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").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   half gallon of vodka
Monday, May 12 1997

Today's lesson: anger is a sickness and revenge is the cure.


      had a most unsuccessful speaker-installation experience in the Dart. Morgan Anarchy and his disgusting drifter chum Toni appeared with the ugly wormy dog BN. They told me they'd be going to get a pizza at Gumby's with some money Morgan's mother had given him. I said maybe I'd meet them on the Corner.

    He proceded to cut open a tin foil package containing a hit of LSD, which he then ate in front of everyone.
    It would, after all, be free stuff coming from Morgan for a change. But I couldn't find him. I chatted a long time with Will and the girl Meghan (from Friday night) and her friend Kathleen in front of Higher Grounds. I found myself serving as "Word on the Street" for various people looking to sell and buy marijuana and even LSD. I wasn't good on the latter, but I think I was helpful for two parties on the former. My position as a feature of the gritty underbelly of Charlottesville was never so apparent to relative strangers, it seems. Morgan Anarchy came up while I was talking to the others and wanted to borrow a pair of scissors from someone. Meghan handed him her Swiss Army knife. He proceded to cut open a tin foil package containing a hit of LSD, which he then ate in front of everyone. He went off to Baja Bean to blow some of his money while I told the Meghan and Kathleen about all the exciting violence of the weekend.

    Morgan came back and wanted to know if I'd get him a bottle of vodka if he gave me the money. For some reason I agreed to. That ended my experience with the clean and educated of Charlottesville for the day.


      got a half gallon of 100 proof Aristocrat from the Main Street ABC store. Back at the Dynashack, I tried to interest Toni the Dirtbag in my tea bag/vodka combination. I don't think he understands the concept of an alcoholic beverage that is sipped (not chugged), and he found my invention "a little strong."

    Morgan, Toni and I watched recently-made videotapes of events in Charlottesville. Then we went out on the porch and listened to an oldies station on the radio.

    She thought nothing of draping her well-scrubbed body over his smelly torso.

    arious people drifted by and hung out for awhile. One of them was Mike, the boyfriend of Liz the tanned and bleached alterna-chick. He was wearing socks but no shoes and trying to sell little hippie bracelets and necklaces. He somehow deceived a girl named Ema into buying one. Ema was such a clean girl, and yet she seemed to go way back with Morgan. She thought nothing of draping her well-scrubbed body over his smelly torso.

    She went off to get some pot and got me and Toni Dirtbag stoned. Everybody seems so imperfect and stupid when you're stoned. Especially yourself.

    Cecelia the Brazilian Girl came, Ema left, then Matthew Hart and his on-again-off-again -lesbian-girlfriend showed up. Both Cecelia and Matthew brought mixers for the vodka, which was being drunk at an alarming rate. This is because Morgan and Toni Dirtbag are not satisfied with getting drunk, or even getting smashed slowly. No, they insist on going into a coma without delay. Towards the end, Toni was spilling more than he was drinking. Soon enough he was passed out in the Dynashack living room couch.

    Morgan was smelling so bad that he managed to stink up the front porch of the Dynashack. I couldn't stand it anymore and decided to ride a swivel chair in the street. Matthew Hart and I raced each other down Wertland towards 10th street. But his chair was not as good as mine.

    As predicted, Matthew Hart said his opinion of Persad had "increased considerably."

    entiments about the Saturday night stabbing of the Huffanator were mostly supportive of Persad. After a brief visit to Skinhead Central, Morgan claimed (probably untruthfully) that he'd told the skins he was "glad" Persad had stabbed the nazi. As predicted, Matthew Hart said his opinion of Persad had "increased considerably." Cecelia, on the other hand, was surprisingly negative about the stabbing. She seemed squeamish about it. This is strange in view of the fact that once she'd begged me to hit the Huffanator with my Dodge Dart.

    Matthew Hart had me purchase him and Leah five 32 ounce bottles of Private Stock at the Corner Market, but he wisely hid all but one in his car. He shared one with people on the porch and then he and Leah left. They could leave, they were lucky. I had to hang out because there was a fucking party happening at my house.

    Andrew was my only housemate not off at "Beach Week." He said he was still sick from the Space Party. I felt sorry for him, what with all the noise and cigarette smoke from the scruffy people partying on the front porch.

    As evening began to descend, I wanted everyone to leave. I'm too nice to just order them out, though. I slowly built up to it, asking people what they planned to do next, saying I had to sleep because tonight I had to work. That sort of thing. I'd handled my own alcohol drinking very maturely. I'd become very drunk for perhaps an hour, then started drinking nothing but water. By evening I was sober enough to act with the responsibility necessary to orchestrate the end of a party.

    BN the ugly mutt charged up and started biting and barking at Morgan, seemingly in loyal protection of his master.

    ne of the things I wanted to do was lock up the house. Now, you see, is a prime time for house burglaries, and they can happen while I'm asleep in my own house. But the complication was Toni Dirtbag, asleep on the Dynashack couch. I told Morgan to try and wake him up. Morgan shouted, shook and cajoled Toni, but he didn't even make a noise. BN the ugly mutt charged up and started biting and barking at Morgan, seemingly in loyal protection of his master. Morgan didn't think Toni was going to be getting up any time soon. He was about to give up, but then Toni started stirring. I helped him to his feet. It was obvious he was about to puke (he's puked every day I've hung out with him so far, after all). So I steered him out the door. Puuuuufwaaaakkkkkkk! He puked dilute vodka into the yard and collapsed. Morgan assisted him while I stood aside, chatting with Little Yayson about the 14 year old thug known as Chaz. Then Yayson pointed out that young Chaz was walking by. He wears his hood up these days; presumably he fears getting picked up by the cops. Of late, he usually walks with another guy. He's one motherfucker who's got to watch his back. Today his escort was one of the skinheads, a guy named Joel who is friends with Morgan Anarchy and most of the other punks I know. He may or may not be a racist scumbag. He certainly looks like a nazi. But some people are into the skinhead look while not being into the attitude. I haven't heard of Joel committing ultraviolence and from what I've heard he actually has a few social skills.

    I shouted, "Hey Chaz!, you can return my CDs any time you want!"

    He came up, his skinhead support lingering in the background should his scrawny cowardly ass need protection. I was barefoot, but I stood much taller than the black booted thug in front of me. He looked in my eyes with nervous fake sincerity and said he knew nothing about my CDs. I told him "'it' isn't worth the value of the CDs" and that he could put them in my mailbox. Again he denied any knowledge. I said I didn't believe him. He shrugged like the fool he is, turned and went. My duty now is clear. I'm not going to give him any rest. He has to watch his back whenever I'm around. And when the shit goes down, you won't read about it here.

    After some conflict with Toni (he wanted to sleep in the Dynashack and I insisted that he not), Morgan got him into the porch couch and I sacrificed a blanket to keep his filthy body warm. Then I went off to bed to begin my pre-work nap.

    I considered many options for sweet revenge.
    I was so much in a rage about the Chaz thing that I couldn't sleep. I considered many options for sweet revenge. Most of these were of a psychological nature, though some involved horrifying ultraviolence, something I am probably not morally capable of.

    I managed to get probably an hour of sleep.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next