Hey! Egg Toss!"

"What about your friend over there, maybe he can be your partner."

"No, come on," he turns and bobbles towards the playing field.

"Just remember," Mr. Happy Puppet Head tells me. "Gentle. Think before you Toss."

"I will." But I don't. I panic. The Principal guy blows his whistle and I just toss. Overhand. Mr. Happy Puppet Head has to jump way into the air to catch it.

"What was that?" Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells at me, his mouth full of unbroken egg. I shrug my shoulders and we both take a big step back. Mr. Happy Puppet Head spits it to me, and miraculously, I catch it. We take another step back, and before I know what I'm doing, before the whistle is blown, I throw the egg as hard as I can. My furry red friend dives for it, but I've thrown it too hard, too high. It lands in the field next to the field we're playing in.

"Maybe its okay!" I yell as I run after it. Mr. Happy Puppet Head sighs and forces a smile for the rest of the group.

In the field I find the egg has landed neatly on what looks like a small girl's jacket. I pick it up and read the tag. Mary Ellen's jacket. The little girl who disappeared last fall and was never found.

"Hey everyone!" I call. "I think I can figure out the mystery of little Mary Ellen!"

Everyone groans. They don't want to solve a mystery on Field Day, but I'd rather do anything than finish this game of Egg Toss. It'll only end badly.

With a group of antsy Educators, I lead them through an adventure of Deductive Reasoning and Thoughtfull Pursuit of Clues.

"Can't we do this later?" asks one woman with a flower print dress.

"This is important," I tell her. "Unless you want some poor child's tormented ghost to haunt both parents and murderer for the rest of eternity, go on back to your games. See if I can't solve this mystery all by myself." I continue examining the rusted chainsaw I found in the secret cave under the oak tree. None of them go back to their games. The pinata dangles in one piece, fat with candy, and the burlap sacks go unraced.

Finally, after following month-old bootprints left in mud, examining syringe after syringe, measuring the length and girth of countless pieces of rope, we find little Mary Ellen's skelleton hidden under an intricate pile of rocks decorated in brilliantly depicted scenes from ancient Norse mythology.

And now it's dark and everyone has to go home. "Great job, everyone!" I tell them. "We solved the case!"

Someone mumbles about how we still don't know who killed her, and somoene else mumbles about a ruined Field Day. I ignore their negativity. I may not have won any friends or Field Day events, but a mystery solved is a mystery solved.

Now here's my favorite recipie for eggs. They're called:

"I Avoided the Embarasment of Group Activities and Found a Dead Girl Without the Use of Arms or Legs Scrambled Eggs"

you need:
Some eggs
Some corn tortillas (not tortilla chips, but rather, plain old corn tortillas)
Some Onions
Spicy cheese, like with jalepenos in it.

to cook:

tear the tortillas into tiny pieces and grill them until crispy with some chopped onions. you could use butter or olive oil or whatever.

scramble the eggs and mix it in with the crispy tortillas and the browned onions.

cook until desired consistency is met. (i don't like mine too dry)

put cheese on top. maybe some hot sauce, too.

now you eat it. it's so good.

Monday, May 16

We wait behind the curtains for the show to start. Our intro theme song is playing while the kids find their seats. "Whoa, wait," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What's different?"

"I'm trying something new." I tell him.

"You don't have arms. Or legs. You're just floating around."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know..."

"I think it's a fun look. Simple, different."

"Not that different," he squints at me. "And I don't like it. Too... I don't know. Too floaty."

"But that's all you are. You're just a floating head."

"Yeah, maybe that's all the flotation we need."

"You never like it when I change anything. You still wish I were in color."

"So? I liked the green sweater."

"I'm not saying I'm sticking with the no arms no legs thing. I'm just trying it today."

"Sure. Do whatever," he turns around to face the curtains. "What about Field Day?"

"What about it?" I ask.

"Are we still going?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't know. I just really want to go," he says. "Can you bring your arms and stuff?"

I promise him I will.

The theme song ends and the curtains rise. The kids clap and laugh at all the jokes we make, but I can feel them staring at where my limbs usually are. I really do like this look, though. I'll proably stick with it. We'll see tommorow. I don't know. I left them in my dressing room in case I get too self-consious. But it'll be weird if I put them on during a commercial break. Now I've got to do the whole show this way. I wish we had one of those fashion consultants. Professional opinions are nice to have around.

The show goes along all right.. Not too many flubbled lines or forgotten punchlines. I can't wait to get to my dressing room to put my arms and legs back on.

Sitting on my makeup table where I left my extremities is a note. "Your arms and legs have been enlisted in a war against hypocrisy and injustice. They will aid in bringing down the enemy that is Convinience Store. We thank you for your contribution to the cause, and if we are successfull, you will recieve a medal in the mail. Please wait 6 - 8 weeks for completion of Project Destory Convinience Store. Sincerely, B & S"

Bermuda and Steve. That two-headed naked monster is so annoying. And they left some clothes on my floor. Looks like a janitor's disguise and a couple of fake beards.

