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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   enormous pink tongue
Friday, February 28 2014
I walked the length and back of the Farm Road this morning, which was the best I could do in the bitter cold. But at least it was sunny, and so eventually Ramona had the greenhouse as a place to lie around on the couch, get hot, and start panting. I wasn't sure the black blob I could see down there was her until I saw her enormous pink tongue doing what it does when she gets hot.
Television is different when Gretchen isn't around. I don't watch teevee over dinner (and tonight dinner was yet more spaghetti with red sauce, since I'd boiled the whole package yesterday). But I did watch my stupid gold mining shows, which seem more and more fake the more them I see. It's clear to me now that all the conversations are staged, and the acting on display is somewhat worse than is typically seen in a soap opera. But the cinematogagraphy is a hell of a lot better.


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