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:
   couldn't get a ticket it was a sold out show
Tuesday, February 27 2001
I guess it says something about my age that every time I'm out in the weather and rain is spitting in my face, I start singing disconnected bits of a song I remember from the radio airplay of my youth, and it goes like this:

...Couldn't get a ticket
It was a sold out show
Put his ear to the wall
And like a distant dream
He heard one guitar
It just blew him away
And the very day
He bought a beat up six string
At a second hand store
Didn't know how to play
But he knew for sure
It felt good in his hands
And the very next day
 (See, I forget how the words go.)

Usually the enunciation I use is all fucked up, overly excited and slightly threatening in an unnecessarilly gas station pump attendant manner, just because I'm a little embarrassed that I can't think of something a cooler to sing on a rainy day. Usually I don't get the opportunity to sing this song very much in sunny Southern California, but it's been raining every day now for at least a week. By the way, I never bother with the chorus of that particular song; it's the part about standing in the rain that matters to me. Is Foreigner considered Blues?

[REDACTED]

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