Mar. 15th, 2011

I'm a bad dude, a total Grissom. No surfer could look himself in the mirror after doing what I'm planning. The surf code is clear: no drop-ins, never, no how. You do not shnarf a man's wave. It was true in Waikiki, it was true on Europa when Jupiter started fusing, and it's especially true now that we've gone solar.

But that Teddy Turk, he's got it coming. Man took over two of my corporations, just snatched 'em right out from under me, liquidated everything and laughed in my face. Then he made it with my wife to boot. Teddy made sure everybody knew what he'd done. Utterly shamed me, dear sweet Teddy. The games us trillionaires play.

Well, the game's not over, brah. I know you're preparing to launch from your compound on Mercury, getting yourself in position to ride the big one at the height of Solar Cycle 30, the big Three-Oh. I know you're going to drop your board right as a big flare comes, and ride that gout of solar matter all the way to Earth. At least, that's what you think is going to happen. But that's not what's going to happen.

Teddy Turk, you're the ultimate ho-daddy. I will be dropping in on you when you least expect it, land-shark, and with any luck I'll be Creasing the Wally on my way outbound.
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September 2012

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