Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.


Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").


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Like my brownhouse:
   bathwater disappointment
Wednesday, July 17 2013
Our neighbor at the end of the Farm Road is named Georges (but I prefer to call him "the Duke of Luxembourg" based on a poorly-attributed rumor Ray heard). Over the past year he's been building an elaborate salt water pool complete with a bathhouse and an outdoor shower. He'd casually told us we could swim in it in a way that suggested "once." But Gretchen would like to be able to swim in that pool all the time. Though we're not close friends, we are neighbors, and occasionally we're even useful, such as the time I welded together a fence fitting for him. So Gretchen sent him an email basically asking if we could swim in the pool any time we want. Somewhat surprisingly, he said yes! So today after she got back from something, Gretchen and I went directly to the pool. The day was hot and humid and a pool seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.
When we arrive, the pool was covered with a layer of bubble wrap that we had to manually roll out of the way, something it did reluctantly. But then we could jump in the water.
That was when the pool proved to be an enormous disappointment. It was as warm as bathwater and provided almost no refreshment. Evidently the floating layer of bubble wrap had caused it to retain the heat of the sun. Meanwhile Ramona and Eleanor paced back and forth on the outside of the pool's fence, which we'd had to climb over. Ramona didn't think it was fair that she couldn't join us and she started whimpering.
We put the bubble wrap back on and walked back home. Along the way, the dogs finally got the sort of cooldown we'd been hoping for. They found it in the "alligator bog," the forested wetland that always has deep pools of cool water on the south side of the Farm Road.

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