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:
   Sally climbs a tree
Sunday, September 22 2002

[REDACTED]

We were having another open house today, but Gretchen vanished a few hours before it was scheduled and it was up to me to handle some of the house cleaning details. Normally I'm not to be trusted with tasks involving such a large logistical element, but I'm actually fairly capable and can transcend my laziness and logistical reticence when the situation demands it.
At 3pm when the real estate agent showed up, I took Sally for a two hour walk in Prospect Park. For a time we sat on the forested banks of the canal that runs from the boathouse to the lake and I read articles from an issue of This Old House.
A young heterosexual couple was wandering around nearby looking for a private place to fuck. Eventually I happened to see their silhouettes undressing against the sky on the ridge above me.
There was a tree on that bank that was leaning enough for Sally to actually climb it. She went way up into the boughs, a good 20 feet above the water, creating something of a spectacle for people passing on their pedal-powered boats. From there perspective, the tree didn't seem to be leaning all that much, and it's certainly not an everyday occurrence to see a dog way up in a tree.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?020922

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