WHERE’S WALDO or HEY! IS THAT JIMMY HOFFA OVER THERE?

What with Tama already in possession of the Subaru and working down south and my departure imminent on the event horizon, hard decisions had to be made.  There is no way that Waldo would be able to survive in the urban jungle madness that is Santa Cruz and, having grown tired of the all to common queries, I felt that Waldo had outlived his purpose.

So, in the time honored tradition of New Jersey and points west, Waldo was taken for a long ride out of town, dispatched with a single bullet to the back of the head from a small caliber handgun and buried in a shallow, unmarked grave.

Where’s Waldo?  He sleeps with the fishes…