Angry-La

When I blog, it rains

2010-09-04T01:50:00.003+02:00

If you are Norwegian, speak Norwegian, understand Norwegian or suffer from a serious and uncurable delusion that makes you think you can read Norwegian when in fact you can't, direct your hungry gaze over at my new blog. A passing interest in electronical videogames would also be helpful, though hopefully not required. And if you don't (speak Norwegian, that is), there's always a chance that my newfound interest in actually blogging for a change might benefit this here thing as well, so stop crying.

Oh, and did I mention it's in Norwegian?

If they move, shoot 'em

2009-11-21T17:43:00.005+01:00

So there's been some controversy around the latest installment in the Call of Duty franchise, Modern Warfare 2. Maybe you've heard about it. The developers decided to include a scene in which you have the choice to massacre a shitload of civilians in an airport. Yeah. I don't really have anything to say about that. Well, not yet, anyway. Maybe someday, when I've actually played the thing. Until then, Kieron Gillen over at RockPaperShotgun has weighed the scene and found it lighter than a feather. It's a great, if somewhat rambling, analysis, filled with justified rage (the best kind). Obviously both links are dipped in spoilers, so if you care about that sort of thing, stay your mouse-clicking. I think it's safe to say that the plot of MW2 is grade-A bullshit though, so it probably doesn't matter much.

A violent game I have played, however, got a sequel a few weeks back. Maybe you've heard about this one too? It's called Uncharted: Drake's Fortune, and the only controversy surrounding it was of the console war kind (it's a PS3 exclusive. If you don't know why that makes it controversial, I envy you more than you'll ever know). The main character, the one you're controlling, is one Nathan Drake, dashing adventurer, charming thief, and sociopathic mass-murderer. That last part, however, isn't very clear until you start to think about what you're actually doing when you play him. Sure, this isn't the first game where you mow down seemingly endless amounts of enemies without if affecting as much as your haircut, in fact, if you play videogames once in a while you're probably used to it. After all, aren't games supposed to make stuff like murder and dismemberment fun? Isn't that the point of interactive entertaiment? What on earth would you do in a game, if you couldn't shoot shit to bloody pieces? Then it'd just be an interactive cutscene! A full-on QTE-fest! Oh no, the gayness!

..sorry, I'll stop that now. Anyway, sure, Indy shot some people in his day, no remorse needed, so why can't Drake? Let's look at some obvious differences between the original and the cardboard copy. First of all, Drake is a fucking cardboard copy, in case you just missed that sentence. He's as bland as heroes get, basically. He inhabits a bland (although pretty) world, has bland sidekicks, fights bland villains. Bland bland bland bland. He's a flat and boring character, he has the same dry, ironic, pretend world-weariness that all of these adventurers have had since the Last Crusade. Sure, some of his quips are funny, but they were more funny the first time you heard them, which was somewhere else, long ago. Second, and this is really just a follow-up to the first, Uncharted is badly written, and the violence doesn't fit with the (bland) story. Some silly South American gangleader has a bazillion goons who love nothing more than showering in gunfire? Really? Which, coincidentally, brings us to bullet-point number three: Indy may be a killer, but he's not a one-man slaughterhouse. In Uncharted you snuff out the precious life force of literally thousands of people, and Drakes rection is a weary sigh and dry comments along the lines of "oh dear, all this killing is making me sleepy". The whole thing is just downright silly. It doesn't so much break immersion as blow it to dust, vacuuming it up and emptying the bag into the Atlantic Ocean.

The thing is, this is videogame convention. Gamers are used to killing tons of dudes, it's just something we accept as part of the game. If we're to judge games on content, as opposed to mechanics, most simply fall short. Fallout 3 falls short. FarCry 2 falls short. BioShock, bless it, fucks up the atmosphere completely by having every resident of Rapture psychotically attack you on sight. The most common solution, of course, is simply filling your action game with monsters, demons, or robots, or setting the game in some sort of war. It works, but god damn it all, games are capable of more.

All of that said, Uncharted: Drake's Fortune is one hell of an entertaining game. The combat mechanics are excellent, taking cover and popping some desperate shots at the ethnic diversity is exciting, and doesn't get old. But this doesn't make it a good game. It simply makes it a fun one.

Post in which I ponder the strange and inescapable mysteries of space/time and arrives at a shocking conclusion

2009-11-14T00:50:00.010+01:00

Please forgive me for drawing your attention to an article in the Daily Mirror, about the actor playing Harry Potter possibly smoking a joint. "Harry Pothead", beams the Mirror, impossibly proud of itself. "The philosopher's stoned" it continues, while smirking contently at its own cleverness. Yes, those hilarious boys and girls at Britains most revered newspaper surely knows their way arund the words, don't they? I will use this occasion to direct you to a previous post I made on another Potter subject, using the same highly original pun for no apparent contextual reason. Obviously I was the first person in the world to ever think of this, and should sue the internet. Anyway, that post, rather bizarrely, segues into a short but concise analysis of the use of torture in 24. Why bizarrely? Because I am now (not so) hard at work writing a student paper on that same subject.

What is that sound? Could it be the very fabric of my sanity has started tearing? Or is it simply time and space reconfiguring itself around bad puns and violence?

More on delicious torture soon, I suspect. Must prioritise exams over blog.

Pretty Offensive

2009-07-24T16:36:00.004+02:00

Pretty Woman offends me on so many levels. It offends me as a misogynist, it offends me as a feminist, I even find it offensive that I thought it was funny and mostly enjoyable. Actually, that last part really pisses me off. I wanted to hate that movie so bad, but how could I? It's Hollywood at it's slickest and most manipulative, and by god, they're good at what they do. So now you're thinking, okay, you enjoyed it (you fucking faggot), then what's there to complain about?

I'll tell you what there's to fucking complain about.

It's a shameless fantasy for women, like a female Star Wars or Die Hard. That's not really a bad thing in itself, but it makes absolutely no effort to appeal to manly men like myself. Women want to be Julia Roberts (or rather, Vivian Whoreface or whatever her name is). She's disgustingly charming, independent and bright, but most importantly: She's seemingly calling all the shots. SHE never goes to HIM, not once (at least, I'm Pretty Sure of this), it's always the other way around. She changes him for the better, and while she also goes through somewhat of a metamorphosis, it's emphasized that she merely realizes her potential. He's transformed on a core level, he goes from a cold, rich bastard to a glowing humanitarian, and it's all because of her. So, while women want to be her, men don't really want to be him. He's worked his ass off, while she's just Pretty Charming. He goes to the opera and does other silly things instead of watching football and drinking beer, like all men dream of. In short, he's a pansy. Just to be clear: Beating up George from Seinfeld doesn't count as macho, okay?
Okay, so you get the picture. I'll put away the big brush for now.

Now, the feminist angle. It glamourizes her profession. Yeah, sure, modern feminists would probably say something like hookerism could be a way of affirming one's sexual power as a woman or somesuch bullshit. Me, I'm old-school, I see it as degrading yourself for money. Theres actually a Pretty Clever little comparison between his job and hers in the movie, but we'll just write that down to Hollywood professionalism, along with the mentions of dead hookers in dumpsters and crazy pimps on crack sporting switchblade skateboards and what have you. The fact remains, and I'm sure noone will disagree with this, Vivian's not a realistic character. She's simply not damaged enough, in fact, she's not damaged at all. If this all sounds a bit too politically correct for you, then kindly go fuck yourself. It's a fairy tale, who cares, right?

But still, there's this nagging feeling that all's not well in Alternative Feminist-ville. He comes to her in a dramatic gesture with a fire-escape and some bullshit, protects her from silly bald rapist lawyers, apologizes to her after pointing out her chosen profession, changes his evil ways for her and so on and so boring, while she smiles and pouts and sucks on his dick and looks pretty. But still, in a more profund sense, he rescues her from reality, removes her from the world. It's never, ever the other way around. Whether the man is rich and the woman poor or vice versa, it's always the man's world thats the ideal one (see Titanic for a contrasting example). I'm probably wrong about the "always" bit, at least I certainly hope so, but it's still the prevailing scenario. And people lap it up! How many women think that men should behave like this, with the big gesturing and the protecting and the crawling and the working? A show of hands, please, be honest now. And how many thought that the comparison to Star Wars was an unfair one?

Fuck it, I'll admit I have a Pretty Weak case here, and also, that joke was Pretty Awful to begin with and I have no fucking idea why I keep repeating it. As a fantasy, as pure escapist entertainment, I have no complaints against Pretty Woman. Just please, for the love of fucking god, don't consider it to be better than (or even different from) high fantasy or science fiction. In fact, in quite a few cases, I'd argue it's the other way around.

Well, I guess that's the root of my annoyance. Maybe I shouldn't use this blog as anger management. I don't really have a joke to finish with, sorry. I will, however, state that Naked Lunch is a fucking amazing movie and everyone should see it, but that's neither here nor there.

Exterminate all rational thought.

Embed Without a Cause

2009-05-22T12:13:00.003+02:00

I must have seen this one a bazillion times in the last few days. The song is "Carol Brown" by Flight of the Conchords, from an episode directed by Michel Gondry..

..who also made this:

Another year, another embedded video

2008-12-31T17:43:00.004+01:00

Stick a fork in 2008, it's done. Let's hope 2009 is better, not that it'll have to try much. Still, for all it's worth, I wish you all, nay, command you to enjoy yourself this evening, and let's give the New Year a nice, warm, fuzzy welcome.

Manah manah.

Christmas carols

2008-12-23T03:14:00.000+01:00

Some years ago, back in my studyin' days, I had a fierce argument with a friend regarding Fairytale of New York. She did not agree with my completely objective opinion that it is the greatest Christmas song ever made. I know! Crazy. Anyway, we were at this Christmas party down the local student pub. At closing time, they played this song, while shepherding everyone out, and suddenly we were this tiny group of strangers (we might have been just two, time's hard on the details), singing (sic) along to the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl. I think that made even my cynical friend succumb to the drunken joy of the Christmas spirit.

Yeah yeah, maybe not the bestest, most hilarious story ever told. Still, as memories go, it's kind of beautiful.

This next one is my dads favourite. You're probably wondering just what the hell goes on around my house during Christmas, but don't worry. My mum's got all that psalm stuff covered, and I just leave the room if anything resembling Wham comes on.

But now, perhaps, you're feeling a bit sad. Maybe some titties will cheer you up? It's time for a completely different kind of Christmas tune.

Well, that sure ended abruptly. Before I leave you all to your fatty foods and expensive presents, we still have time for one more, right? Yeah, we'll always have time for Billie. And if anyone wants to argue about whether it's about Christmas or not, they've missed the point in a spectacular way.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Way Back Home

2008-11-16T23:33:00.003+01:00

Just for the record: My homestead is such a major metropolis that fighter jets perform high-risk excercises just above grond level here. True story! I'm told this is because we're not actually on any of the respectable maps, only the rebellious, dangerously unstable ones. I spoke with a government representative about this, and he replied, with a confused look, "what? You mean there's people up there? Like in that movie, The Hills Have Eyes?". At this point, I did what any reasonable person would do: I sighed, rolled my eyes, and went home to duck and cover whenever those damn planes show up.

Anyway, all this is probably the reason why I feel so at home in the Capital Wasteland. It's just like home, with added dismemberment. And better music. In fact, the music in Fallout 3 is nothing short of spectacular (although I should probably point out that the dude in that video is not, in fact, Bob Crosby). The best music ever included in a computer game? You betcha. Just think about it: How many games make you sing happily along with lines like "pretty flowers need the sun", while splattering giant mutants into bloody little bits with a portable nuclear weapon? It's pure magic. Besides, having been exposed to her heavenly vocals, I now want to dig up the corpse of Billie Holiday and marry it in Vegas.

That can't be normal.

Commercial Break

2008-11-04T22:31:00.006+01:00

We interrupt this lack of updates in order to bring you IMPORTANT NEWS.

