I have found it on occasions, recently, difficult to breath, to peer throught the veil of tears while processing the loss of one of my betters. The fact that I have to attempt this encomium in a public venue, while choking back tears, adds to the adventure.
Doghouse Riley has shuffled off his mortal coil at the age of 59. I am not sure exactly where I saw his first comment, eventually leading me to his blog, but I have read everything the dude wrote there and it was always brilliant. Born in a retrograde state that somehow managed to produce Vonnegut and Riley, I have managed to find a small measure of solace and pride in the place in which I was born as a result.
There is a pantheon of writers online that I aspire to and realize an unlikliness to join. Douglas Case was one of them. His humour, humility, sagacity and singular brilliance will be missed, dearly.
Another scribe has suggested that Twain would be looking over his shoulder had Riley been a contemporary. I cannot disagree.