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



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   why Wade Apartments sucks
Thursday, March 27 1997

A stupid question: If grief isn't selfish, then why is it said to result from loss?

dull minds make for happy landlords
A good sense of humour and a healthy respect for the arts are apparently not a requirement for those getting into the apartment business.
Someone from Wade Apartments, the Dynashack landlord, left an angry message on the house answering machine about the hammock and the decorated redbud tree, each in separate corners of the front yard. Elizabeth had begun decorating the redbud way back in the Summer or early Fall, and when the leaves finally fell, all kinds of little objects such as doll heads, bones, string, tussin bottles, wire... you name it... were revealed. Subsequently zillions of tiny mutant babies and electric-hair munchkin heads (many of them cake decorations from the now-defunct Rising Sun Bakery) were added. But finally today this wonderfully decorated tree, the most creative vision on Wertland Street, was noted by the humourless landlord of our humble abode. According to Steve, earlier today some macho big-balls tough guy in an official Wade Apartments truck came careening up onto the sidewalk and tersely instructed him that the hammock and the tree decorations had to go. Then came the message on the answering machine. A good sense of humour and a healthy respect for the arts are apparently not a requirement for those getting into the apartment business.

It's a beautiful day today. It's that mid-spring kind of warm, the kind that leaves no room for complaining. All the UVA girls are wearing their "I think you should want to have sex with me" clothes, even the unattractive girls. It's all miniskirts and long floral dresses. I noticed also that the girls all have large breasts and good posture today. Every one of them. I can't help but notice. An old man like me has one essential deep dark biological calling, no matter how much I deny it or deconstruct it: to fill the next generation with many copies of my genes. I walk the streets treated to these things and I think to myself, "it's Jatasya Season, thank God I'm alive." Like myself, the college boys are just a bit overwhelmed. Interestingly, there is nothing evident in the clothing of the boys that seems to say anything about sexual desire. It's just a given.
I noticed also that the girls all have large breasts and good posture today.
Again I went to UVA's Cocke Hall and again I drank coffee and basked in the springtime in front of Higher Grounds. The crowd today consisted of some slackers who like to hang out at the Horrid Crash Pad: Austin, Little Yayson and the skater dude named Mark. They seemed very bored. Ray Snabley came by briefly. He always seems subdued whenever I see him these days. Adding to this impression was the fact that today he was dressed all in black.

Back at the Dynashack I watched news reports on the Heaven's Gate cult that offed themselves yesterday. They were all dressed in black casual clothes and Nike Sneakers. I noticed that never once did the network news reporters ever mention the word "Nike." The list of official suicide-cult-endorsed products continues to grow. First it was Cool-Aid. Now it's Nike. What's next? Microsoft Word?

I went on a walk around the Corner with some gin I found in a partial bottle at the house. I climbed to the top of the parking garage and looked out to the west, towards the general vicinity of the University's famous Rotunda, and could get a good view of the Hale-Bopp comet. Supposedly the Heaven's Gate cult members are having a rendezvous with a UFO somewhere in the tail of that comet. The dream I had yesterday is especially interesting in view of the details of the cult's philosophy. What's eerie is that I don't think the news of the mass suicide had even come out yet when I actually had the dream.

I chatted with hippies both known and unknown on the Corner and then checked my email at Comet. At some point I discovered a small quantity of pot in my pocket, so I went home, smoked it, and took my prework nap. I listened to Nirvana's Incesticide while so intoxicated. That one album is the best music ever created in the history of humanity. On this point there is simply no room for argument.

Suffice it to say, every time he opens a drawer he is reminded of helping her out of a chair.
As usual I replaced Stephan when I came into Comet. He always has some amusing tales to tell me. Yesterday it was about his misadventures with an enormous fat woman while he was an army private. I'll spare him the humiliation of telling the tale, but suffice it to say, every time he opens a drawer he is reminded of helping her out of a chair. Tonight we talked some about Mad Cow Disease.

In a moment of sheer insanity, I created a mirror site of the entire Heaven's Gate Cult Website. Even in the middle of the night it was difficult to get through all the traffic to secure the pages, but I think I got the whole thing. I discovered that the Washington Post has also made a mirror site, but it doesn't have all the pictures and the directory structure is mangled. Mine, on the other hand, is perfect. It comes to 1.8 Megabytes.


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