Audiosurf is now available through Steam for $2.49, this week only. Insanity! That's the price of a cucumber! And perhaps a tomato. Still cheap, I say. If you own a PC at all and don't absolutely loathe music of all kinds, you really shouldn't let this one slip by. Why? I'll tell you why, you slobbering monkeys:

Because Audiosurf is awesome.

In fact, it may well be the most awesomest thing since ever. There's a demo to be tried, but trust me: You will love it, unless you are completely dead inside.

Or, y'know, just plain dead.

In which case, I really hope you're not reading this over my shoulder.

Meet Sylvia

2008-08-21T16:13:00.000+02:00

The first time I attempted suicide was at the age of seven. This teacher, this complete bastard who I only ever knew by his last name (mr. Morris, I think) had told me I was fat and stupid. So I found a knife somewhere and cut myself. It's weird, I don't really think I knew what suicide meant at that time, it was just some stupid shit I'd seen at some TV show or other. Luckily, said stupid show had shown the girl slash across her wrist, rather than along the vein, which I know now is the sensible thing to do if you want to kill yourself (I've since discovered a passion for the subject, obviously).

Anyway, to get back at the teacher I accused him of attempting to rape me, which, under the circumstances, people immediately believed. Why else would a seven-year-old try to off herself, right? Of course, it didn't stick, but at least the prick never got to work as a teacher again. Looking back, I'll admit it was maybe a bit harsh, but then again he was a major asshole, and thus it can be seen as a service to humanity, of sorts. I mean, seriously, you just don't tell an overweight, somewhat slow seven year old girl that she's fat and stupid. The whole thing, the accusation, was my older sisters idea, by the way. She was beautiful, twice my age at the time. I've since outlived her, but I guess I'll be getting to that in a minute.

I don't think that's where my obsession with suicide started, though. At least I didn't try it again until I was about 13. If you thought the Morris incident was the last of my weight and intelligence being the object of mockery, then you would be wrong. I heard it every day for six fucking years. One day I just had enough, friendless as I was at the time. I had the house to myself for a weekend, and (somewhat embarrassingly) I lighted a ton of candles in the bathroom and tried to drown myself. Now, you're probably picturing a bunch of pills lying on the floor, or an empty bottle or bag of weed or something. But no, I tried to hold my head under water and breathe. Didn't work. I told you it was embarrassing, but give me a break, I was just a clueless kid back then.

Instead of trying again, I decided to go anorexic. Worked a charm. Almost killed me though, so I guess that could be labeled as attempt number three? Doesn't really matter, I'm still alive, after all. I tried improving my grades, as well. I did feel better about myself for a while, got some friends. And then - do you fucking believe it? My stupid sister, who I'd adored all my life, who'd always protected me, who was the perfect picture of mental health, goes and offs herself. I mean, I'd tried this shit three times already, without success, and she gets it right the first time? Still pisses me off. I probably don't need to tell you this, but the whole thing left me just a bit unstable.

I took a boy to get me going again, though. He was actually a real bitch, but I puppy loved him like some pathetic cartoon character. I only talked to him the one time, he crushed me completely, and I ended up on this tall fucking bridge. Broke both my legs, but survived, yet again. In the hospital I got a lot of time to think. You're probably rolling your eyes at this, but the whole ordeal actually taught me a lot about love, and how sceptical you have to be when dealing with it. During those few weeks I changed a bit, became less shy (or possibly just a bit more reckless, but I guess that's the same thing, really). I started working out a lot also, even after my legs had recuperated. I've always been a bit vengeful, and if my sister'd been alive she'd probably come up with something cruel and sneaky (she was lovely that way). But me, I just wanted to beat the shit out of the little bitchboy. I did, eventually, and accidentally made him a cripple. Yeah, accidentally, I swear! Made me feel good at the time, though.

This was the first time someone connected my dots, by the way. Made me go to therapy and all that fucking jazz. So, you're not my first, sorry. Anyway, despite all the commotion, I felt better about myself than ever before. I was even beginning to like life a little. So, you're probably wondering, like, why does she do this, why does she still want to end it all, right? After all, I've a dozen or so attempts to my name since then. The truth is, I don't want to, right? I just want to, you know - . You know?

The thing is, every time I've tried to kill myself, it's changed me. I've become a better person. More sure of myself, more self-aware. And that's why I do it. It's a way of self-improvement, kind of. Probably some sort of addiction as well, I don't know. But now, you know, my life is good. I love life right now. I want to stop, but I can't. I want to stop because one day I'll make it, I'll actually succeed at it, yeah? And I don't want to. Not anymore.

A Design for RL

2008-08-07T17:53:00.000+02:00

Being a teacher is like being a GM in the MMO of Life. Everyone started out as newbs, barely knowing the EULA, and then one day we hit the endgame and got bored. Of course, a lot of people didn't, they'll probably keep raiding and PVPing until they die. But for some of us, there was rekindled interest when we were given the opportunity to oversee fresh n00bs, struggling to level up. So some made alts, because there's been a lot of content patches, bugfixes and expansions since the last time we played. Others are holding out because we remember what a chore it sometimes could be. Those of us are not all that excited about the prospect of watching our chi.. 'scuse me, our alts, go through that endless, meaningless grind of Life. The idea of following them DING!ing their way through levels, defeating mobs and collecting loot as they go, is alluring enough, surely. But we know that it'll occupy and eradicate our own spare time, leaving no time for all those single-player games collecting dust on our shelves. And so I, at least, am content just to watch, and hopefully sometimes guide, with no strings attached.

I just wish I could turn off general chat. That's one area where art actually pwns life.

Meet Marvin

2008-08-04T17:18:00.001+02:00

A sunny day in august it suddenly hit Marvin: He wasn’t fighting lazyness or indifference. His real problem was a subconscious desire to self-destruct. He always paid his bills too late, even though he considered himself a punctual guy. He wasn’t a wrist-cutter either, yet every time he chopped his precious tomatoes he stared a good long while at the knife, transfixed. Every single night, as he immersed his face in the basin water, he fantasized of raising his head to see the darkened outline of a serial killer behind him in the mirror.

Suicide, naturally, was not an option. He knew he was imploding, gradually, that he just had to wait for insanity, or something else entirely, to set in. It could take years, the thought of which completely exhausted him. In the meantime, his entire purpose of existence was simply passing time. Getting a job, paying the bills (even if he never did it on time) was simply a result of his ever-diminishing sense of self-preservation, as well as his inexplicable need to calm everyone around him. The effect was astounding. Even if he stated his general infuriation with life every other time he spoke with someone, his family and friends were completely hypnotized by him seemingly contributing to society three times a week by pushing paper in the company of liars like himself. Work also served as a sort of smokescreen, a way to sometimes fool himself into believing he could make it through, survive existence unscathed. But the illusion always faltered, since it failed to provide any sort of long-term satisfaction. Like everything else occupying his drained mind, the pleasure he gained from structure was short-lived.

Despite all of his undirected hatred, though, he didn’t really have any problems getting through most days. He was easily distracted, which meant he counted on TV every weekday afternoon, and obscene amounts of alcohol every weekend. Of course, his newfound realization could possibly upset this fragile balance. Previously, on his life, he had considered his negative impulses perfectly compatible with a relatively normal lifestyle. He’d never been at odds with himself, or so he had always assumed. Self-destruction, self-hatred manifested, was simply unacceptable. Apathy, laziness; these things he could fight, and he tried to, every single day. How could he combat himself? If every action he took was subconsiously meant to hinder his own happiness, how could he reconcile this with taking any action at all? If his actual purpose in life was to undermine his own ambition, how could he justify having ambitions at all? How would he separate the things that would serve his stated goal of survival, and those self-delusions designed to endorse his own misery? He wasn’t simply killing time anymore, his prey, it had finally become clear, was his own self-respect and fragile state of contentment. It was a mess.

After a long, good think, Marvin decided to not do anything that might be a hidden move by his subconscious to subvert his being again. So he quit his job, stopped paying his bills and decided to never leave his apartment again. He would be damned if he would let himself ruin his life.

Chicks With Pixels (part two)

2008-07-01T01:00:00.000+02:00

(Continued from part one)

In fact, the entire concept of "adult content" must have taken the wrong turn somewhere as it drove into Videogame City, and, as usual, it pisses me the fuck off. Yet another brainless adolescent fantasy paraded as a work of fucking art. I call bullshit. The Longest Journey, in it's day, was one of the few games to sprinkle the word "fuck" among its many lengthy dialogues, and it was heavily berated for it. Although this was done rather clumsily, the effort was still applaudable. Since the people using the word were meant to be crude bastards (not actually villains, though), its use was firmly placed in the corner of characterization, not attention whoring. Later games fared worse (Fiddy, I'm looking at you). When vulgar elements are used without (rhyme or) reason, you stop looking like a pro and start looking like a jackass (pun very much intended). This goes for all art forms. Even good B-films know this, for proof, watch preacher man Harvey Keitels reaction when asked if he's a "mean motherfucking servant of God" in From Dusk Till Dawn; he answers using the same wording, but censoring the "motherfucking" part. I'm not saying all game writers should try to be Tarantino (actually, please God no! Imagine Kratos going on about Medusa pussy for forty fucking hours), but would it kill them to insert some actual wit in their dialogue once in a while?

The routine answer to accusations of immaturity in games is that it's a young medium. Well, guess what? You're not fucking eight years old anymore, in case you forgot. As an example, Loom, made in 1990, is a game that much more mature than most made today, it makes you wonder if "games are art" will ever be anything but a joke to all the random people (it probably won't, by the way). But let's leave the swearing and even the violence for some other time, and focus on the wish fulfillment, or, more specifically: The woman parts. Yeah! I knew that would wake you up.

It's a fact (sorry ladies, but I sincerely hope this does not come as a surprise to anyone) that most games are made by men, for men (or rather, boys, but let's postpone that discussion). This creates some interesting situations. You see, some games, notably role-playing games (which includes both WoW and AoC), allow you to choose the gender and appearance of your avatar (the character representing you on the screen) yourself. Dilemma! Do you create a woman, so you get a nice ass to look at while trudging about these endless MMO worlds (AoC even lets you choose your own breast size! Now I know why I stopped playing WoW), or a man, which, after all (assuming you are one in real life), is a tad bit more representative? Personally, I think it's far too bizarre talking to a man through a female avatar, so I always make men in MMO's (insert wish fulfillment joke here, har har, fuck off). In singleplayer games, it's a whole different set of problems. I'd naturally prefer to run around for hour upon hour with a more-or-less-abstract representation of bootylicious female curves, but the story keeps getting in my way. I must admit I find it somewhat disturbing being forced into romantic relationships with a large, dreadlocked negro man, even if it's just for a small part of the plot, but the more pressing problem is the nagging feeling of missing out. The female romances are often simply better written, or more fulfilling, and oh look, we're back at wish fulfillment.

A short recap, then. When choosing your avatars gender, what are the pros and cons? The female avatar you can mold into your idea of the perfect woman. Er, with certain limitations, of course. However, you'll miss out on parts of the storyline and will be harassed in MMOs. Male avatars, on the other hand, have asses that retreat into the body, making them no more attractive to women or gay people that to heterosexual men. On the other hand, the game has most probably been tailor-made (like a glove to a cock) to a male protagonist, so you'll get the best sub-plots and all the pixelated chicks in the game will probably want to ride your digital monkey. Now that's art for ya.

Age of Boobies (part one)

2008-06-24T13:46:00.001+02:00

Age of Conan is an MMORPG (massively multiplayer online rampaging puerile game) developed by Norwegian gamemakers FunCom, the same ones who made the quite good pointy-clicky The Longest Journey and the endless (not as in "never-ending", but more as in "doesn't have an ending") sequel Dreamfall. Age of Conan, however, is not a point and click in the traditional sense, but in the modern sense: Point at monster, click monster, monster dead. The MMO part comes from the fact that there's thousands of other human players clicking the same monsters as you, and sometimes clicking you as well. Eerily similar to real life, then.

