Random Doobings

Gootime Slim awoke to the sounds of cursing. Of all of the sounds he could have awoken to, this was his second-to-least favorite. His least favorite, awakening to the sound of an axe-wielding serial killer, was probably forgiveable.
He rolled over in bed and looked at his alarm clock, which to his eyes positively reveled in it's 3:30ness.
In the morning? the recumbent slacker thought.
He stumbled out to the source of the cursing, the kitchen, to find a tousle-haired, pyjamaed Captain Doobie flicking through the Yellow Pages.
"What the ruddy ding-dong is going on here?" he demanded.
Captain Doobie looked up and fixed him with a glare. "Aha! You might know," he told him, "How do I get in touch with the Postmaster General?"
While it really shouldn't have (given Goodtime Slim's long association with Captain Doobie's wierdness) this statement took Goodtime Slim by surprise. "What?" he asked, "Why do you want to get in touch with the Postmaster General in the middle of the night?"
"I've got something to ask him."
"Couldn't you ask him in the morning?"
Captain Doobie shook his head, unwittingly dislodging a piece of cake from his hair. "I can't get to sleep until I find out. To tell the truth, I haven't slept in tree days."
Goodtime Slim was somewhat uncaring about all this. "What," he jibed, "could possibly be so compelling that you have to ring up the Postmaster General at 3:30am to ask him?"
Captain Doobie looked at him resignedly, the bags under his sleepless eyes looming large under the kitchen bulb. "When the postie opens the mailbox, does it have a little light in there like the fridge does?"
Goodtime Slim began to scoff, but then felt with growing dread the enormity of the situation he had now landed himself in. "You bastard," he breathed, shaking his head, "give us the phone book. Maybe he's under 'Essential Services'."