Yes, We're Dead

In July of last year, I posted a hopeful and optimistic note regarding your friends, Horatio and Cornelius. It was a different time; a time of dreaming, of looking to the future with anticipation, and with a small twinkle in my eye, a time of excitement.
In the last several months, that twinkle turned into a full-fledged burning spire of hopeful visions of grandeur, a bonfire the likes of which no mortal has yet seen. We planned to bring Horatio & Cornelius to you in new, untold ways, to satiate our readers in a way that would let all of us bathe in the riches of words and epic stories. Behind the scenes we wrote, we crafted, we transcribed, we ate lots of cookies, and we spun gold. To bring these tales to you in new and creative ways, we obtained online real estate, and developed a plan. Yes, a plan. That thing that, without, would cause any venture to crash and burn, then sink to the deepest depths of the Arctic's coldest waters.

Yet... even with a plan... some endeavors fail. This failure's reason is not completely known. We had hopes and dreams, and maybe that was the failure. We had the infrastructure, and maybe that was the failure. We were one step away from the next part, and maybe that was the failure. We may never know.

Alas, I, Horatio, am now alone. My beloved friend, confidant, BFF, bail poster, supporter, fan and master chef, Cornelius, has abandoned me and this little home in the ether. We thought we could make something spectacular happen, but something, somewhere, went wrong... and to that reason I am not privy.

So, from this point, I do not know my destiny to our readers. I know not where this road leads. It may lead through winding, jungle-overrun muck, forks, highways... it may take me alone, introduce me to new friends along the way, or dare say, it may lead me back to Cornelius... or he to me. Will I even recognize my comrade if we walk into the same barber on some remote island floating in the Straits of Gibraltar? I do not know.

Time will tell. Time will tell.

I leave you with this blessing that I heard in the Sahara one pleasantly warm afternoon while supping with an indigenous tribe of sand-worshippers...
"May the timepieces of Mork proclaim your name, may the locks of Wayne Newton whisper your direction, and may the umbrellas of Holland shade your past."

I bid you all a temporary adieu, and thank you all for your queries of our health and well-being. We shall soon meet again, in some form or another.

With tears,
Horatio