OK. Yes, Sometimes They Do Worry Me

I have no fucking idea what message this letter was intended to deliver. Either it's from a run-of-the-mill convict, too addled from drug abuse and nightstick beatings to form a sentence, or I'm missing some great missive from an unrecognized genius. I'm betting on the crackhead criminal.

I can't decide if I should credit or blame the United States Post Office for such fine work. On one hand, it's astonishing that they were able to decipher the jumbled address. Then, they forwarded the letter along from my old Philadelphia address (the forwarding has long since expired) to my New York box. On the other hand, why didn't they choose the chump at RO Box 1759?!