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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   camping whiggers
Monday, May 8 2006
It was sort of an emergency, so I drove out to Catskill Mountain Coffee on Route 28 to get the three pound bag of concentration medication I'd ordered some days before. The system there for ordering coffee is awkward and low tech. You have to pay up front before they'll order your coffee, and they only accept cash. Then, as much as a week later, the stuff arrives and waits for you on a shelf policed mainly by the honor system. It's a small community and I usually recognize a few of our friends' names in the labels on the bags on that coffee bag shelf.
As usual I had the dogs with me, and after I'd gathered my coffee, a cup of the liquid version, and a vegan black bean sandwich, I took them for a walk in the adjacent Onteora Lake campground. There was a woman with two dogs swimming the entire perimeter lake, a pretty ballsy move considering that people had been ice fishing on there only two months ago. Her dogs swam with her across the lake to the distant shore and then followed her along the shoreline. When you have no goals for your swimming, it's fun to break it up with lots of romping around between the trees of a forested lakeshore.
Meanwhile Eleanor had decided to befriend a fixed Boxer-Pitbull hybrid belonging to a couple of whiggers. They came over from their tent and chatted with me and were as pleasant as any person one ever encounters at Onetora, though it's difficult not to have preconceived notions of someone sporting a do-rag, particularly when it's a white guy with a shaved head. Further shattering preconceived notions, one of them announced that they were camping with a tiny kitten as well as their dog. Go figure: two male adolescent wiggers in full-on gangsta drag camping in an abandoned bluestone mine with a kitten and a fixed Boxer-Pitbull hydrid.


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