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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   what the sexes are for
Monday, September 8 1997
    I've always noticed a certain similarity between drunken frat boys and pissed off skinheads.
    I

      spent an absurd amount of time in UVA's Cocke Hall, among the students, working on my musings. The girls sure dress nice before going to class. What's this all about? Are they feverishly competing for frat boys while the meat market is still wide open? This would appear to be the case. Meanwhile, I notice that shaved heads are very in-fashion among the boys. It seems skinhead fashion is penetrating academia. Of course, I've always noticed a certain similarity between drunken frat boys and pissed off skinheads. They are similarly anti-intellectual, fashion conscious, belligerant, and conformist. The only difference is the music. But I only have to flip on MTV to see that Ska is undergoing a widespread mainstream revival not unlike what happened to punk in the hey day of Greenday (1994). It's been my observation that Frat boys always manage to pick up fashion about a year after it peaks on MTV.

    The only reason people watch is to see if Scully and Mulder are actually going to get around to doing the butt and stop playing with their dollies like eight year olds who don't know what the sexes are for.
    L

    eah was sick with a sore throat and body pains today. She stayed home from work and lay around on the couch watching teevee all day. I watched the X Files and NYPD Blue with her. I always forget how good NYPD Blue really is. They manage to intertwine three plot lines and unravel them all in the last five minutes better than any other show on television. On the other hand, I'm never very impressed by the X Files. As Leah puts it, the only reason people watch is to see if Scully and Mulder are actually going to get around to doing the butt and stop playing with their dollies like eight year olds who don't know what the sexes are for.

    M

    any thanks to the lovely bicyclist Nancy Taylor, who sends me corrections to my musings when they're hopelessly fucked up, especially in the case of the Friday entry.


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