But enough technical mumbo-jumbo, the reason for this post lies in a different, more seedy part of town. You see, AoC (that is, Age of Conan - try and keep up, please) is an "adult", "mature" game. Translated: It's got boobies and violence. Although boobs and violence are hardly anything new in videogames (we even got'em in the real world, you know), it's somewhat of a change from the reigning champ of the MMO universe, World of Warcraft (WoW), with it's cartoonish style and rather humorous sensibilities. Which is okay. An MMO with a big, fat number "18" on the box, not a problem. The problem arises when it is continously, and retardedly, passed off as "a game for adults".

I got news for you, boyo: Big boobs, heads rolling and blood splattering across your screen as you kill things is not "adult content". In fact, it's a very good definition of "adolescent content". Or, as Cartman would put it, dude, that's totally immature. I'm not saying you have to be a 14-year old boy in order to enjoy AoC (although it undoubtedly helps), I'm just saying that you've got one inside you, and that's the one howling with satisfaction as you're chopping off heads while ogling impossible cleavage, not the reasonable, election voting grown-up that you've later become. Well, at least I hope so. Wouldn't want Conans big-breasted hussy as president, really.

So, here we've got a game aimed squarely at young boys, which they can't buy 'cause they're not old enough to do so. Good stuff. Anyhow, I wish FunCom all the economical prosperity they'll need to continue the TLJ franchise. After all, Dreamfall still needs an ending.

What is the Haterix?

2008-06-22T22:11:00.001+02:00

Noone can be told what the Haterix is, you have to experience it for yourself. The Haterix is when you want a new skill, you want to learn something, and you have to work for it. No bloody "I know Kung-Fu", there's blood, sweat, and sweet, sweet disgrace to be had before you'll be able to lift your foot above your knee or break a cracker with anything but a hammer.

Is it worth it? Depends on the skill, probably. Knowing how to do stuff is awesome, but learning to do it can be downright painful. Of course, the physical pain is unimportant, it's the gracelessness of the novice that kills you: The knowledge that you look only slightly less competent than a midget playing basketball. I think the trick might be learning to relish public humiliation, or at least coming to grips with the fact that they're probably not laughing at you. People do laugh, after all, and it's kinda doubtful they find you important enough to laugh at, anyway. What are you now, the centre of everyones world all of a sudden? Stop worrying so much.

No, my advice: Just keep trying. Eventually you'll get it. And even if you don't, at least the rest of us get some entertainment to shorten our miserable lives. Because I lied, before. About the laughing.

Welcome to the Haterix, schmuck.

Homosexual Healing

2008-06-20T17:16:00.000+02:00

Allow me to explain the situation.

In Norway, a law was recently passed. It's a nice law, tolerant and soft-spoken, a bit naive perhaps, but hey, we all make mistakes. I won't claim to know the details of it, but I know the gist, and the gist is this: Gay couples are now allowed to get married and have children, either through adoption or artificial insemination. Now, in a sane society, we would all go "gee, that's about time, good for them," and move on with our lives. No big whoop, right? But the keyword here is sane: Houston, therein lies your fucking problem.

Turns out a lot of people are bleeding morons; who would have guessed? But my beef, for once, does not lie with the Christian nutcases who, for some reason or another, don't like gay people or want them in their church: So you hate homos, or blacks, or jews, whatever, I can dig it. You're empty-headed bastards, you have the right to say and mean what you want, and that is, after all, one of the virtues of our society: Assholes have the same rights, the same freedom, as the rest of us.

But the people who really get in my windpipe, the ones who make me choke and spit blood out of sheer rage, are the faux liberals who flatly refuse to have coherent opinions. Those who're blind to the fact that one's opinion is not formed on a case-by-case basis, but as principles. The ones who go "it's not that I don't like gays, but think of the consequences!". FYI, the "consequences" they're talking about are the artificial insemination bit. So their argument is that this should not be a part of the new law, that it should be considered a separate case.. wait, someone's whispering something in my ear. One second. Right. Right. What? That's not what they mean? But what do they mean, invisible voice of fucking reason? They oppose the law based on this sperm-thing? They honestly think gays should not be allowed to have children? But they don't hate them? What? WHAT?

I mean, seriously, not making a joke here, but have these people actually got a brain? In working order? Let's go over that again: They don't think homosexuals should be discriminated, yet they oppose the law. Their reasoning is that artifical insemination is dangerous and unethical. But wait, why do they oppose the entire law, and not just the insemination part? I'm confused. Could it be that they're actually pro-discrimination, I wonder? No wait, that was a lie. I don't wonder at all. These people are so fucking afraid of being seen as politically incorrect, that they make up nonsensical arguments and, in the process, make themselves look dumb as mold instead. Want to discuss the ramifications of artificial insemination (god, I'm tired of writing that)? Go right ahead, but keep the poor fucking gays out of it, m'kay?

Argument: But think of the children! Two fathers? Two mothers? Oh, the humanity!
Answer: I wish people who keep sayng "think of the children" shut the hell up and started actually thinking of the children. A lot of children don't have parents. A lot of children have two dads and two moms, or one mom (alcoholic) and one dad (violent) or only one parent (in prison, perhaps). Besides, two dads are way better than one.

Argument: But it's not natural! There's a reason that only heterosexuals can have babies, you know. Mother Nature / God / Allah / Dreidel / The Big Holy Whatthefuckever intended it that way!
Answer: Man cannot fly. From nature's side, we should stay the fuck away from the skies. But we don't. We never do. We build planes, cars, trains. We make weapons, build skyscrapers, cure diseases. It goes like this: Man sees problem. Man uses technology to solve problem. Any questions? It's in our nature to overcome obstacles. Because of this ability, adaptability, we're the top species of this planet, by quite a margin.
This is no different.

Next week, on "Grow the Fuck Up or Get the Fuck Outta Here": A crash course in discrimination. Or something else. Who knows? Who cares?

The Pursuit of Happiness

2008-05-09T23:20:00.007+02:00

By now you're maybe expecting a real update, which this is not. But in just a few minutes, if you do exactly as I say, chances are good you will have wet yourself laughing. Because I've just read the most hysterical thing I've seen in as long as I can remember, and then I naturally got the urgent desire to share it with you lot. And thus, this post happened.

Who would have guessed that one of the funniest comics ever could be found under the hood of one of the crappiest? And all it took was to rip the main character out of it! Amazing. And so I give you: Garfield Minus Garfield, which made me cry of laughter. Cry, I say! Click the link and enjoy.

I knew the internet was good for something.

Tits of Terror

2008-02-19T00:28:00.000+01:00

Recently I saw this movie called "the Wicker Man". If any of you are thinking "oh yeah man, that's a classic, the greatest soft porn/cult thriller musical ever" and so on and so forth, let me just nip that in the bud right now: I'm talking about the Nick Cage version, m'kay? You know, the one that's so horribly awful that killing yourself (slowly, with a piece of papyrus) seems like a more pleasurable alternative? Right, now we're on the same page.

So, now that we've established that we're talking about a pretty rottensome moving picture, the question still remains: Why am I blogging about it? There's a million movies out there bad enough to warrant suicide, and it probably takes more time and effort writing a post like this than "the Wicker Man" took from idea to finished product. So, why I am spending my, and your, valuable time on this? The answer is simple: Because it pissed me the fuck off.

Now, I'm as chauvinistic as the next male, and this movie still managed to offend me on these simple grounds: It's pure misogynist drivel from start to finish. My oh my, Billy-Bob, that's a big word, you might think. But basically, I'm offended by the movies latent (well, maybe "obvious" would be a more fitting word) view of women-folk. As some of you may know, women is a race of creatures closely related to people. This movie, however, treats them as suckling at the teets of Satan herself, or even worse, whipping out said teets for themselves to suckle (the observant reader will deduct that I'm actually claiming the movie depicts women sucking their own tits while feeding small children dismembered phalloses (phalli?), which is not as far off the mark as one might expect).

There are many ways in which one gets this impression. The most prominent is the peculiar way the island which the protagonist (Nick the Dick) visits is run by women. By women! The disgrace! There must be something foul afoot! Don't worry, there sure is. All the men are lame ducks (or limp dicks, whatever you prefer), and all the women are mysterious and scary. Their leaders are strong in that feminine, cowardly way; they are master manipulators. But when push comes to show, they are physically inferior to, and easily beaten up by, the mighty man. I'm not kidding you here, Mr. Penis gracefully kicks the asses of several women for no apparent reason (in one stand-out scene he walks up to his daughter, who's tied to a tree, and punches a woman standing next to her in the face. He does this despite the fact that he's a police officer with a badge and a gun, and the woman makes no threatening gestures aside from, possibly, secretly considering menstruating on his leg. If memory serves, which I have a hard time actually believing myself, he is also, in said scene, dressed as a bear).

There is, however, one woman who's not a murdering psycho on this island. She is Nickys ex-wife, and is quite the independent lady, more than capable of looking after herself and her daughter..
KIDDING! She's scared, a pussy (quite literally) who needs the MAN before she's able to do anything, let alone going to the toilet or step across a tiny puddle. Only she's not, really. She's just fucking with him. And his daughter, as well. They're ALL fucking with him. Just like all women constantly fuck with all men. You know they can't be trusted. Luckily we're strong enough to give them bleeding bitches a good old thrashing! In fact, I say all of us manly men go out RIGHT NOW, and TAKE IT TO THE STREETS! CAN YOU DIG IT?

...

..sorry about that, I got a bit carried away. Anyway, to recap:

The message of the movie is this: Women are all worshippers of some strange, old alien-god, devouring and feeding on masculine energy, and they despise all healthy values like physical strength, logic, and fetishist porn. In fact, one day, when artificial insemination of men becomes possible, we should just wipe them all out. Meanwhile, if we can't imprison them, at least we can continue to oppress them. And let's just pray they never get any real power.

'Cause then we'll all burn.

Six Degrees of Speculation

2008-02-13T21:49:00.001+01:00

I generally don't follow the news. This is not only because I'm some spoiled youth wallowing in my own decadence, but mostly because I think it's badly plotted, the characters are cardboard cut-outs, and there's way too little nudity. Besides, every time I turn the fucking thing on, whatever's there pisses me way the fuck off almost instantly.
Example: The Manuela Ramin-Osmundsen case. Wait, make that: The latest Manuela Ramin-Osmundsen case (there was one earlier, causing her to have to step down from some important job or other. No biggie, really, and absotively, posilutely no connection to this one whatsoever. Seriously. It's not like there's a lot of politicians and media types in this country who dislikes her strongly, or anything. That's crazy talk!). Of course, this is a local case, for local people, so I should probably explain some things first, before diving dick-first into the hay ball of insanity that is: The Media Circus. Here all week!

Here we go: Miss Manuela, who is the minister of children and family (no fucking way am I gonna bother finding the correct English phrases for these people. I may not have a life, but I have movies to watch and commercials to shout at) in Norway hired this lawyer-woman, Ida Hjort-Kraby for the position of children's rights watchdog. Big mistake! Turns out they know each other already! Who'd've thunk it? Women! Lawyers! Knowing each other! In a country wherein lives a massive 5 million! Call the papers! Wait, they did! And so the joke ends and reality begins.

Moving on: Some reports started to surface, the point here being that Manuela was supposed to be close and personal with this beast-woman, thereby making herself inhabile in all hiring matters and whatnot. Anyway, politicians and media alike descended on this rotting carcass of a pointless case like investigative carrion-eaters. The next few days (that is last few days, by the way), Norwegian papers were flooded with headliners like this: "WERE AT THE SAME PARTY IN 1998", "USES THE SAME PLUMBER", "ATTENDS NEIGHBORING MUFF-DIVING CLUBS" and so on. I kid you (almost) not! They had all sorts of charts and shit, reading them was like watching a snake trying to give directions while slowly going insane.

Time for the conclusion: The women know each other, and they have for 20 years or so. They may be friends, but they're certainly not muff-diving together (and we all know that's what true friends are for). Manuela might've known the law-rider as a capable one, maybe even as a pleasant individual, or maybe not. Who cares. Society has been contact-driven for millennia, and so far it's worked out well enough. I mean, maybe we have some clubs of, oh, say, politicians, artists, baby seal washers and what have you, but it's not exactly Eastern Europe, is it? Actually, when I think about it, this is hardly news at all - people in power hiring acquaintances for equally high-powered jobs? Haha, silly, silly media, whatever were you thinking?

