You may notice an absence of me for the next few days. I’m heading West on a business trip, one of those work-all-day-write-it-up-all-night ones, and will be out of touch.

I expect to return safely. If, however, you don’t hear anything from me by next Saturday, it may mean that Ezra Levant and those other ones found out I was in their territory, and - gulp - took steps. In which case:

- Stageleft, you get the CDs, I-pod and musical instruments. Remember to keep the pipes in a nice, humidified room. And if Anonalogue ever does respond to the challenge he issued, pretend to be me and beat the shit out of him, would you?
- Treehugger, you can have the books and my bust of Elvis. I know you’ve had your eye on it for years.
- Lily, the weapons collection is yours. Also that last serving of spiced eggplant loaf; it’s in the fridge in the vegetable crisper.
- Max, I know you don’t believe in private property, so I leave it to you to convert the estate in Monaco to a Home for Unwed But Unrepentant Socialist Mothers.

And if my body is recovered in reasonable shape, I want to be plastinated and put on display in the Hall of Heroes (a little presumptuous, I know, but this is, after all, MY fantasy).

And I leave the Monet to the first person who correctly identifies the source of the title of this post (slightly altered to baffle Google).

Be back soon!


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