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July 18, 2007


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Major dude. Long may he run.


ainsi soit-il.

Bruce Trachtenberg

I imagine a rag-tag group of patriots linked arm to arm and forming a protective shield around Cheney's home on the grounds of the Naval Observatory and all chanting: "Don't tread on the fourth branch of government!"

Countess Apraxina

I am ask my rock climbing partner Valentino to write this little note to my kulak friend Alyosha: I am so sorry to hear of your friend Phillip's passing. I condole you. Very nice tribute on your blonk. I will write soon.

Jon Husband

Proud to know him .. he inspires.

Dickor Trevinson

Deft conveyance, Valentino. Glad you dressed for the occasion. :-)

Countess.  He is not dead, only dreaming:

Heralded by the impetuosity of the Afghan hound, the old man entered. He had read his paper; he was drowsy; and so sank down into the chintz-covered chair with the dog at his feet—the Afghan hound. His nose on his paws, his haunches drawn up, he looked a stone dog, a crusader’s dog, guarding even in the realms of death the sleep of his master. But the master was not dead; only dreaming; drowsily, seeing as in a glass, its lustre spotted, himself, a young man helmeted; and a cascade falling. But no water; and the hills, like grey stuff pleated; and in the sand a hoop of ribs; a bullock maggot-eaten in the sun; and in the shadow of the rock, savages; and in his hand a gun. The dream hand clenched; the real hand lay on the chair arm, the veins swollen but only with a brownish fluid now.

The door opened.

Get that back to her, willya Val?

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