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:
   antisocial catchup
Tuesday, May 13 1997

Today's lesson: if you're gentle to mosquitos, they'll suck your blood.


    organ Anarchy ended up in jail last night for drinking beer and being drunk in public. I suppose it was partly my fault, but he's an alcoholic and was definitely going to get drunk anyway. Still, I don't think I should be helping him kill himself.

    Bad things happen to bad people with a little help from their enemies.

    Monster Boy told me today that his stero was stolen at the Space Party, no doubt by Chaz (the skinny fourteen year old thug) and company. Monster Boy was going to let it go unsaid, since he hadn't witnessed that particular theft (he hadn't noticed it until he woke up on Sunday). I convinced him that Chaz is the villain in this saga, and that he is worthy of venegance (of a possibly legal nature). Bad things happen to bad people with a little help from their enemies.

    Speaking of the enemies of bad people, apparently Dwain the tall skinny cop was asking Morgan last night on the Corner if he knew of the whereabouts of Persad, the (alleged) stabber of the Huffanator. According to Monster Boy, Morgan told Dwain, "You know you're happy someone finally stabbed that motherfucker!" I imagine that the Huffanator is nothing but trouble to the Charlottesville Police Department, and the sooner someone gets around to finishing him off, the easier their work will be. Someone as given to violence as the Huffanator is prone to getting knifed on a fairly regular basis. The Huffanator himself says he's had worse. Jessika says that when he showed her this latest wound on Sunday, it was just the latest in a long legacy of serious abdominal scars.

    In the legal system, it's doubtful Persad would be convicted by any jury likely to be drawn from Charlottesville's population of white liberals and Afro-Americans. Even a weak argument of self defense against a white supremacist nazi skinhead ought to be accepted without deliberation.

    I finally got last week's paycheck from Comet. Then I worked on musings at Cocke Hall. I had so much left to say about the weekend.

    Back at the Dynashack, I was displeased to find Morgan Anarchy and Toni Dirtbag hanging out in the living room with Monster Boy, smoking cigarettes and otherwise stinking up the place with their body odour. Monster Boy is okay, but I'm saturated with the gutter punks. I have no interest in making their Charlottesville experience too comfortable. Heaven forbid, they might decide to stay around.

    I puttered around on a few little projects and didn't socialize at all. I felt guilty about that, but why should I? I need my time. I'm not a slave to social parasites.

    I slept from 6pm until work, thus catching up some on a sleep deficit. I didn't drink any alcohol at all today.

    This weekend Steve, the guy at Comet in charge of legal affairs, was complaining about flack from a little hoax I pulled in the Usenet. It's no longer news that satire is terribly misunderstood on the Internet.

    And today I concluded that anger and sexual desire correlate directly.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:

previous | next