Absence of Boris

"Where is he this time?" Victor Gardner demanded.

Mild-mannered Macarthur polished his shades, readying a soft answer for all this graduate wrath. "Where's who?"

"The other half of this comedy act. Your so-called straight man. My so-called thesis adviser. Urquhart."

Jude Busch blew out a huge pink bubble and shifted her gum to the other cheek. "Victor, you do this every time we meet and it's getting old, old, old."

"I don't think Dr. Urquhart really exists," Amanda Fairbairn theorized. "Not that it's a problem, really." You could say things like that when you were a fifteen-year-old Presidential Research Fellow.