Wait a second. You don't think..? No, that's impossible.. isn't it? It couldn't be.. could it?

The reason this case has made such a hot fuzz, there's absolutely no chance it's because they're women, is it? And that Manuela is coloured, and from a country that is not, and never will be, Norway?

...

..no, of course not. That's crazy talk.

Fear is the Fun-Filler

2008-02-09T19:12:00.000+01:00

I tell you, people are afraid of everything. Just the other day, I was talking to a colleague when the conversation turned to VHS players, and I offered the insightful bit of trivia that a friend of mine reputedly owns wall-to-wall of horror films in this jurassic-era video format. Why I said this I have no idea, but it's my general impression that everyone enjoys spouting useless bits of information, constantly, and so I guess I do, too. Anyway, no matter why I said it, I certainly did not expect a reaction like the one she had: She was surprised that someone would watch that many horror films, and wondered if he still is right in the head. She actually seemed to believe that watching lots and lots of video nasties would automatically turn one into a babbling psychotic child-molester or something. I had to assure her that, not only is he still somewhat sane, he is also probably the most likable person I know. This may say something about my circle of friends, but that's beside the point. I also felt it would be wise to inform her that I, myself, probably saw more R-rated movies when I was 12 than I've done since I turned 18. Since I presently work as a middle-school teacher this information should probably not have been disclosed, but what can you do?

I can understand the worry that young children might (allow me to stress the maybe here) be influenced by watching violent movies, or playing violent games, or listening to classical music. But if people start to assume that naughty art automatically makes naughty people, we, and by "we" I mean society in general, have got ourselves a serious problem. Debating what effect violent imagery could have on someones mind, be it a child or just some simpleton like yourself, is justifiable. But slandering isn't. If you can't think twice about something before you make up your mind, then you don't deserve the right to. If you want to live in fear, go live underneath a rollercoaster. Stop worrying about things you aren't qualified to worry about, because if you do, you make your whole culture seem like it's fostering idiots. And you don't want that, do you? We sure don't.

Do you have an Ironic Erection yet? Because mine is massive. After all, why do we watch horror films? Well, aside from getting our sadistic, misogynistic kicks, I mean? To be frightened. And if you've become too hardened and can't get your scares anymore, at least you can console yourself with the fact that the way you choose to spend your (hopefully deserved) spare time induces nightmares in middle-aged housewives all over the world.

Yeah, I thought you'd like that.

Youtube Interlude

2008-02-04T02:12:00.000+01:00

This is just plain weird. At first I thought it was supposed to be ironic, and then I realised it simply needs more cowbell..

..okay, so when you're done with that link, you need to see this.

Enough.

Standing on the edge, gazing back at tomorrow

2008-01-30T23:02:00.000+01:00

I finally did it. I gave in to the mob. I buckled under the immense pressure I was put under, by thousands of people, mostly worshippers, from all over the world, and..

..well, okay, so there wasn't that much pressure. All right, I admit it, it wash more of a.. gentle push. Yes well, fine, so it was a barely noticeable nudge, but still, it did the job, didn't it? It got me eating out of the dying carcass of that most horrible of time-wasting beasts, the social networking site. More specifically, I now have a facebook profile. And no, I'm not going to link to it, because there's hardly a point, is there? It's not like there's anything remotely interesting to see there. Not like all these other profiles I've now discovered: These sprawling, bling-laden, novel-sized monoliths of social desperation.. no wonder all my friends've been so distant over the last year. Seriously, some of these profiles read like P. Diddys to-do list, or a teenagers autobiography or something. It's so full of pointlessness it makes my heart despair just thinking about it. Is this what we have become? When the human race finally goes down for good, it's not going to be because of melting polar caps or nuclear annihilation, it'll be because of Facebook and World of Fucking Warcraft. Some alien race or evolved monkey will find our fossilized remains, just as we're taking yet another personality test or nudging (and by all that is holy, what kind of moronic concept is that? I would make some kind of joke out of it, but i really don't feel like it's necessary) some fancy fuck we haven't met or even tried to make contact with for years. Do you really want to be discovered like that? Frozen forever, in the process of finding out what kind of shoe you are or how many people likes the same dodgy sexual positions as you?

Obviously, the answer is yes. If not, none of us would be here, after all. We would be outside, being creative, doing something worthwhile, trying to make the world a slightly better place while desperately ignoring the futility of our efforts. When we died, it would be with a smile on our lips, not a smug one or a giant grin, but a smile of contentment, of reserved happiness. Instead we're going out with our hands on our dicks and cigarettes on our lips. I write this and make no contribution to the mental well-being of the world, none whatsoever. You read this and you prove that you're just slaking your thirst for mindless entertainment, and you're too damn lazy to find some of quality. Maybe you should do yourself a favor, go read things like this. It might (and allow me to stress the might here, since it's obviously too early to say for sure) expand your mind a bit, make you see life from a different, maybe even dizzying, angle. It's worth keeping an eye on, for sure.

But, you know, don't mind me. I'm just bitter because I'll probably end up with less than 10 friends (roughly 1% as much as the average social networking site user, according to studies I just made up), three nudges and no pointless profile-bling. And as we all know, if you fail at social networking, u f@il @ l1f3.

Everybody, sell your body to the man

2007-10-18T21:04:00.000+02:00

I've recently been through that horrible, horrible process of trying to land a job. Again. And it seems that every time I try it, the whole thing finds a new, innovative way to suck.

A short disposition may be in order: I sent my application, got called in to an interview, screwed it up a bit by being too nervous, and didn't really expect to get the job. And I didn't. But the thing that really hit a nerve was the way of the rebuff: I was told I "didn't manage to sell myself" to their satisfaction. OK, time out. What?

I was supposed to sell myself?

Call me old fashioned, call me naive, but I actually thought the point of an interview was for the prospective employer to gain some insight into the personality of the prospective employee, in order to decide whether he or she would be right for the job in question. But apparently, the people responsible for hiring new people have all been given the title of "Executive Pimp". When did this happen?

I'll be the first to admit that it's obviously easier holding a dick-sucking contest (possibly replacing the actual dicks with similarly shaped household objects) and letting the winner get the position, than to actually figure out if the person is who (s)he says (s)he is, but it still seems kinda cheap to me. So I decided to give it a go myself. After careful consideration, I chose to not send the following in response to the rude rejection, but I see no reason not to share it with you lot. So, here's me, selling myself:

Dear sirs and sirettes,
you have chosen to turn down my application for [the position]. This is a mistake. You say you've found two persons whom you believe will fit your team. You are wrong. Let me enlighten you as to why:

The truth is, one of the persons you're about to hire has no work ethics. They will rip open a deck of cards as soon as you're not looking. Surely, you must have noticed, during their "interview", their eyes darting nervously from side to side, looking desperately for the exit in case you should happen to see through their lies. And what lies! Did you know, dear sirs and sirettes, that the persons you have chosen to hire is widely known for their furniture-chewing habits? I, on the other hand, have never chewed on a single piece of furniture in my life. Not even a table!

So, dear sirs and sirettes, perhaps you should reconsider your decision. After all, would you rather hire an infamous furniture-chewer? Or a man widely regarded by friends, family, and even far-flung relatives as the most efficient worker who has ever lived, and who has never chewed anything that nature did not create specifically for chewing? The answer should, by now, be obvious.

Awaiting your shameful apologies with graceful mercy,
Mr. the Sleeper.

The Birth of a Nation

2007-09-23T17:43:00.000+02:00

This post was, as the title implies, supposed to be about my newly founded country over at NationStates. "Watch a fledgling, innocent country grow wise and prosper!", I was going to write. "Be there at the beginning, at the dawn of a new era of political wisdom and wise awesomeness!"

Right.

Since this was well over three weeks ago, and the proud Principality of Moronoobia (excuse the lame name, but all the good ones were taken) has grown a lot since then, this post is now about something slightly different: My 3-weeks-old country over at NationStates. Anyway, I invite those of you who care to follow its development, even if it's no longer as funky fresh as it once was. You see, this political simulator (or whatever the hell you want to call it) gives one the option to run a country any way one likes, so you can be a crazy, evil dictator, like Bush, or a fair and groovy leader, like Saddam.

In a surprising twist, I'm not going to run Moronoobia into the ground in the most hilariously sick and rotten way available (although it's certainly tempting). In fact, I am pretty much trying to make the perfect country (according to the almighty Me, of course), which, obviously, is kinda hard. NationStates politics, like real world politics, is made in such a way that any wise decision comes with some sort of backside. The unintentional consequences (again, much like the real world) makes the whole game/simulator/thingy that much more fun, but they can still be annoying when you're an evil old bastard with a shriveled heart trying to make Utopia, like me.

So now that's over with, my next move would be trying to make today's youth (which would be you, probably) to give it a go themselves. Go on, don't be shy, make your own country today! Tomorrow, you can wreck it and piss on the pieces!

Now, if only there was a simulator where you could control an actual, real-world country.. or maybe I could apply as a presidential candidate, using Moronoobia for my CV?

Poem to the People

2007-09-17T21:05:00.000+02:00

A sudden burst of inspiration compelled me to write a short poem. Here it is:

Fear is the mindkiller
If you just stop and face it
If you turn and embrace it
Then
you
will
get
eaten

It might be called "Fear is the painkiller" or it might be called nothing at all, FYI. You're probably wondering about why I chose to split that last sentence the way I did. A stroke of genius, you say? The truth is, it was simply a way to make a rather bad punchline seem more poem-y. But now, some news (for those who still care): I have not forgotten about this blog the way its readers have. In fact, I have a pretty damn large post about Bioshock lying silently in wait on my hard drive. I tried to post it before, but Blogger and MS Word are not on particularly friendly terms, it would seem, and I hadn't really the stamina to reformat the bastard. But it's on the way, rest assured. This is probably the last time I'm going to promise Big Action Updates, if I don't stand and deliver it's goodbye and goodnight. Now it's make or break, hide the salami time for Angry-La!

Back to what's really important here: My poem. Neat, isn't it? Discuss.

Strange news from another hospital

2007-07-07T13:38:00.000+02:00

They didn't find what they were looking for. On the plus side, this means I'm not allergic to beer, which is a good thing, because I fucking love beer. But it also means I'm going to have a plastic tube stuck up my ass at some point in the near future. This I'm less enthusiastic about. I guess I'll have to come prepared, and bring a couple of six packs.

Without going into detail about what could possibly be wrong with me (aside from the well-known fact that a have the psyche of an earthworm during a rainstorm), I'll just say that I'm at my wit's end, and just a tiny step away from consulting a giant Finnish witch-doctor with a mustache. I've bought a bag of animal bones from this "alternative shop" down the street, I've slaughtered an unlucky pigeon and poured it's blood over my erect penis (in preparation for the ritual of masturbating to a mental picture of Mother Earth), and for the next week I'm not going to eat anything that's dead. And as some of you may know, it's really hard to eat animals when they're still alive; they keep moving around.

What I learned today, on my way to work

2007-06-11T17:12:00.000+02:00

Hospitals exists for one single purpose: To destroy its patients' dignity. It's a lesson in humiliation, dished out by vaguely amused doctors and nurses. Not that I'm complaining about the hospitality (hah!) I was treated with today, it's the procedure itself I had a problem with.

Why? I'll tell you why, you nosy bastards: I had a plastic tube, with a camera and a fucking grappling hook attached to it, stuck down through my throat, all the way into the stomach, for what felt like an hour or so (give or take 50 minutes). In addition, my stomach was inflated and deflated, seemingly at random, and the hook was nibbling my small intestine a number of times. I'm pretty sure humans weren't designed for this sort of treatment, not originally, at least. Ever seen a fish on land? Yeah, that was me. I lay there, wheezing and gurgling because I needed to distract myself from the fact I was getting orally fucked by a piece of plastic.
BTW: I know what you're all wondering, but no, I didn't look at the screen. I didn't have the stomach for it (double hah!).

