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:
   years of occasional cilantro exposure
Monday, March 29 2021
It was colder again today, though not much colder than is typical for this time of year. It was only the teasing of the recent false spring that made it seem like a punishment. I had to take the dogs for their walk again, and this time I made a loop through the abandoned go cart track, where I looked for scrap metal in the big scrap metal pile there. I always find something to bring home every time I pick through it, and this time was no exception. I found a rusty old grate and a little cast iron pan on a long stick, seemingly designed for outdoor cooking.
I spent another day eating almost nothing but matzo, but for dinner I had some of that leftover nutloaf, and it was better than I expected. I'd had a bad experience with the last nut loaf I'd eaten, and had apparently assumed I don't like nut loaf. But that is evidently not true. (A dislike of cilantro, on the other hand, is something I recently discovered about myself that took years of occasional cilantro exposure to discover.) Coriander, on the other hand, is a spice I actually do like. I used to put the seeds in my BB gun and shoot them instead of BB pellets, marveling at how they exploded on impact. (I would also occasionally crunch on them in my mouth.)


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