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:
   the everpresent threat of consequence-free violence
Saturday, December 10 2016
Gretchen had made plans to have Susan and David over for dinner, so she'd made a big vegetable stew and I'd gone on a modest vacuuming jihad (while they can still legally be called that!). To those plans, Gretchen later tacked on a late-afternoon snackfest involving Carrie & Michæl; for that she made four or five special dips to be eaten with crackers. Unfortunately, we had no Michæl-friendly beer and he hadn't brought any, so that part of the afternoon was a little more sober than I prefer socializing to be, especially once the conversation had turned from work topics to Donald J. Trump. (Actually, work topics are probably best discussed over something strong too, if only to blunt the dullness. I'm just not that interested in anyone's worklife, and I don't think mine's especially interesting either, particularly given how well it's been going.) As we sat in front of a roaring woodstove fire sipping our water, today's big revelation concerned Carrie's student debt, which she'd taken on to become a therapist. It had started out at around $60,000, and she hasn't had to make payments on it because she's been making so little money. But in that time, it has somehow grown $20,000 due to accumulated interest. That blew my mind; how is it even possible to be anything but an indentured servant when that is what is happening in the background of your life? Her only solace is that she did get something for that education, unlike the people who took on student debt to attend Trump University.
Later Susan called to say she wasn't feeling well and she and David weren't coming over after all, so after Carrie & Michæl left we had that stew all to ourselves.
I ended up smoking some very marginal marijuana, drinking some booze, and watching an episode of Westworld. But I'm finding Westworld almost as marginal as my marijuana, and my eyelids grew droopy and I nodded off before the episode's end, despite the everpresent threat of consequence-free violence.


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