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Random weirdness for the week of Nov. 21, 2016

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If we got an exclusive with Santa and could ask only one question it definitely wouldn’t be this, but gives us 10 or so and – to gain some insight into this critical part of his job – we’d ask: “Is the owner that giant and now illegal Santa’s mailbox on your nice or naughty list?” Aside from whatever glow people get looking at what’s the world’s tallest such receptacle for letters, sex toy Christmas catalogues and Trump campaign porn sent yet again to the wrong place (which, despite the seeming absurdity, obviously worked), there’s the fact that 1) Po Lin Lee paid 500,000 kroner out of her pocket for the mailbox and 2) since Nov. 1 has been paying the city of Longyearbyen a fine of 500 kroner a day for not taking it down. We’re not saying that’ll magically make up for all the city’s financial woes, but if official take their time removing it they could reduce every resident’s power/vehicle/etc. fees by roughly 2,500 kroner a year. Just saying. On the other hand, it’s possible the neighbors are feeling heated by the bright lights and it’s a bit weird she’s totally dropped off the radar for months. And that, frankly, is the truly naughty bit of her box – tourists and others tend to drop letters in there thinking they’ll be delivered (despite a notice put up at some point informing people it’s not a real mailbox) and it often takes Lee months to bring the mail to the post office. We’re not Santa, so we won’t judge – instead we’ll offer the far more useful service of betting odds: neither she nor the city does anything to address the situation until after the new year (since it’s already there and ’tis the season)…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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