But then - whey! - procedure over. Oh well, that was horrible, I though, but at least I've done that now. One more uncomfortable experience in the bag, right? It wasn't even reason good enough to write all that about dignity and humiliation at the start of this post, right? Right?

At that point, the doctor (who, we must remember, in case she accidentally reads this thing, was nice, supportive, and seemingly very quick and professional) said the following to me: "And if we don't find what we're looking for, we'll go in the other way."

Asphinctersayswhat?

Let's have a fucking time out here. That is never going to happen. It just isn't.

Sinners, beware!

2007-05-11T00:22:00.000+02:00

This is just fucking brilliant, on so many levels.

Word of warning: After playing the intro (which is AWESOME!) my browser decided it'd had enough, and killed itself. Can't really blame it, though. This means, however, that I have no idea what's actually on the site, but I'm sure it's pure fucking gold.

As a bonus, but only for Norwegians (which is truly a shame, since it's great), here's a link to a speech on Christianity held by a famous Norwegian Warrior-Poet in 1933.

What are you waiting for? Exercise your brain-organ, you damn monkeys! Go! Go!

Facebook Knows What You Is Up To

2007-04-26T11:25:00.000+02:00

Quick hit: A lot of people have wanted me to get a Facebook account recently. Turns out the Broken Saints guys have experienced the same, and on their blog I just saw this..

Also, how come everybody and their grandmas have got on this thing suddenly? Us skeptics will have the last laugh, methinks.

Coincidentssesss

2007-03-23T12:45:00.001+01:00

Something strange: At work the other day (I'm copying job ads from pdf-files and magically putting them on the internet) I overheard one of the salespeople at my department mention a familiar name. It was the name of the folk high school (look people, I have no idea how to translate that properly. It's a kind of one-year, optional playschool we have in Scandinavia, after high school, where we are supposed to evolve as human beings and express ourselves creatively, but most people just end up drinking lots of beer) I went to six years ago, and found this amusing. I didn't think much about it, though, until I was handed this ad, and told to, magically, make it appear on the internet. It turned out to be the very same school, and they were looking for a new principal.

I was dumbstruck. Call me soft if that makes you feel better, but I have fond memories of my time at Skjeberg, and seeing the natural order of things disturbed in such a way makes me a bit uneasy. That Mr. Skjeberg himself is retiring is just plain wrong. I have been patient with this so-called "time" for a while now, but I've had it. It needs to stop. It's bad enough that it's making me slightly older, but now it's starting to mess with things that should not be changed. I fear for the very fabric of reality.

Also, his successor has got some pretty big shoes to fill, so let's hope he has large, smelly feet (actually, the smell just comes naturally with having big feet). And another also: Is it really a coincident that the principals of both my high school and my folk high school (a direct translation that still doesn't sit quite right) has the same first name? I strongly doubt it. Also (again), I am about to read about principalities in Machiavellis The Prince. Make of this what you will. I choose to hide, for the time being.

Were these strange happenings strange enough to justify an entry in this blog? I like to think so. And, well, with me being God and everything, that's pretty much all that matters.

A distict lack of quality

2007-03-13T15:33:00.001+01:00

It turns out that Site Meter wasn't down with the upgrading of this blog, and so it stopped tracking visitors. Of course, I didn't realize this, and was making radical plans for getting my visitors back. These plans included, but were not limited to, home-made porn movies sneakily shot through my neighbors window. I finally discovered and fixed the Site Meter problem tho, and the movie's going on YouTube instead. Anyway, since the tracker is working again, I, once more, know everything about you and your sleazy surfing habits. Just so you know.

(Don't you just hate it when some people starts telling you something you already know in a way that makes it sound like he thought of it first? Well, brace yourself, for I am one of those people, and this is one of those times.)

I also wanted to address the lack of updates recently, and put it in a wider perspective. Because it's symptomatic for a lot of people, I think (have you visited The Question Quest or Cogitatums blog lately?); not getting shit done. The way I see it, it comes down to several factors, some more important than others, but all contributing in some way or another. Laziness may seem like a big problem, but in actuality it's powerless when on it's own. Far more important is the way we perceive time as being short in itself, which of course is a bunch of half-digested Big Mac crap. But anyway, this perception, dangerously common in western society nowadays, makes us think that "we do not have time for this shit", that "we have more important things to do", which we, unavoidably, end up not doing. Because we did not take the time for that shit.

But before I get too carried away on the problems with believing one is time's personal bitch, let's get back to the matter at hand. For 'tis was my claim, that laziness is easily overcome unless supported by other, more powerful, factors (or, if you will, Factors of Power). The uncontrollable (but entirely culturally constructed) urge to "make the most of life" (whatever the fuck that means) is but one of these factors. Another, and one I believe to be among the most troublesome, is quality control. Now, this is a complex issue, enough to fill an entire blog post by itself (or possibly even, y'know, maybe a book?), for example; it has way too much to do with self-confidence, but basically it's similar to perfectionism: Thinking you could do better. When applied to blogging, it's as easy as this: The post you're thinking of writing isn't quite funny enough, smart enough or topical enough. Bloggers are probably especially aware of the topicality (probably not a word), since a blog is essentially a public diary, and so has to be updated with the latest whatever, whether it is one's personal doings, world news, or something else entirely.

But of course, quality control isn't a problem for everybody. In fact, a lot of people have too little of it (Norwegian web newspapers, I'm looking at you), but the critical difference between these people and you is that they actually get shit printed. So give yourself a fucking break already. In case you're thinking this applies only to blogging, or even writing in general; it doesn't. Maybe it's easier to spot this problem when expressing oneself creatively, but it does affect everyday issues as well, even if it manifests itself in different ways. Some may have trouble deciding what clothes to put on for a party (or for just leaving the house), some have trouble talking in a group of people because they weigh their words too carefully. But, most importantly, it affects what we do with our time, because we think time is so fucking precious we automatically apply quality control to it.

You may have guessed I have a big bone to pick with time.

But all this has gone on quite long enough. Let's see if there's some sort of conclusion to be found, shall we? The whole thing was supposed to be about not getting shit done. Which, in my humble (and one hundred percent correct) opinion is largely due to our perception of time and our perception of quality. There's another big one, though, that I haven't touched on yet: Distractions. Guilty pleasures. Like TV shows or sex with contraceptives. But these are mainly your instincts kicking in when you become too frustrated to think of all the things you haven't done yet. You could call it escaping from reality, but then you'd be wrong (because the concept of reality is a very, very large and unruly beast, and I simply do not have the psychological stamina to tackle it right now).

Oh, the concluding and stuff. That's what I was supposed to get to now. Well, In a post about not getting stuff done, the perfect conclusion would actually be not getting the conclusion part done. So I'll leave it at that. Discuss.

Sometime soon, however, I'm hoping to write something meaningful about games as art, or art in games. This may or may not happen, but for those who are interested I'll leave a link to an article about Peter Molyneux' hopes for including love in Fable 2. Also, here's a link for Gamasutras coverage of Game Developers Conference 07, which may or may not have some interesting articles for y'all. Sit yourself down to the chairs, enjoy, and make sure to have a chat afterwards.

Warning: Post may cause homicidal tendencies. Proceed at own risk

2007-02-16T16:18:00.000+01:00

Us adventure gamers are a strange and violent sort. To us, people fall into one of two categories: Those who like adventure games and those who don't. If you don't, please e-mail me with the names and location of your friends and loved ones (along with a description of their physical appearance), and I promise you absolutely no harm whatsoever will come to them. But, if you enjoy the occasional point-and-click now and then, rejoice, for I have wonderful news for you.

You see, it just so happens that some rude English guy has made four of the best free point-and-click horror adventures (although technically, only three of them involve pointing and clicking) you will ever download. His name is (not) Yahtzee, and the games are sometimes referred to as the John DeFoe quadrilogy. If this is not news to you, then you will probably (and wisely) nod in agreement when you read that these games rock, and that they're very much worth the money you spend on them (if, by now, you are thinking "oh, and how much do they cost?" or "screw it, I'm not paying for some old and boring games without teh Grafix of Power" then you are obviously a moron and should read this post again. But what the hell, I'll repeat it since I'm in a good mood: The games be free, yo). But you may not know that the fourth (and allegedly final) entry in the series was released in January, and that it's actually the best of the bunch (although it's not as scary as the rest. But, you know, whatever).

Maybe a short presentation of these games are in order, then. They're point-and-click (with one exception, which is a bit annoying but quite acceptable), they have some decidedly retro graphics (but if you really care about that you're not actually an adventure gamer, are you?), they're serious horror adventures (but not entirely devoid of humorous touches) and they will scare you shitless (this, of course, very much depends on your tolerance level).
Some more: They're relatively short (Will Not Eat Your Life, a plus), for the most part easy (which means they'll challenge you but not make you feel like the idiot you are), and all of it is made by this one bloke army. In other words, it's a real fucking impressive piece of work. So, no more of my yakking, go download, go play. One more thing, since y'all are probably to thick to figure it out for yourselves, this is the correct order of enjoyment (complete with links to each game. Damn I'm nice today): 5 Days a Stranger, 7 Days a Skeptic, Trilby's Notes, 6 Days a Sacrifice. Feel free to drop a comment here afterwards, and remember to spread the good word.

I just realized, if noone clicks these links I've just wasted a lot of time. So do it, ungrateful bastards, do what Papa Smurf tells you, or Rome will fall. I will see to it.

How many Husseins can a Saddam Hussein?

2007-01-12T13:39:00.001+01:00

The insane year of 2006 is over, as some of you probably know, and from the look of things, 2007 is going to be just as demented. This article about an Indian village naming all their children "Saddam Hussein" definitely proves my point. I especially loved the last statement:

"In the playground we have Saddam Hussein running after Saddam Hussein, behind Saddam Hussein who is ahead of Saddam Hussein but too far from Saddam Hussein... it can all get a little confusing," he (villager Mohammed Hassan Abbas) said.

Yeah. I trust my readers to already know who this so-called "Saddam Hussein" was and how he, quite recently, ended his life. It was all quite ugly. Of course, only crazy people cries for a guy like that, but there's politics in this, which complicates matters. Let me put it this way: A high-profile court case like this should not be handled by a bloodthirsty mob that only wants revenge. I mean, yeah, if my family had been persecuted, tortured, killed and whatnot by someone, I too would probably be pretty pissed at that person and would want to see him (or, in the interests of equal rights, her) very very dead. I'm not saying it's not understandable, I'm just saying it's moronic. So now Saddam is more popular than he ever was while alive, and the western world a little more hated. Nice work, everyone!

Of course, Saddams wasn't the only celebrity death last year. Actually, 2006 was a pretty risky year to be famous, it was a regular superhero showdown. On the side of the villains, there's the aforementioned Moustached Madman, Slobodan Milosevic (sometimes known as The Cleanser), and of course Mr. Pinochet, mostly famous for donning a pink mask and cape and calling himself "Baby".
In the heroes corner, we had Steve Irwin's famous Death By Stingray (the Stingray is also destined to become a supervillain, if only he survives the climate changes), Robert Altman, and of course the Sex Machine himself (not to be confused with the Sex Automaton). There were others, I'm sure, but this is a blog, not a bloody death almanac.

Also, some Angry-La Awards for 2006: Borat, last years Best Comedy and also Smartest, Most Important Film, and Children of Men, Possibly the Most Realistic Sci-Fi Ever and also last years Smartest, Most Important Film (yes, this is possible, Because I Say So). If you go see them both, you will become Smarter and More Mature. Which may be a Good or a Bad Thing, depending on your preferences and your Goals In Life.

And last, but not least (which may seem like a clichèd figure of speech, but actually is a somewhat retarded pun): Would you, by any chance, want to buy a really, really big egg? Then go here, and bid your heart out. Of course, since it's an auction, the link will only stay active for about five more days. Oh well.

By the Power of Santa Claus

2006-11-27T01:00:00.000+01:00

Exams is on. I'm entering two intense weeks of all-out studying. No depression this time around, though, I'm expecting things to go quite smoothly. The only problem is being constantly tired in my eyes and my brain, but hey: Been there before, yeah? And in two short weeks it'll be over.

