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Someone died, and I have been invaded by a party
polydad
I was trying to get a start on my next newsletter column, and an Irish wake has just moved into the office. I *had* met the dearly departed, sailing with him for a day once, and as a result everyone who ever knew him is now trying to get me drunk and stuffed, preferably in that order. And they want me to sing while they're doing it, too.

At least *my* surrealism comes with chocolate cake.