O Vladimir, Where Art Thou?

Chaz and Alfonzo don't seem to care, but I'm getting more and more worried about Vlad. It's Monday already, and we were supposed to pick him up at the airport on Saturday (not that we actually ever agreed to do so). I feel terribly guilty, but even with Alfonzo's Speed Racer schtick, we still didn't get here in time.

Jesus. I hope he's not dead.

It's the perfect murder; some oblivious foriegner, wandering around an airport. Offer him a ride, or a hotel, lure him in, then knock him over the head and take everything he has. Or maybe it was some sicko sadist, who gets off on slowly dismembering people. Either way, he's just some Russian kid in America; who would miss him? Besides us, I mean.

Well, there's nothing to do but wait and cross my fingers. Maybe I can blame the whole thing on Alfonzo, or the KGB, to give my conscience a rest.

-Alan