| 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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Thursday, January 30 1997 Well here I am at Cocke Hall, the portal to the Internet Gods. I awoke at about 12:30 pm for some reason and just gave up on sleep. The significance of my sleep schedule in my life is a subject for some debate, however. The music now is Polvo. I have a headache from some stupid Wahoo's backpack o' textbooks hitting me in the back of the head as the dork slammed by me down the aisle beween the workstations in a greedy singleminded pursuit of email. It's a cold sunny day...a good one for Hot Tomato's barbecue chicken pizza. It's nasty but not like the rat/glue pizzas at Gumby's.
You could smell the merriness in the air back at my house. Housemate John and that youthful Mike who works at the Bakery both had their guitars out (I've never seen John with a guitar before) and we were acting loveably goofy. Elizabeth is taking a video editing class and was just then about to interview John on camera about how he almost became a preacher while growing up in humble Saltville, Virginia (an asperation of everyone there with an IQ greater than 40, as I pointed out). But procratination ruled; Elizabeth started cooking herself some dinner and Ches was being ridiculous with the guitar, treating it like a rifle and shooting hapless John. We boys thought that it would be a good idea to make a videotape of John's dreams of becoming a preacher being dashed in a hail of gruesome simulated gunfire (exploding ketchup packs on his chest and all, Sylvester-Stallone-movie-style), with the gun being a simple acoustic guitar.
I took a bath and did some editing of a sheet Comet will use to tell customers how to install their Internet-access software.
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?970130
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