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:
   Bar Scene with Tequila and Buttery Nipples
Saturday, January 11 1997 Someone was making a repetitive KALUNKing noise in the hallway as I tried to sleep through the afternoon. I just gave up and went to the Bakery.

Jenfariello came by. I sort of feared she was pissed off at me from last night, but she really wasn't at all. She had me go with her to the Prism Coffee House in deepest Fratville on a cookie delivery run. I'd never been to the Prism before. It looks like a refurbished Frat House inside. But it's been made into one of those left-leaning liberal-hippie shrines to folk music. Folk music is what is played there, and coffee is what is drunk there. There is no booze and there is no speed metal. People sit in chairs and face one direction to enjoy the tunes played on the stage. A huge lizard occupies a terrarium in the office. Big faux-naif scenes of forests and fields dominate the walls.

Rumour had it that Dave Matthews himself might make an appearance tonight. But Jenfariello and I didn't linger long enough to find out. We ended up going to the Baja Bean on the Corner for some drinks.

Let's see, we went through Margaritas and various vodka, gin and tequila combinations. Then the barkeep, a seeming master of the drinks named after sexual inuendos, prepared us a gratis "Buttery Nipple" which contains butterscotch liqueur and some red beverage that settles to the bottom of the shot glass making the thing look like a disembodied bloody nipple. Jen's housemate, Ami, had appeared by this point, and she too soon partook of these things. A round of buttery nipples was bought for us by some working class guys down the bar. And then Ami became involved in a long conversation with a lonely chips and salsa eater at a table. Jenfariello and Ami both became rather intoxicated but all the drinking left me with at best a modest little glow. Of course it's no surprise to discover I can drink these girls under a table, so to speak.

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