Field Day is tommorow. How am I going to win at Egg Toss without arms or legs? Mr. Happy Puppet Head is going to be pissed.

Thursday, May 12

Tuesday, May 10

"Come on, we're late," calls the Fairy.

"Late for what?" asks Puddin'.

"the Fairy Dance Party," replies the Fairy as he hurries along. "If we get there too late, they'll lock the doors and then no Fairy Dance Party for us."

"Oh, I like parties." Puddin' tries his best to keep up with the Fairy.

When they get to the party its lots of fun and there are lots of Fairies and other people danding and having a really good time. Puddin' dances like he's a good dancer and at the end of the party they give him a trophy for dancing the most fun. They invite him for a special After Fairy Dance Party Celebration.

At the After Party, which is much more sudbued than the Real Party, Puddin' sits on the couch next to one of the Fairies. "Check it out," the Fairy leans over and opens a small Fairy Box revealing neon colored gum drops.

"What are they?' asks Puddin'.

"Just eat one, you'll see."

It tastes sweet and delicious, but as soon as Puddin' swallows it, time starts speeding up dramatically. Everything around him becomes a confusing blur, and all of a sudden he is left in the middle of a vast wasteland of desert, his skin old and parched, a long grey beard on his face. The After Party is nowhere to be found.

"Wow," mutters Puddin'.

Puddin' wanders for days until he finds a small village of animals that were once Bald Eagles, but had evolved into very pretty Dinosaurs.

"Hi," says Puddin' to the first Bald Eagle Dinosaur he sees. Its a purple and red one.

"What's up?" asks the Bald Eagle Dinosaur.

Puddin' and the Dinosaurs get along famously. Forever.

Sunday, May 8

"What are you doing lying down like that?" she asks.

"I'm dying," he replies.

"Really? Or are you exagerating?"

"No..." he rolls around groaning for a moment, holding his stomach. "I'm pretty sure this is it."

"Does it hurt?"

"Kind of."

"Then how do you know you're dying?'

"It just... I mean, it hurts. Just not like I expected it to."

"Oh. Cool."

"Yeah, not really."



She looks at her wrist and realizes she left her watch at home. "I'm sorry, but I got to get going. Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, I think I'll be okay. I'd rather die without a big fuss and all the extra expense."

"Sure. Um. Bye." She walks away.

"Wait," he moans, but she's already gone. He wishes he'd asked her to say goodbye to his parents. He wishes he had done something with his life. He wishes he hadn't drank all those cleaning supplies.

His Spirit Guide magically appears next to him. "I totally had a chance with her, Guido. I think she could have been the one."

"No she wasn't," says Guido as he spreads out the body bag. "I saw her holding hands with some guy at the food court the other day. And she's a little old for you."

But he doesn't care what Guido says. She was probably the one.

Saturday, May 7


No, you are meat

Friday, May 6

Roboctopus has taken all the food out of the kitchen and put it in a big pile in the middle of the backyard.

As the small animals and birds approach the pile, wondering what wonderful thing could have happend to bring them so much delicious-smelling nourishment, Roboctopus snatches them up.

"...but, Roboctopus," Potato stutters. "Hurting things is wrong." Patti nods her head slowly.

"I don't think you kids are letting the cosmic flow of the world filter through your senses," Roboctopus says as he twists the head off a squirell. "You have to let it pass through you like a river, or a beautiful stream in the Springtime. I just don't think you're doing that."

"We did a skit about hurting people in school," says Patti. "Do you want us to show it to you? Maybe you could learn."

"We are all one entity, one Everything," he says as he grabs a small bird and squeezes it tight with his tentacles. "One Big Circle of Interconnectivity."

"Okay, so I'll be the bully," says Patti. "And Potato, you're the kid with the lunch money."

"Don't take my lunch money, Bully!" yells Potato. Roboctopus pins the bird to the ground with a large kitchen knife.

"You're ugly and I'll hit you!" yells Patti as she pretends to hit him. Potato falls to the ground and pretends to cry. "Oh," says Patti. "Now I understand why it's wrong to hurt people. The End."

"Potato, Patti," Roboctopus says. "We are all one spiritual entity, one being, One. I am you, you are me, we are we. Understand?" The kids nod. "So if we are all One, which we are, it doesn't matter what we do to others. Watch."

He snatches a small cute off the ground and lights it on fire. It runs in circles, screaming in pain as it's fur burns to ash and it's skin bubbles. The cute's legs give out and it collapses in a twitching mess on the grass as the fire quickly eats away at what's left.

"See, I don't feel anything," explains Roboctopus. "You guys look fine. What's the problem?"

"But... the skit..." mutters Potato. The two kids study the mutilated corpses littered around their backyard.

"Can we have a funeral, Roboctopus?" asks Patti.

Roboctopus agrees, and while Patti and Potato dig a mass grave, he makes sandwiches from the meat he's killed.

