Home on the Strange
There ain’t no mobile phones ‘round here, pard. Instead, all long distance communication occurs via the mail – mail by private courier, mail by rail and mail by the Pony Express. Now you, as a proud, card-carryin’ Expressman don’t need to worry about the first coupla’ options; they’re fer bums anyway. Instead, we at the Pony Express put our money where our mouths is – we not only insure any messages or parcels that are sent with us, we have a strict moneyback guarantee in the rare occasions when one o’ our customers is not completely satisfied.*
More to the point, an Expressman ain’t just some glorified postman. An Expressman is also a bastion of civility in the cruel and broken Waste, workin’ to maintain the status quo. For what use is commerce and civilisation without guarantees? Why, without ‘em we’d be no better than those goddamn Chakchimura.
Finally, town marshals and county sheriffs can feel free to “volunteer” the services of uncommissioned Expressman for dangerous or unpleasant missions – every single Expressman is a convicted criminal workin’ for the Express to pay off their debt to society, and lawmen have full discretion to mete out due sentencing if there is just cause. An’ let me tell you something, boy: there’s always just cause.
* Not a guarantee.