While I have but a minute to spare before happy hour arrives and I lose myself in a tall glass of firewater, I felt it high time to reassure one and all that contrary to rumor and cruel innuendo, I have not expired. I did not fall to my death during a peyote inspired visionquest, nor did I make the grave mistake of thinking a mother grizzly might be in need of a friendly backscratch, only to be devoured tooth to bone. Fear not, as I do live and breathe. In fact, praise be to mother fortune, as I am once again comfortably at home in my southern compound, free to cast spears at those who have long tormented my soul with their small minded ways. I shall mock again, I promise thee. Until then, I bid you adieu and suggest you enjoy an afternoon of inebriation on the company dime. You can account for your time under whatever job number is associated with "Planning/Research." The pencil pushers in accounting could give a fuck. Unless you are under audit by a government authority, of course. In which case you are on your own.