But enough of that. Soon, the dreaded Season of Psycho Shoppers is upon us, and my guess is you're already trying to find that perfect gift.. well, either that, or you're trying to do a Neo and realize the truth: There is no christmas. Which, as we all know, is wrong. But no matter, because your god and idol (that would be me) is here to save the day (and your soul; but I don't have time for that right now). This year, you will buy Carnivale, the best television series ever, for all your friends and family. It's scientifically proven to be the perfect gift, and the ones you get it for will worship the ground you've trod on forever (and maybe yourself as well, but no promises). Not bad, eh? And if that fact doesn't convince you, allow me to make a few more arguments:
1. It is the best television series ever made.
2. Buying the first two seasons on DVD is the best way to convince HBO to order more seasons, since it was cruelly cancelled last summer. Make no mistake, more seasons of Carnivale would be the best thing since Jesus. Probably even better.
3. You can wear it to parties and it will make you look suave (lie).
4. It's an infinitely better gift than that lame one you were thinking of.
5. You'll go to Heaven when you die (probably true).

In summation, your mantra this christmas will be this: Buy Carnivale. Oh, and did I mention it's the best television series ever made, objectively speaking? Some of you may be thinking, how can it objectively be the best anything? But those who've been paying attention already know the answer. Normal rules apply; if you don't like Carnivale, then what does that make you? A moron. And you don't want to be a moron, now, do you?

I choo-choo-choose you

2006-11-10T11:40:00.000+01:00

Um. I thought that the Democrat victory in the US deserved somewhat of a mention. But, now that I've done that, I'm not sure there's much more to say. I mean, yay, I guess.. but what is up with those Americans anyway? Will they make up their fucking mind and make some coherent choices, for once? After all, they did re-elect Dubya. After four fucking years with the bastard, they still didn't throw him down a well, like they should have. But now they want a change? Maybe they're just slow. Maybe they should listen to the rest of the world before making decisions next time. Because they do realize that their choices affect the rest of us as well, right?

Maybe things will change for the slightly better now, and maybe not. But I'm left wondering whether this is a babystep in the right direction, or just another random election. I'm thinking the latter. It might be that I'm just pessimistic, but then again, I'm not paid to be an optimist. Actually, I'm not paid at all, but that's another subject entirely.

Welcome to the rest home

2006-11-09T01:09:00.000+01:00

Here I am, one year older and just as useless. Just thought I should drop by, since trying to actually follow up on my promise (y'know, the Norwegian film thing) ended up keeping me from even touching this blog for, let's see, nearly three weeks now. So, not only am I going back on my promise, but I'm also promising not to promise anything here ever again. If you have a complaint to make about this, please wrap it around your penis and stuff it up some dogs bottom.
Anyway, following my Birthday of Ultimate Darkness I've started feeling old again, as I usually do around this time of year. But this time, I want to help others avoid becoming as miserable and cynical as me, so that's why I'm going to dispense some sage advice. Kids, this is from the guy that's old enough to have a beard but still, mysteriously, is unable to grow one:

A silly man once said; "Time is short and flies fast". Well, the man may be silly, but in this he was right (duh). Therefore, it is important to make the most out of the short time we are given. To put it another way, if there's a drug you still haven't done, try it. If you've never killed, raped, or pillaged, do that also. Build bombs and blow stuff up. Laugh at the physically and mentally impaired. Masturbate in public. You know, live a little. And then, when you're done living it up, kill yourself while there's still time. If suicide was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for you.

Before I go, I also have something for the people who are older than me: Face it, you're old. I mean, you're older than me, and I'm old. Old old old.

Cue evil laugh and rubbing of hands.

Film Industry of Ultimate Darkness

2006-10-20T13:43:00.000+02:00

Let us talk about the state of Norwegian cinema. Keep in mind, I have yet to see some of the most critically acclaimed films of the last few years, sure. But I have seen the other most critically acclaimed films, because strangely, they're all most critically acclaimed. Oh my, all you foreigners may be thinking, does that mean that Norway is on a cinematic roll? If you listen to the critics, our film industry just can't go wrong. All our writers and directors are geniouses, they're shitting out gold. Could this really be the case?

Short answer: No. Long answer: Fuck no! Given the amount of pure crap that's getting good reviews, I'm thinking there's two possibilities: Either the critics are actually throwing dice or they're just plain retarded. Which brings me to my next point: Norwegian film critics are retarded. I've seen critically acclaimed Norwegian films which looks like something Uwe Boll pieced together in college. Even our good films aren't very good. But why? What makes Norwegian film so second-rate? What the hell is wrong with these people?

I will try to shed some light on this, but not right now. In my next post (yeah, I know, you've all heard that before. But this time I mean it! Really!) I will try to examine a few Norwegian films that got it wrong, and at least one that got it right. Wait, is that the smell of a bold, new move by me'n'my blog, the sweet smell of ambition?

No it is not. It's just me, fed up and bitching as usual. The thing is, we did get it right a few times. The Excellent Norwegian Film Thing is not just a myth. However, the Norwegian Film Critic With a Shred of Anything Even Remotely Resembling Intelligence, is. And how, then, are we, the audience, supposed to know what films we should see? But anyway, I know this was a shoddy update. I promise to do better next time. See ya later, niblets.

EDIT: Jesus Christ (and my other readers, as well), have a look at this. The Spanish King of Ultimate Darkness (non-official title) shoots drunk bear. Is this a common pasttime in Spain? Getting animals drunk and shooting them? On a completely different note, what colour is the Colgate Total Whitening toothpaste?

You guessed it, it's blue. What a strange world.

Bitches..? Party people? Anyone there?

2006-09-26T00:43:00.000+02:00

Saturday was the big day. After one week of heavy planning, everything was ready for our (second) house-warming party (our first one was very fun but included only 2 out of 3 residents, so we promptly gave it another shot). The ox was slaughtered in the traditional halal way, and prepared with the finest spices from Oslo East (noted for both its quality, but mostly its quantity, of exotic tastes) and the freshest herbs of autumnal Norway. We had performed the sacred Wine-Blessing-Dance, and sacrificed a portion of our mead to Santa Claus. We even performed the secret and powerful Masturbation of Christ, just to be sure we had all our divine bases covered.

Well, it would seem that any more than one house-warming party is considered hubris, a deadly insult to the Gods. Because as we sat there, in our holy robes (open in the back), with Ravi Shankar blasting from our speakers, waiting for the guests, guess what happened? Nothing. Noone showed up.

Noone.

Actually, we were down one as well, as the third person living here (the one who missed the first party also) left to watch a movie with a friend. Expect pictures from our party, featuring Mr. Merde (the Incredible Balloon-Bouncing Man) and a pirate balloon, soon.

Something completely different: Apparently, Oslo has gotten some new subway carriages. As I stepped into one of them last night, it felt decidedly like the future. The cold and hostile future, that is (I was also reminded of the time, when waiting for tram no. 17, I suddenly found myself boarding tram X.. very Twilight Zoney). I'll probably get used to it with time, but I'm really not very fond of this sterile, hospital-like trend that seems to be spreading. Everything's supposed to be white, clean and futuristic these days. Call me old-fashioned, but I'll take the post-apocalyptic style any day, even if we have to fuck up the earth to get it.

True Stories from the Apartment of Somewhat Unpleasant Horrors

2006-09-21T10:37:00.000+02:00

Strange happenings in the apartment lately. My roommate (who, at least for the moment and for no apparent reason, shall be known as Mr. Kurva), after a miraculous recovery from death (and because of this shall now be known as Mr. Kurva the Magical Death-Defying Miracle Man), brought home a deer some days ago. The deer, named Rudolphe (also called, sometimes, the Magical Mystery Deer of Power) was discovered wandering the streets of Oslo, perhaps prostituting itself, and seemed to enjoy life on the 8th floor. This, of course, is interesting, as scientists normally consider deer quite afraid of heights. He wandered around the apartment, cutely nibbling our socks (which are now full of holes), and generally being very charming. Anyway, since we both are animal lovers, and since Rudolphe was, at times, very annoying (and despite it not being christmas yet), we killed, cooked and ate him (with cabbage and black peppers, obviously). It was delicious.

Murder is quickly becoming the staple of this collective. Luckily, we have the big cellar, so it shouldn't be a problem. Actually, Mr. Kurva mumbled something about "army of zombies", but that might just have been posttraumatic resurrectionconfusion-syndrome, very common in people coming back from the dead. You know, if anything interesting happens, you'll be the first to know about it. Lucky bastards, you. One for the road, word combo of the day:
Candy-coloured cock.

It's a celebration, bitches!

2006-09-11T12:35:00.000+02:00

Happy 9/11 everyone!

Broken cups and strange dreams

2006-09-06T13:05:00.000+02:00

Right, so I had this weird dream last night. There was this group of people, and they were going to beat me up for three days, and then kill me. They were quite open about it, there was no reason for it, and they were not happy about it. The disturbing part: Some of these people were my friends (in case anyone just got worried; not my real-life friends. In fact, they weren't based on real people at all). So I pleaded with them to stop, mostly because I didn't want to be killed (I would guess this is pretty normal), but also because I didn't want to kill them. You see, the only way to get out of this pickle would be to murder them, one by one, over this three-day period. So while they were simply toying with me, beating me around like a crash test dummy, I was constantly trying to
trick them in ways that would end in their deaths. But of course I didn't succeed, because I couldn't kill my friends, and the others were to plain strong for me. The dream cut off after the second day, when I was planning some serious mass murder. It was a cliffhanger ending that I hope will continue tonight; because I really liked this dream. It was like an exciting movie, it had all the important elements: Unmotivated violence, intrigue, emotional dilemmas, and a very real sense of danger and loss.

Does thinking like this make me disturbed and dangerous? Or was this dream simply a parable of the way I think of my life? Of course, there were some additional details.. but I'm keeping those for myself.

Anyway, storytime: My very first taste of coffee came from a small, blue cup, handmade and hand-painted. I later bought this cup, the very same one, and I've had it with me ever since. I've used it for coffee, as a urinal when no other option was available, for sperm when I've been jerking off, and for money during my many begging rounds through Oslo. So you see, I've made memories with this cup, it's comforted me when I've felt lonely, and it's been my only ray of light when I've felt suicidal. And yesterday, it got broken into approxomately 37 pieces. It was broken by my (late) friend, who I lived with until I killed him and stashed his corpse in our surprisingly roomy cellar. And now I have to pay double rent. Oh well. A small price to pay for justice.
The moral of this story, of course, is this: Don't kill anyone unless you're rich.

Sofa King

2006-09-03T11:43:00.000+02:00

I woke up this morning (take note, this is not something I do every day) to this news story. For all you people to lazy to click on links, it's about the benefits of tea. Long story short; tea is good for you and you should drink three to four cups a day. The most interesting part, however, is that apparently neither tea nor coffee is dehydrating. You'll still feel like shit if you drink only coffee and no water, but you'll have a "net gain of fluid", the doctor says (except for the shit part, that was my personal opinion). Lastly, it's worth mentioning that the studies were paid for by the UK Tea Council. Make of this what you will. I want to believe.

In other news, I now have a sofa. It is quite big and very very comfy, in fact, it's once been used as a torture device by the Spanish Inquisition. I am hoping it will give me a new roll, since my last roll (which lasted for at least two weeks) ended approximately four days ago. I have been on several rolls this summer, but I've had this dreadful feeling lately that things are returning to normal. Which means no rolls for a long time. But we'll see. The saying goes "live and learn", but my own interpretation goes more like "live, learn, forget, get bored. Have a cup of coffee".

Oh well. Now I'm off to double, maybe triple, my daily intake of caffeine.

Wikiweirdia

2006-08-29T01:30:00.000+02:00

Wikipedia is weird.

While having my last cigarette before going to bed, I was kinda bored. I'd been reading about wasps (don't ask) on wikipedia, so I decided to hit the "random article" button.

I was sent here.

