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:
   Woodland Hills trashcan burrito
Sunday, June 11 2006

setting: Arcadia (near Pasadena), California

Mike drove me back to Woodland Hills first thing this morning and once there I slept for several more hours in the vastly-improved comfort of my bedroom there.
I had a hangover for the entire day as result of last night's overindulgence. The others had been drinking Scotch and I'd had enough sense to keep my alcohol intake restricted to beer, thereby avoiding a truly memorable incident, but the beer I'd been drinking had mostly been Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The hops in there taste so good but I think they do more damage than the alcohol. The one thing that seemed to save me was a little baggy of vitamins Mike gave me.
Despite my hangover I managed to get a lot of good work done for Luc. In the evening I went out to the only non-franchise store in the neighborhood, a ghetto Mexican joint called El Tapatio on the corner of Victory and Fallbrook across the street from the Starbucks. Luc had sneered at the place, but a later conversation had indicated he was skeptical of any business that would choose to locate next to such a tiny parking lot. So I decided to see for myself.
I could tell El Tapatio was authentic because it had earned a B during its last health inspection. The burrito I ordered was a lot like the one I'd had last night; it would definitely qualify as "trashcan." The big difference was that I was completely sober and could feel every shaming moment of the public humiliation that inevitably resulted from eating it. It was delicious nevertheless, something that was probably also true of the one I'd eaten last night (though I can't really recall).


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?060611

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