I know I should be supportive of this; I know you love it . . . . it just scares the shit out of me.  If I ever get the email about your heroic final days on K2, I will dig you up and kill you again.  But the death you suffer at my hands won’t be the cushy comfort of going to sleep in the snow or plunging 13, 000 feet onto sharp rocks.   No, the deliverance I will deliver will consist of, among other things, 1) watching Pauly Shore movies, 2) eating nothing but liver, 3) listening to a merry medley of Christian Rock, old Marie Osmond records, The Best of American Idol and white rap.  Death will be slow and very unpleasant.