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:
   bad chinese chicken
Tuesday, July 27 1999
It may have been the weakly-flavoured oldness of the chicken, or its unsettling iridescent sheen, or perhaps unpleasant memories of a supposed picture of the post-accident John F. Kennedy Jr. (how was that in my referral logs?), but I swore to God I'd never again eat at the Chinese buffet place at the Frazee-Friars food court.
The other unpleasant feature of lunch was a seemingly never-ending discussion about body building techniques between John the editor guy and Toni, the new smartly-buff "Sales -Product liaison" guy who plays loud Korn on the stereo in his SUV.
Al drove me home from work tonight. On the way, when we weren't bitching about the Project Management System, he told me that his seventeen year old brother had a bit of a crush on Kim. "She seemed to really care what I was saying," he'd reportedly said. I found this awfully endearing.
In the evening, I was watching FOX teevee with my finger on the frame capture button. Here are some things I saw (the second is not for the queasy).


A couple drug-crazed gutterpunks engaged in a brawl.


A baby born with a world-record-shattering tumour.


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