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I was only away for a day (a Monday, no less), so I'm not going to bother with the usual story about how I chewed off my leg to escape the bear trap that keeps me at my post, thus freeing myself for a quick sex tourism trip to Tijuana or radical gender assignment surgery in a Scandinavian chop-shop. Besides, you wouldn't want to hear about how I spent Superbowl Sunday strolling Santa Monica Boulevard, claiming I'd directed Stealth, and finally trying to determine the going rate for a passenger seat blowjob from a C-list director in a beautiful Lane Bryant frock.

Back to work! —Mark