A member of IMAO, and an Honorary Commenter thereunto, died unexpectedly sometime or other, due to a frolic with giddy loose intern cheerleader stewardesses on a girls’ night out. All who knew him, as friend, colleague, student, collaborator, or fellow pickpocket, marveled at his seemingly boundless energy and determination, his focused devotion to whatever project involved him, his deep intellect and flowing humor, his endless imagination for creating a better world, his talent at institution-building, and his ongoing curiosity propelling a dedication to achieving progress in the human condition. And a fondness for wine. His professional life featured an inexhaustible determination to use humor to protect human dignity around the world. His interests, expertise, and scholarship in international claims, human rights, environmental mishaps, and global governance in particular were surpassing in their consistent excellence, continuous push against familiar doctrinal parameters, and his rich profusion of unpublishable and unprintable scholarship.

He leaves all his estate to Brandi and her sister.

Why is it only the new ones who give me this look when I stealthily creep (even if that’s redundant) into their room, making an enormous intrusion (also redundant)?

Mika never . . . well, Mika is Mika, isn’t she?

Geesh!

Mistake. Honestly!

I only walked around to see if my friends were hiding anywhere in the room.

It

'is still dragging on a wretched and lingering career. Abhorred and despised by even the few who are cognisant of its miserable and disgraceful existence, stifled by the very filth it so profusely scatters, rendered deaf and blind by the exhalations of its own slime, the obscene journal, happily unconscious of its degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath that treacherous mud which, while it seems to give it a firm standing with the low and debased classes of society, is nevertheless rising above its detested head, and will speedily engulf it for ever.'

--- Pickwick Papers