RIP, Terry Pratchett

I only started reading you, Terry, when I have learned enough English to be able to crack up at your jokes. Which was, oh, I don't know, about 5 years ago. So why on earth would I sob and mop and smear snot all over my face while typing this? Why would it hit me so hard that you, silly scoundrel, have finally left us all, strolling off with Death, chatting about having a drink, no doubt?

I guess it's your heart. You gave it to me, and I took it, and it tickled my funny bone, every time. Somet...