As I sat there staring, with a very confused WTF? bouncing around in my head, I got the crazy notion of hitting the button again.

This time I was sent here.

How did I even manage to get by in the years before wikipedia? My mind boggles at the thought.

Edit: I decided to try it one more time. After all, wikipedia can't be made up of nothing but useless information, right? There are, surely, a lot of well-written, informative and interesting articles in their database? Well.. take a look at this. I should think the evidence speaks for itself.

I feel like I could do this all night.

News, fresh like a virgins nipple

2006-08-24T12:48:00.000+02:00

This blog is probably not most famous for being a up-to-date comment on the very latest world events. In case you just became worried, rest assured that this will not happen. However, today I bring you all a few fresh news stories that I found oddly fascinating. Firstly, have a look at this report about the Ama, female Japanese pearl divers (average age: 72). I found it interesting how a profession thought better suited to women than men could be close to extinction while a Korean cosmetics company provides free makup for the poor. Daily necessities, indeed. But hey, that's how the world is, now, like before: The most important use of the woman is as pretty collectibles for men. And, of course, a starving woman equals a pretty woman (remember, kids: It's not called "skinny" but "slender").
Lastly, a completely random report: If you go to India, remember to bring Coca-Cola, because you might not get a hold of it there. You see, since soft drinks are bad for you, they've been banned. Beautiful simplicity. Meanwhile, we're upset because of stricter laws against smoking.. Oh, and while the world is rapidly descending into a whirlpool of shit, the most intelligent people on the planet (yes, even smarter than me, although it hurts to admit it) hide in their attics solving math problems.

This concludes our annual news bulletin.

Mama Mia, Let My People Go

2006-08-22T20:11:00.000+02:00

The last few weeks there's been a debate in Norwgian media. The debate has been concerning whether author Jostein Gaarder is a anti-semite or not. You see, Gaarder wrote an essay in which he says that Israel shouldn't be killing children, because he thinks it's naughty. Jews all over the world got enraged by this, saying it's ok to kill children as long as they're muslims, and accused the author of anti-semitism and devil worshipping. Gaarder was surprised by this, because he didn't know how much jews love to kill children. Of course, he should've done his homework, like me. So, in the spirit of anti-semitism, here's a quick Angry-La special: Evil Jew Timetable.

-A long time ago: First Jew born. Immediately chokes his mother to death using the umbilical cord.
-Shortly after: Jews exterminate dinosaurs. While laughing.
-2000 B.C: First Jew in space. Does not return, possibly made pact with aliens.
-36 A.D: Jews torture and kill Jesus. They also poked him with a stick.
-1913 A.D: Jews create Richard Nixon in a lab.
-1939 A.D: Jews provoke Adolf Hitler into starting the Second World War. When this proves counter-productive, they invent the atomic bomb.
-1948 A.D: Israel is created, providing a place for all Jews to rub their hands together and laugh maniacally. Here they discover the joys of killing Arab children.
-1967 A.D: Jews occupies Palestine, starts randomly invading neighbouring countries for laughs.
-1975 A.D: Jews create Microsoft, their most evil project yet.
-2006 A.D: Norwegian author Jostein Gaarder writes an essay in which he says he no longer acknowledges the state of Israel. Well, at least the one created in 1967.

Of course, this list is far from complete. Jews have also made the movie Pearl Harbor, created TV Shop, and killed your dog. If you feel I have forgotten something important, feel free to add to the timetable. Just make sure you've got your facts straight. And remember, kids: Anti-semitism is not discrimination, it's common sense.

The Dark Age

2006-08-08T14:40:00.000+02:00

A wise and horny man once said; 'tis better to have loved and lost, and so on. Well, he was obviously not talking about the internet. Because I'm here to tell you, munchkins, for a man who've gotten used to the easy world access of the web it's a truly painful experience to have it snatched away. Which, you guessed it, is excactly what happened to me well over a month ago. I did in no way stop living, but my existence was forcefully changed in a way I've yet to fathom completely.

Before you make lots of strange noises with your nose and start sending me hatemail telling me how pathetic I am, consider this: The 'net is full of news. It lets us pay our bills and change our adresses in an instant. It has a far more up-to-date list of jobs and apartments for hire than all the handheld newspapers combined. It makes communication with friends, enemies and fictional cartoon characters far too easy. Besides, it's filled with delighfully random weirdness. Wondering where you've seen that actor before? IMDB. Stuck in a videogame? Gamefaqs. Hungry? Milk and cookies. Feel like reading something with real meaning, something to stimulate several brain functions at once whil keeping you entertained? Angry-La.. well, maybe that last one was a bad example. But my point still stands: Once you've learned the ways of the 'net, it becomes an external limb of sorts. If it's removed, your brain starts to limp. Allow me to provide a short, but embarassing example.
The other day, someone was saying something naughty about a certain country, let us call it Nicerael. The reason, as you all know, was that this country (consisting mostly of fluffy bunnies and evil arabs) had invaded another. Upon hearing this, I was all "what? They've invaded Iran?".

...

And there you have it. To sum up: Internet good, Israel bad. And me lazy (I always wondered what all those newspapers were for). Until next time, kids: Play nice, or else you're likely to be eaten by a Jew.

Buh-bye for now

2006-06-14T01:59:00.000+02:00

Did I say juicy update? Funny, I don't remember that.

Anyway, here's the dealio, kids: Uncle Grovdal will be abandoned by the internet. That means random updates, at best, for the unforeseeable future (most likely the next month or so). Let's hope Cogitatum picks up the slack, since he's finally made an update after centuries of silence. Go over there and bother him, children. He deserves it, the bastard, for still having teh internet and everything.

I'm going to miss the 'net. Buh-bye for now, then.

Attention, music lover!

2006-06-01T01:22:00.000+02:00

Alright now, this is just peachy: A radio station that plays music you may like, depending on your very own input. Pandora is just a click away, friends.

I'll be back with a more juicy update soon. In the meantime, Sleeper Says: Enjoy.

Who put the 'ew' in 'news'?

2006-05-20T00:51:00.000+02:00

Just a quick update with some news stories that bodes well for the world:
- A nice inspiration for science fiction fans can be found in this lovable cult's love shack. What's up with jolly old Britain, anyway?
- Despite a few noisy nights, I can't say I've ever had a neighbour as crazy as this. I mean, booby-trapping plant pots? Come on. Points for creativity and perserverance, though.
- And lastly: Old women killing homeless people for fun and profit. Only in America. Hopefully.

Fuck-a-doodle-do

2006-05-12T13:16:00.000+02:00

Alright, here it is: Exams depressions. Most of you probably know what it's like; it's not just doing everything except what you're supposed to be doing and consequently feeling guilty about it, it's also every other paranoia resurfacing when you need it the least. Everyone is your enemy, they all hate you and want you to fail miserably, not just at these exams, oh no, I'm talking life here. Even the sun only has one simple goal: To see you, face-down, crying and yelling in the middle of a motorway, waiting for it all to end. You won't be hit by any cars today, however, because all the fucking drivers are in on it.
Anyway, it's not just other people, is it? Oh no, mostly it's just yourself. You're a born fucking loser, and you know it. No wonder there's noone there to comfort you, you simply don't deserve it. You can't even manage to pass some unimportant exams, how the hell are you going to suceed at anything else? You'll end up on the dole, on the street, in some fucking alley getting assraped by the leaders of your country as they laugh maniacally and wave their money in front of you.

It's all your own fault, after all, for not doing shit about it until now. You thought you were clever enough, but now you know you're not. As you sit in front of the massive pile of books (just when did those books get so fucking big, anyway?), you try to make out the words on the page but it's all a blur. And then you know, instinctively, that it's not going to be okay. It's not going to work out in the end. You, my friend, are totally and utterly fucked.

Good luck on the spring exams, everyone!

Make it reggae!

2006-05-09T12:41:00.000+02:00

I have discovered something. It would seem that, each year, some parts of the ground (you know, the one outside) goes green. At these green spots, people have appeared, and lots of them. Many of these people are women with little or no clothes on them. My brain is still trying to process it all, but as far as I can tell these women are either grown directly on the spot or extremely attracted to green. I have made a mental note on buying lots of green clothes, as a direct result of this.

Also, I have disturbing news for readers of this blog. It seems that exposion to the sun, half-naked women, and reggea has had an unfortunate effect on my mood. I am actually experiencing short, painful moments of contentedness. This may appear as a good thing. However, it leaves me in short supply of stuff to whine about here, such as the lack of said elements. Luckily, the answers may be right ahead: The dreaded Spring Exams are on their way. My cashflow is not so much flowy as it is jerky. I do not have a job for the summer, nor a place to live. In short: Things will soon be back to normal. Don't despair, let me do that for you.

In other news: Recent studies (made by me) suggests that reggae is good for you. A lack of music has actually caused the extinction of several species of animals, mostly mammals. As we know, people are mammals (and rude ones, at that). So, in order to avoid extinction; make it reggae!

(Oh, and in case you're wondering where to start, try the Dynamite! series from Soul Jazz Records. I have recently been exposed to #3 in the series, it will r0xx0r your s0xx0rz)

Time to get ill

2006-04-07T01:14:00.000+02:00

Righ, just to let you know: In case you've been wondering where my promised weekly updates have gone, I've taken sick leave from this blog (and almost everything else) for a spell. I am, however, going to get better soon, because my plan for world domination depends on it.

I have said too much.

Anyway, since this writing is nothing more than pure, digitalized thoughts, does this post even exist? Now that's something for you dogs to chew on until next time.

Get the shotgun, Edie.

There was a POST here..

2006-03-22T15:40:00.000+01:00

..it's gone now.

Tigers and Monsters

2006-03-20T21:06:00.000+01:00

Right. I'm trying to update this thing at least once a week these days, so excuse me if some of the posts (like this one) might seem a bit unnecessary. I'm quite drained of everything resembling energy, creativity and will to move. This is because of a small city called Oslo, which I've now returned to. Once called the tiger-town by some depressed writer, it's a city that makes one want to run through the streets with a lawnmower, Braindead-style. It's tiny, but thinks it's huge, it's rabidly obsessed with money and appearances, it's got some of the most americanized people in Norway who somehow manages to proclaim their disgust for the same country-god they worship. In other words, it's probably like every damn city in the world: Depressing as hell, but one cannot help but love it. The point: I'm back, baby, and I'm having a bad day. Let's just chalk it up to urban lag, not because I've crossed a time zone, but because I've been thrust straight into another fucking dimension..

..which ties into my next item nicely. Oh, and if you're of a nervous disposition, or rather, if you don't enjoy having your nerves torn out of your skin, tossed around, chewed, spit out and pissed upon, you might wanna ignore this next part. But if you, on the other side, love having nightmares (hey, it's better than being bored all the time, right?) you really should consider a vacation. Clicky this linky to see an.. advert.. for a nice, foggy tourist town. They are expecting you.

The Angry-La Fortune Cookie

2006-03-11T04:00:00.000+01:00

When in doubt, kill yourself.

Weekend of w00tness

2006-03-09T01:16:00.000+01:00

For those who are wondering, I'm currently at home in my parents house in the beautiful, but boring, Norwegian countryside. Visiting former hunting grounds invariably means meeting old friends, which in turn often leads to parties. So, as to not upset the natural order of the universe, last saturday me and some friends came together for a shindig.
It started quite innocently, with drinking, music, and fun for the whole family. Then we shipped ourself off to the local beer den, which resulted in heartbroken wallets, but still, nothing mayor. Due to the excessive amount of people out last weekend, however, getting a taxi proved rather difficult, but we finally found one after spending half an hour walking in minus 25 degrees celsius. And that's when the w00t kicked in.

There was song (depending on your definition. There was, at least, loud noises coming out of our mouths). There was wine (quite literally. Wine was found in strange places the day after). And there was dancing; of the homoerotic kind, none the less, complete with a strange fascination with spanking. There was women, as well, but as far as I can remember they neither gave nor received the spanking. Finally, there was some serious headbanging performed by yours truly, and I have to say I still haven't fully recovered. My neck has been aching like hell the last few days, but that's what you get when you don't stop rocking when it hurts. And we didn't stop rocking for quite some time (and it did, indeed, hurt). I'm excpecting a love letter from the neighbours any day now, let's hope they enjoyed the music.

