Hey man, how's it going? How are things with the pancreas - you two still kickin' it, spending some quality time together? That's great, man, really great.
Listen, dude, I really owe you an apology. You've done a lot of great work for The Rover over the years, really going above and beyond the call of duty on several occasions. I mean, January '95 was amazing, you know, and how you dealt with November and December '03...well, they'll be talking about that for years. Decades, even.
But the work you did in the last twenty-four hours, well...wow. Wow. That's really all I can say. Quite frankly, we overworked you. A lot. I mean, six bourbons, six margaritas, three beers and a screwdriver is a heavy load until normal circumstances. But to do that at altitude, where the blood is thinner... But you kept us going man. I don't know how you did it, but we didn't miss a beat. And you didn't go the puke route, no serious effects the day after... I just have to tip my cap, man. Really. You deserve a raise. Or at least a vacation. Which you're not getting, by the way, until Sunday at the earliest. We have a party to go to tonight.
So, you know, I know you take a lot of abuse (and not just from the stomach, ha ha), but the rest of the body really appreciates what you do. So thanks, a lot.