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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   eighty percent of her friskitude
Tuesday, July 20 2004
I don't know if Sally and Eleanor know, but we're arriving at the dog days, what is statistically the hottest part of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. I heard my first Dog Day Cicada a week or so ago, but even such clues in the soundtrack haven't put me in the proper mood. Here in Hurley we've still yet to set up our inflatable redneck pool (one of whose chambers has an air leak). The weather, you see, hasn't really been all that hot.
For the past few days it had been raining intermittently, but that all ended today. The rain had seemed like a lot but I suppose that was only in comparison to the preceding weeks of what must have been a drought. The mighty Chamomile River has yet to return to being anything more than a cobble-strewn gully.
I took Sally and Eleanor for a walk down the Stick Trail late this afternoon. The recent rain had brought out the mosquitoes, which have hardly been noticeable up until now. I'd forgotten how unpleasant the woods can be when the mosquitoes are out, the situation throughout last year's summer. Ideally you spritz yourself with plenty of insect repellant before setting out and then you just keep on moving, never providing a stationary place for those assholes erect their drilling platforms.
Our dog Sally is the gimpy one these days, favoring one of her front paws for no obvious reason. A dog with an injured front paw is considerably lamer than one with an injured back paw (the way Eleanor was throughout most of the winter). Interestingly, though, once she's out in the woods surrounded by the tempting chirps of chipmunks, Sally recovers at least eighty percent of her innate agility and friskitude.


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