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 flu or something
Sunday, April 27 1997

Something to try at your next party: Shout "Okay, I have an announcement to make!" Everyone will fall silent. At this point ask everyone who expects to see their social security money to raise their hands. No one will.

I

  felt horrible when I got up this morning. Partly this was due to hangover, but I could feel an additional problem pervading my every tissue that seemed more serious. I felt like a nation under occupation. I thought somehow I could ignore this and continue on as usual, so I set off for UVA's Cocke Hall to do some work on the musings. But once there I felt incapable of anything more than passive web surfing. I thought maybe caffeine would help, but the only kind easily available is Coke. Today, though, the only kind available was Diet Coke. I'll drink Coke when desperate. But I have never yet bought Diet Coke and I didn't intend to start today. So I went on a search of nearby university buildings for a drink machine. I found nothing of interest, though the walk made me feel a little better.

It's the fact that our liberties are routinely ignored by the COMPLETELY INEFFECTIVE war on drugs that concerns me most.
B

ack at the Dynashack, I came across Monster Boy scraping his bowl so he could have a smoke. I contributed my extremely-resinated bowl to the effort and soon we both were stoned. With the pot and a beer, my horrible sick feeling abated dramatically. We sat around listening to Ministry's Psalm 69, which I used to have on tape. It is, as Monster Boy puts it, "the heavy one." Under the influence of marijuana, it was a beautiful thing to listen to. We talked about a number of things, including the subject of "what it's going to be like when marijuana is legalized." Monster Boy says there is a warehouse in Norfolk where cases of boxes are all ready to hold legalized joints when they are allowed onto the market. When you consider how little marijuana contributes to societal turmoil in comparison to that caused by alcohol, you find yourself feeling confident that marijuana will be legalized any day. By the way, the easy availablity of inexpensive marijuana is not a major concern of mine; I do not smoke much pot and would not like to smoke more than I do. It's the fact that our liberties are routinely ignored by the COMPLETELY INEFFECTIVE war on drugs that concerns me most. These liberties are not just violated by governments. An example of corporate rights violation is something Monster Boy told me the other day. Did you know that in order to get a job at Blockbuster Video, you have to pass a urine test? You do. It's an OUTRAGE that people willingly support corporations that use such invasive dehumanizing practices. By the way, America's fear of marijuana dates back to the racist 20s and 30s, when the fact that urban blacks smoked "something else" was viewed as a threat. In typically hysterical American political manner, the unknown was outlawed before it could be understood. The tendency to outlaw the drugs of "others" continues, of course. In the 80s when crack started appearing in the inner-cities, it was blamed for the rise of crime in the dying hearts of the increasingly ignored and politically impotent urban centers. For this reason, selling, transporting, or possessing crack carries a much more serious legal risk than similar acts with cocaine, the "white businessman's drug."

I

  started feeling lousey again and so went off to take a nap while Monster Boy went off to find a job. I don't know if job hunting while stoned is such a good idea, but he seemed to think it was.

I was miserable whenever I woke up for the rest of the day. I could clearly feel a fever keeping my body unusually warm and making the air feel uncomfortably cold by comparison. A side effect of the fever was my complete lack of motivation. It's extremely rare for me to be unmotivated. For example, even when I have absolutely no inspiration, the musings brim over with events and observations. Cecelia the Brazilian Girl came by at one point, trying to interest me in doing fun Sunday Night stuff. But I could not be moved. She hunted down some sort of pain reliever that was not nearly as effective as marijuana, but it made me feel good enough to sleep again. So ended the night.


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