The Memo

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In Which Your Humble Blogger wonders where in the spectrum between nothingburger and shitburger one would find, say, a schmuckburger.

Link by link we forge a, well, anyway

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In Which Your Humble Blogger leaves out the probably irrelevant information that Zymon lived in Fremont for a couple of years, back in the nineties, working for an Israeli company on an H-1B visa. They were doing something Y2K related, although Zalmon had the impression that it was a front for Mossad. He never saw anything, mind you, and he figured it was better not to know, so when the contract was up, he went home.

Aa-OOO-gah

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In Which Your Humble Blogger can't hear you with this organic pesticide-free fair-trade banana in his ear.

Martin on Kohelet

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In Which Your Humble Blogger believes in being headed somewhere, so long as we don’t fool ourselves into believing we’re getting somewhere.