Ashley Morris has died. If you read this blog, you might not know him, as he encouraged New Orleanians far and wide to lay off reading here, on account of me, Sifu Tweety, douche.

He was a great guy, I think, even if my only interaction him was his complaints about what a worthless waste of space I am. Point taken, and even if it’d probably irritate the hell out of him to hear my eulogy, I respect him for it. I wouldn’t say that I’ve stepped back from my feelings on New Orleans, and I wouldn’t say that I’ve learned anything (look, oyster, you know what I think; let’s rap.), but if nothing else, the people who fought, day in and day out, for New Orleans were a cogent and delightfully foul-mouthed crew, and every time I incited their ire I felt — ever more egregiously — like I must be on the wrong side of things. I am not writing this to claim, somehow, that I was right. I am not writing this to claim, somehow, that he was wrong. I am writing this to claim, somehow, that I am honored to have pissed him off so, and to say, finally, that I have been called a douche by none finer. I hope that wouldn’t have pissed him off. If it did — and please understand this is meant as a compliment — he deserved it, and I fucking deserve it.

To those who carry on his legacy, the best of luck.

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