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Don’t make us talk about you!

While driving home from the Maine State TT Championships yesterday, Cap’n Gassypants, KD and I somehow got on the subject of Patrick Swayze, wondering if he was still alive and I don’t remember hearing anything about him dying and it’s such a shame because he’s really cool and wasn’t he at death’s door a few months ago and what’s up with that and why isn’t he dead yet and wasn’t Roadhouse an awesome movie and can we stop at the next rest area because I have to pee and the very next day which would be today I get on the internet and HOLY SHIT, PATRICK SWAYZE JUST DIED!

Surely, you can understand the implications of this disturbing turn of events.

We killed him!

He had been depriving all of the tabloid-worshiping dullards their morbid entertainment by steadfastly refusing to shuffle loose this mortal coil months ago, during his “brave last days”, when they all said he had only hours left.  Because Patrick Swayze is a badass!

Then we talked about him dying … and he immediately died!

We’re like a Grim Reaper hit squad … a hit squad that can kill merely through the deadly power of our inane conversations, unwittingly slaughtering innocent people every time we decide to shoot the shit.  We must be careful to use this power only for good.

Unless anyone pisses us off.

R.I.P. Bill.

We knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

My friend, racing nemesis and hetero life-mate, Cap’n Gassypants, lost his best friend Bill yesterday.

50 lbs of fur coated coolness!

50 lbs of fur coated coolness!

He was a happy, gentle soul who lived a long active life.  His calm demeanor was always in stark contrast to his sister April, who hates my guts and barks her head off whenever I’m around.  Bill would always quietly come up to me as if to reassure me, “Don’t listen to her, I’ll still be your buddy … especially if you give me a taste of whatever it is that you’re eating, there.”

And I always did.

Rest in peace, Billy.  I miss you already.