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:
   how I prefer my brown liquors
Friday, January 12 2018
Unusually torrential rains fell for much of the morning, making it so Neville had to wait until the afternoon before being able to take his first poop walk of the day. (He would rather just hold it than venture out in the rain, though sometimes he can be walked in the rain if someone holds an umbrella over him.) By this evening, temperatures were up to somewhere near 60 degrees Fahrenheit. It felt like it could've been an evening in August. Nearly all the snow, some of which had been on the ground since December 9th, melted away.

This evening Gretchen and I watched not one but two Shark Tanks back-to-back. She was drinking a lightly-carbonated sweet refrigerated wine called Gemma Rubia while I drank a peaty single-malt scotch on the rocks. It may seem odd to drink scotch on the rocks at this time of year, but that's the way I prefer my brown liquors.


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