Oh, yeah. I remember that one, set in Montréal, where our protagonist first meets "L'Ombre Argent":

He could hear, through the doorbell's jangle, a tetchy voice saying "look, mon pot, you have to wait thirty days and pay full price—like everyone else—even if your ticket is burned up during a..." sarcasm now hung on every word, "life-and-death battle with l'Ourigan Pyromanique."

I want this one to be an actual story! Great prompt.

Oh, yes. The one about the medical robot that had been re-purposed as a sushi chef. Wow. That takes me back:

"More brain food?" Itamae500 asked as it silently recorded in its database that she had been holding her chopsticks with 22.3% confidence, and a staggering 37.5% greater precision ever since her first helping of neuroauctase-laced synthHamachi.

Oh, is THAT what it means.? I didn't know. But I expect there will by synthHimachi soon enough.

Strangely enough, I only ever had it once: last year in sweltering, landlocked Reno of all places (WorldCon). There are so many Japanese tourists with big money coming through that you can find really excellent sushi in a couple of the casinos.

And strangely enough, there's a lot of sushi here in Kingston, too. Queens is a huge draw from around the world, as you probably know.

I actually like the oily kinds, myself. Stuff that doesn't seem to get a lot of play, like Mackerel, and the roast salmon skin roll. Don't know the names, though.

I keep thinking of ordering unagi, but I always get distracted by other things, like one of our place's chirashi, which is a bargain (yes, I'm cheap that way). I'll try it next time, though.

Oh, the one I had the working title "The Caucus Planner" for? Nobody got the Martin Short reference, so I ended up calling it "Do You Want to Be El General for the day?". Also a bit obscure, but that got it sold to that Zamoglian SFF 'zine. Shame about the coup, or it might have seen print.

She opened her eyes, mental checklist at the ready: pencil moustache, broad epaulets, italian boots, break on the cuff, medals aligned, ceremonial sword polished, shoulders out, back straight, feet aligned.... every single detail missing from the slouched, frightened, and slightly sweat-moist youth before her; it would be a long day.

That would be a lot of fun!

Actually, I'm working on a story now that I'd like you to take a look at. When I finally get the time to finish it!

How does the title "The Politics of Bird Flight" grab you?

Oh, that one. You liked that one? The one about the full-scale simEarth? I was never able to sell it. I think it's because intelligent design was just a fad, in the end. Anyway:

His desire to find and kill the rogue programmer faded as the realization dawned that the whole POINT of this live-planet simulation was to show there was no hidden watchmaker—"Belay my shut-down order," he shouted at the chief technician, "let's see what happens with the ones that survive...."