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").



links

decay & ruin
Biosphere II
Chernobyl
dead malls
Detroit
Irving housing

welcome to the collapse
Clusterfuck Nation
Peak Oil

got that wrong
Paleofuture.com

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff


Like asecular.com
(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   especially hard-to-eject ammosexuals
Friday, May 29 2020
We have another socially-distanced dinner party planned for Sunday (this one will feature my boss Alex and his wife Celia, whom Gretchen met many years ago through the local poetry scene; they were at our "Red House Party" back when their now-adult daughters were children). In preparation for that, Gretchen and Powerful went shopping, also stopping at the Target to get Powerful more clothes. While they'd been out, I'd heard some more target practicing down at the bus turn around. Wanting to see who was doing that, and also needing some electrical supplies for a laboratory project, I set out in the Prius. Passing the bus turnaround, I saw a single car parked there. It was a dark, slightly sporty older Toyota car, the sort of vehicle driven by a young man with a dead-end job living paycheck-to-paycheck. Somewhere along Hurley Mountain Road, I realized I hadn't brought the neck tube that I pull up over my face for use as a mask. And there was nothing I could use as a mask in the car. So I had to turn around and return home.
Back at the house, Powerful and Gretchen were starting some of the food prep for Sunday's dinner party just as the ammosexuals were firing off their bigger guns. I grabbed the megaphone and went running down the Stick Trail, taking the Gullies Trail to get as close to the shooters as possible. In an effort to preserve my voice, I talked relatively quietly into the megaphone, but I said all the ususal crazy shit. Unfortunately, this didn't seem to have much effect. Some people are bigger assholes than others.
Back at the house, Gretchen tried a different tact. She printed out an anonymous letter she's used in the past, drove down to the bus turnaround, and put it under one of the vehicle's windshield wipers. By that point there were two vehicles. Ammosexuals like to get together there and do some motherfucking shooting. Unfortunately, Gretchen's letter, so boldly delivered, had no effect on the shooting either. There was only so much we could do that wouldn't put is in prison for a very long time.
I finally went on that errand into town to get those electrical supplies. I went to Home Depot, making a beeline for the electrical section so as to minimize my time in that store. Today was the first time I'd seen customers there not wearing masks. Generally if one person wasn't wearing a mask in a family group, nobody would be. I was tempted to ask them how it felt to be so gloriously, selfishly free. But it seemed more prudent to stay well away from them. People not wearing masks in a Home Depot in late May 2020 are precisely the people mostly likely to have done other things to increase their chance of infection. In addition to some electrical supplies, I bought some more basic tools for the Nissan Leaf's basic tool kit. These included needle-nosed pliers, a 12 foot measuring tape, and a crescent wrench capable of turning a nut measuring an inch and a quarter.
There was a mild thunderstorm to the west on my drive back home, and, though little rain fell from it, it was enough to drive off the ammosexuals. By the time I got home, Gretchen and powerful were eating a meal of polenta with red sauce containing chickpeas. I'm never that enthusiastic about polenta, but this was pretty good. [REDACTED]


Powerful and wimpy little me posing near our garden this morning, sort of American-Gothic stylee.


Neville on the Farm Road today. Click to enlarge.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?200529

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