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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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treachery two Thursday, September 18 1997 the uncensored version
ory has been putting photographs of his various totalled cars online. There's a good one in there of his 1972 Ford LTD back before the police confiscated it. It apparently had a mind of its own and liked to crash itself.
awoke several times during my sleep today after profoundly intellectual dreams. In these dreams, I wasn't living in an alternative dream world; instead, my mind was assembling a fantastic future world, fully aware that the whole thing was just a thought experiment. Here's how it went:
There is no mention made of how exactly the robots sustain their insatiable energy requirements. Perhaps they subsist on the energy value of crumbs and flakes of human skin, much like cockroaches. Perhaps they periodically migrate to local refueling stations. Maybe they charge internal batteries while taking siestas in the sun.
Some robots in some places are no doubt more popular than others, while some are like paparazzi, and considered serious nuisances. No doubt many are destroyed. Others are controlled locally to do the bidding of grateful masters.
All moves to control the robots are useless; they either reproduce themselves or are produced inexpensively overseas. And those controlling them via the internet are as shielded by anonymity as a letter bomber on AOL.
own in the living room sat Matthew Hart and Jessika. The first thing Matthew asked of me was "When you find out about the Rory and Leah situation, could you please not put it on the Internet?" I agreed and was astounded at the same time. This was a real bombshell, folks. Rory was supposed to be one of Matthew's best friends.
And what is Leah thinking? Is this sympathy for a poor bloke down on his luck? Is it real attraction? Is it an act of evil vindictiveness against Matthew? No one can know for sure. Needless to say, Matthew is horribly embarrassed, and thus he doesn't want this on the Internet. If you're reading this, chances are I know who you are and you aren't one of the parties to this fiasco. In my 29 years, I've been rudely dumped two or three times, found out a girlfriend was screwing an anonymous other twice, and seen my well-laid romantic plans laid to ruin in an instant far more times than I can count, but I have never been so thoroughly humiliated as this. At two treacheries and a flounder to show for it, it's been a tough week for Matthew. I must do something nice for him tomorrow.
hile we were alone, Jessika and I discussed a wide range of subjects, including the recent article about the musings in the Cavalier Daily. It inspired and slightly unnerved her. On the one hand, she was motivated to do weird, fun things to keep the musings interesting, and on the other hand, she kept telling me not to include interesting stuff she was telling me. For example, she told me all about what she did last night.
Evidently Sara has two identities at Princess Paulina's Royal Castle. The first is Mistress Gabrielle, a dominatrix. With the change of a wig and a slight rearrangement of lingerie, she's Mistress Nicole, more the submissive type.
In other news, Jason Huffman (the Huffanator's older brother) is serving a prison sentence somewhere on the west coast. He sends Jessika letters in which he tells of his new interest in animal spirit-energy. He writes of being "one with the wolf" and "in touch with the snake." It's a kind of pagan spirituality not unlike that expressed by many of the Ladies of the Heart. Recently he was sent to "the hole" after beating the hell out of a fellow inmate convicted of child molestation.
went outside briefly to play in the street with Deya's enormous blue ball. Minga, the eccentric old man who lives across the street, invited me to help myself to some yellow crocuses in his front yard. Not wanting to disappoint him, I gathered five of them. "Crocuses, help yourself," he said again, and then, oddly, he continued, "Crocuses, yes, see-are-oh-see-you-ess!" And with that he hopped into his car and drove away. For a moment I could imagine I was on the stage of the Children's Television Workshop. I took the crosuses inside and placed them in water in a Beast Ice can, and told the others the amusing story. I think Minga should marry Deya, they're actually very similar.
Deya came home and suggested we go up Carter's Mountain again to visit Peggy, Zach and their unnamed baby (currently still known as "the Baboose"). So we did, the three of us, in Deya's car.
oth sets of grandparents were there (excepting Zach's Dad), fussing over an especially obnoxious and somewhat intrepid diaper changing. Somewhere in this queasy spectacle I noted the fact that the Baboose is uncircumcised. It was stuffy and crowded inside, and I didn't like being an audience to a diaper changing, so I went and sat outside. Soon I was joined by Jessika, later by Deya. The air was cool and crisp, but haze hung low over the flat expanse of the Piedmont to the east. We were all sober. Back indoors, Zachary looked unusually benign as he held his little son on his chest. The baby kept grabbing his own cheeks and pulling them far out from his face. Whenever he let go, they snapped back in an instant. Do that to an old horse, and the skin gathers itself up more more leisurely.
Not really knowing what else to do, we all sat and watched NYPD Blue. None of us drank any alcohol at all today. Most of us had stomach or head complaints remnant from yesterday's excesses.
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