"No, Roboctopus!" yells Potato. "That's for the funeral. We have to bury it and say something nice."

"A good sandwich is a good sandwich, kids." His robot teeth slide away, allowing him to drop the sandwich into his metal head.

A large Hippo wanders into the backyard and begins eating from the food pile.

Roboctopus instantly lunges at the Hippo, wrapping his tentacles tightly around it's face. "Hide yourselves!" He shouts at the kids. Potato and Patti jump into the hole they've been working on. They peer over the edge to watch the Hippo buck and stomp around the yard with their best friend gripping to it's head.

After a little while, when most of the fence is torn down and the food pile has been smooshed into paste, the Hippo calms down. Just as it stops to take a breath, Roboctopus grabs it by its nostrils and pulls up. The Hippo howls and lunges forward, smashing itself against the Oak Tree. The Tree cracks and topples over, crashing into the House.

Roboctopus sits on the Hippo's head, whispering quietly into it's ear. The Hippo breathes heavily as it listens. Roboctopus climbs down and approaches the kids.

"It's time for me to go on my Journies, kids," he tells them as they huddle in the partially-dug grave. The Hippo stands quietly behind them.

"Will we ever see you again?" they ask.

"Of course," he says. "In your hearts. I am your hearts. We are love. No Lifelong Hippo Journey can ever take that away from us."

"But..." asks Potato. "What do we do about the yard? And the house?"

"Breathe deeply," he replies. "Worry only complicates. Relax and all will Be."

The kids both clammer out of the hole and hug their friend, asking him not to leave them. He hugs them tightly with his tentacles, then pushes them gently away.

"Goodbye." He climbs back onto the Hippo and whips it while pulling hard on it's ears. With a loud Hippo howl, they stomp away into the Horizon.

After waving until Roboctopus is long out of view, the kids continue with their funeral. Once the grave is filled with all the animal parts they can find, a small cute wanders up to the edge and looks down at the remains of his friends and family. Potato looks over to Patti. She nods. "It's what he'd want us to do," she tells him. Potato raises the shovel over his head and brings it down hard on the cute.

Roboctopus was wrong, though. The kids had never felt more pain than in that crushing moment.

Tuesday, May 3

Left is doing a funny little dance.

"No," says Right. "You are shuffling your feet too much."

"You ennunciate too much," says Left.

"Even so, you're still shuffling too much," says Right.

"How am I supposed to concentrate wtih you pronouncing every vowel and consanant like that?"

"Fine, I won't talk anymore." Right pretends to zip up his lips.

Left dances his funny dance for a few minutes, still shuffling just as much.

"It's not working," says Right.

"You messed me up!" shouts Left as he falls down. "You interrupted!"

"Okay, it's my turn." Right begins dancing. He does a very bad job, shuffling his feet even more than Left.

"We're sorry," comes a voice from the Speakerbox on the wall. "We just can't let you leave yet. Your two-step doesn't have enough splatter. Work on that."

Right and Left sit, deflated.

"We'll never do it right," mumbles Left.

"Yes we will," whispers Right. "I believe in you."

"When you say the 's' in yes, it hurts my ears."

Sunday, May 1

I want to know what it's like to look out from my dog's eyes. It seems as if Hondo watches everything from a half-drunken superior stupor. Every now and then he gets excited, but mostly he just half-listens to everything as he wanders around or sleeps. He's been dulled by age. By the end of our walk today, he could barely lift his legs to piss on the mailboxes. I wonder if he cares that he's old and can't jump down half the stairs anymore. I wonder if he remembers how I used to chase him around the house. I wonder what Hondo thinks when he looks at me.

I once made a short movie in which I wouldn't Hondo in when it was cold out. I just opened the door and stood in the way with my video camera. He becomes very irrate and barks at me. I think it's one of my funniest movies.

Now he's old. When he dies, I'll bury him in the backyard next to the shed. That's where we burried Cindy Sue about two weeks ago. My mom called me at work and said, "Cindy Sue died." I told my boss I had to go home and might not come back. On the way to my mom's house a sad song came on the radio and I cried.

I dug a hole, ate a burrito, and carefully placed the body of my friend in the ground. She was a sweet dog.

I got back to work in time to finish editing a commercial where a man, while skydiving, yells about the deals you'll find at a local car dealership. His parachute doesn't open and he lands on a car.

But a happy song cuts in and he jumps up out of the car, not hurt at all. He finishes what he was saying about the really great deals, and the commercial ends with a close up shot of his enormous smiling face.

I'm going to make a commercial in which my brother and my mom and my girlfriend and my dogs and all my friends never die or get old. Everything in this commercial only gets better and better. We grow more attractive, healthier, funnier, smarter, and simply more alive in every way.

At the end of the commercial we'll say it was becuase we bought a used car from the local car dealership. He forgave our past credit histories, and had a really great sale with no payments until next year.

We'll close with a shot of me hugging my dog.

Next time you need to trade in your car, you'll know where to go.