} Moonbeam, the Zen master of postal delivery, is working late into the
} night. His job is decoding obscure or inaccurate addresses, and it is
} normally very satisifying, but not this day. On this day, he received
} a letter at 10:32 a.m. addressed to "Oracle." There was no zip code,
} no street name, no business, and not even a city. The one, lone word
} stood on the front of the envelope as a direct challenege to Moonbeam's
} awesome skills.
} As the hours wear on, he becomes bathed in sweat. He checks every
} phonebook, every business listing, and every postal database in
} country. Yet, there is no clue. Each failure only drives him to
} further levels of feverish activity. He begins going through high
} school year books, junk mail lists, and employee lists for each of the
} Fortune 500. He finds obscure references such as the "Oracular Fortune
} Service" and the "Society of Oracles," but they are not right.
} In the small hours of the early morning, he begins to feel
} discouraged. He considers buying an assault rifle and shooting his
} co-workers, but after long consideration, he discards that notion.
} Suddenly, the screen on one of the electronic postal scales lights up.
} Instead of the usual numeric display, there is a single sentence, "I
} heard that you are looking for me."
} Moonbeam whispers in the darkness, "Who are you?"
} The scale responds, "I am the Oracle."
} Moonbeam screams, "What is your address??????????????"
} "I am everywhere, yet nowhere. I am in the heart of thousands, nay,
} millions, of people. At the same time, I confined to a small space.
} My existing is fleeting, yet I will outlive any man."
} Moonbeam snears, "Cut the bullshit. I'm the Zen master here. Just
} give me your damn address."
} "C.S. department, Indiana University."
} You owe the Oracle an end to junk mail.