Divine Intervention

2006-02-26T21:20:00.000+01:00

Let us assume, for a moment, that God exists. No, let's go further than that: Let's pretend that I am God (really not much of a stretch). I have just created Man. I feel quite content with myself. Maybe I'm patting myself on the back, saying, "Wow, Me, that was a clever one!". This does not last long, of course. Because Man starts bickering, and bullying each other, and I'm all, "wait a second, this wasn't the plan!" and I start trying to fix it. Floods, plagues, earthquakes, disco, I'm pulling all the stops in order to get rid of the bastards, but somehow, that's always the ones coming out on top. So, naturally, I'm now thinking: "Well, I tried. Now fuck this, I'm outta here!" After that I'd probably just retire, or maybe start over on some other planet far far away.

This is presuming I'm a nice God. Because, if even someone who's omnipotent (me) couldn't manage to weed out the bastards, they're here to stay. While not the main point of this post, my example also serves as a giant "fuck you" to all the "final solution"-believers out there. You cannot fight evil with evil. But I digress.

What then, if I'm a more human-like God? What if Man really were made in My image? Think about it: We humans sure like our soaps. The stories we tell and enjoy the most are the ones with lots of conflict and misery, and we often like the bad guys best, as well. In this case God would be no exception. So it would be natural for Me (still God, in case you'd forgotten) to build the world as a giant soap opera stage. I start it simple, with cavemen bashing each other in the head. But my need for intrigue grows, so I begin complicating things. Soon the stories grow, the conflict intensifies and the stage becomes truly epic, with empires falling, religious wars, weapons of mass destruction and economic collapse.
In one episode, some amazing discoveries are made, where the past truly comes out to haunt the religious leaders (the dinosaurs). In another, a tiny angry man kickstarts a dormant war machine which in turn leads to the attempted genocide of the Jews. And quite recently (and quite brilliantly, if I may say so myself) a dane with good intentions starts riots across most of the muslim world when he prints some cartoons of one of my most prominent protagonists. My continuity is flawless, even though I sometimes have trouble with character development. But: I watch it, and I see that it is good. I am God, and I demand to be entertained!

Then again, it's obvious that I'm not especially fond of happy endings.

The Holy Drugs

2006-02-23T14:50:00.000+01:00

Edit: I seem to have fucked up the font, so get your glasses out. I'm sure there's some cosmic irony in it, but I flatly refuse to learn from it.

Right, so if you are a member of the religious group O Centro Espirita Beneficente Uniao do Vegetal you are now allowed to do drugs, according to the US Supreme Court. Or, specifically, you're allowed to drink hoasca tea, containing the hallicugenic substance DMT, which is (usually) illegal, during ceremonies. Of course, these guys need some synthetic help in doing what religious people have been doing for thousand of years by sheer delusion, namely connecting with God. I suspect that this group will soon be getting quite the increase in it's congregation, although one may start to wonder why they didn't add in some more gods, connected to separate types of drugs, while they were at it. That way they could all worship their drug-Lord of choice, and the hardcore religious types could worship all at once, thereby earning enormous respect and maybe be given a place as a holy man. Anyway, this uplifting story has given me inspiration: I'm currently planning a religion in which we worship the holy Mary Jane. The only way to understand this holiest of holies is, of course, by smoking vast amounts of.. well, I'm sure you can figure out the rest. So, who's with me?

The Angry-La newsreel:
- Norwegians perform crappily in the Olympics, while the Swedes run off with one gold after another. Norway is currently moping about this and blaming it on our neighbours (and, probably, especially the muslim community there).
- The police have started arresting buyers of weed from the local drugstore. While the area in question has turned into a really unpleasant place to pass (unless you consider being surrounded by foreigners whose sole Norwegian vocabulary consists of the words "buy" and "drugs" a fun time), and the method probably will turn out to be most effective (since most of the buyers are hip people and students, not what you would call hardened criminals), it still is worrying. First off, we're talking about a crime that would be victimless had it not been a crime. Second, if the repercussions for the arrested go beyond a good scare, students will have to work more and study less to pay off the fines. And if they're going to jail, who will bring the fat fucks at the police station their pizza? But I won't cry out "police state" just yet. The morale, of course, is this: Help your fellow students get by; buy your weed from them instead of the shifty guy at the corner.
- A Norwegian soap called "Hotel Caesar" is being accused of destroying the minds of young children because it had a shotgun it one episode. If you ask me, violence is not what's going to make their brains rot, the crapness of the series will take care of that.

Cartoons of Mass Destruction

2006-02-13T02:53:00.000+01:00

I finally googled the Mohammad cartoons and my computer didn't explode, which was a relief. I like my computer, you see. It also made me realize that the embassy raiders didn't just overreact, they dug their own moral graves. Before the extremely violent reactions of last week, I was willingly dismissing the printing of said cartoons as stupid, at best. But now, well.. let's just go over some ground rules, shall we?
First of all, violence, or the threat of violence, is an unacceptable reaction to any situation except, sometimes, if you're acting in self-defense. Or if you're a ninja.
Second, if you subscribe to a religion then, by all means, follow it's rules. But never, ever, try and force others to respect it. If you wish to worship the Holy Cocoa Bean then go right ahead, but that doesn't mean I'll quit eating chocolate in public.
Third, freedom of speech is necessary for freedom of religion. Easy as that. Fight the one and you automatically fight the other.

However, the question remains: Was the cartoons offensive? As has repeatedly been pointed out by most intelligent beings: While Jyllands-Posten and all others who chose to print the drawings had an unquestionable right to do so, that doesn't make it smart (or tactful). After all, unless you're a ninja, you really shouldn't go around offending people for no good reason. So we return to the question: Offensive or no? Decide for yourself, if you haven't seen them; feel free to use the link provided at the start of this post. That page also includes the three fake drawings (the ones brought to the Middle East by a Danish imam without any trace of common sense), something you might find helps shed some light on the whole burning and pillaging thing.
If you want more, The Mohammed Image Archive is a collection of different depictions of the prophet throughout history, including Persian art and, of course, Danish cartoons. And these political cartoons discuss the controversy in far greater depth than any blog, even one as brilliant as my own, ever could. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand embassies.

Latest news: US vice-president Dick Cheney shoots a guy while hunting. Unofficial sources say Dick claimed the man "had some weapons of mass destruction under his coat".

Murderer sighted!

2006-02-03T01:02:00.000+01:00

The Killer, wearing the victims head as a mask. A truly gruesome vision.

I wasn't too bothered by the sight, though. As previously indicated, I was quite drunk.

Murder!

2006-02-01T01:16:00.000+01:00

The victim of a senseless slaughter. Blame it on the tequila. Also notice the dishwashing utensil to the left, I have no idea what it is doing there.

Swing it

2006-01-24T02:15:00.000+01:00

Saw Swingers last night. Last time I did was about 10 years ago, at which time I enjoyed it. Luckily I didn't remember much except that it was funny and charming, which made last night's viewing all the more sweet. Now, however, the movie resonated in a way denied me the last time, 'cause hey, let's face it: I was no playa at the age of 14.
That's not saying I am one now, but at least I know the score. I've seen the cruel, eat-or-be-eaten world of the nubs and the nightclubs. And that's why the main characters continued rejections and mishaps gets me straight in the self-esteem, while knocking my chair back laughing. I feel with the guy, I laugh knowingly with him at his embarrasing fuck-ups and, in the end, I taste the victory, I feel the bunny between my teeth (as they say..) when he finally strikes paydirt. So, with no further ado: As always, I command you to take a jog down to the video store, rent Swingers, and enjoy. Afterwards you may masturbate if you want. Just watch it through to the end first (you can hold it that long, can't you?). Because: It's money, baby.

And this place is dead, anyway.

Random update

2006-01-22T05:46:00.000+01:00

Ha ha! Now noone can tell me I never update this thing.
Oh, you want content, do you? You are bored, and want me to provide your rotting brain with fresh waste? Okay, here's what you do: Go watch this big ad (it's really big). Then go masturbate.

When you're done (unless you wanna do it again, which is allowed, as long as you don't let your girlfriend/boyfriend see you, unless he/she likes to watch you do your thing, which may or may not be normal but shan't be discussed in depth at this time) go download the original Elder Scrolls: Arena, since it's been released as freeware and all, and play it. By the time you're done with it I'll probably have plenty more posts for you.

But wait, there's more: Me and a buddy wasted a whole afternoon playing this little gem, which is (like all good time-wasters) deceptively simple, but highly addictive. Oh, and it's a demo, so if you feel the price for an upgrade is too steep, you could always buy yourself a brand new Mac, 'cause they come equipped with the full version. If you ask me, that's the best reason for buying one, anyway.

One more game for the road: If you've never played Samorost, go do so now. It's free, short, and brilliant, and way too cute for me to provide a link. If you've never googled before in your life, now's as good a time as any to start.

Annual bullshit report

2006-01-03T15:58:00.000+01:00

Sometimes, I understand. When I do, I stop making any sense whatsoever. This is because understanding cannot be explained. At least that is what I tell myself.

And so that was christmas, and what have I done? Well, for starters, I've been relishing in the relative comfort of home (the real home, as it were, a very different place from my regular home), relaxing and conversing with friends and family. I also got drunk, which is to be expected, since it's a Norwegian tradition that must not be broken. However, I never really got wasted, which was strange. Also, this christmas I seemed to constantly end up at nachspiels featuring the smaller sisters of old friends, which was kind of bizarre.
Our tree this year (or rather, last year) was as crooked as the president of the U.S., it flatly refused to stand straight in any way, and it also fell dramatically towards me on one occasion. If it wasn't for a luckily placed piece of string, I wouldn't be here today. Or at least I would have been hurting somewhat more.
That horrible curse of holidays, family gatherings, were present this time as well, only in very small doses, thankfully. To everyone's surprise I not only survived, but also found a small speck of enjoyment in it. I guess that's the magic of Coca-Cola or something.

Other stuff:
New Year's Eve has come and gone, and it is something I probably shouldn't speak of. Not that there's much to say, anyway. Suffice to say there were a lot of fireworks and some booze involved, and much talk of women's private parts.
Finally saw Stalker. Loved it.
On the music side of things, I'm currently looking into Devendra Banhart (got his new cd for chrismas). Right now, however, I'm listening to Norwegian gypsy-punk band Kaizers Orchestra, who are very noisy but still quite good.

Edit: Oh yeah, Happy New Year, bastards.

The Truth, uncensored

2005-12-22T17:39:00.000+01:00

Gather round, kids, it's Quasi-Philosophy Hour.

Listen: People say "To each his own," and "I need to take care of myself before I am able to take care of others," and "I don't have the energy, my batteries need recharging." Listen, children, because what they are saying is this: "Stop bothering me. I am the world. Fuck off." This is the truth: There is no such thing as Surplus Energy. Everyone has needs, and these needs are too great for themselves to manage. From this we can learn several things. The first, and most important thing is this: Put Other People First. Naturally, this means sacrifice. It also means that you will need people, Other People, who may be hard to find, depending on your luck. The lucky ones begin their life with these Other People looking out for them. Others stumble upon them by accident. The rest will have to search, long and hard. Some may choose the Easy Way, often referred to as Religion. But this I believe: Religion is a Lie. There is no Easy Way.
Enough talk about Other People for now, you probably know this already anyway. Nature has already placed it in your mind (even if it's sometimes hard to find), so as to ensure you won't give up without trying.

Something else can be learned, namely that Individuality is both a Lie and a Truth. It is a lie if you worship it, but it is true when you value it.
And lastly, at least for now, one can learn about Meaning. Now, children, I need you to bear with me, because this is somewhat of a leap in logic: Putting Other People First is not a goal in itself, but means to an end. It's a tool that mankind will need to evolve, just as fire and hammers and whatnot before it. What is more, we cannot evolve further while stuck in the loop of our survival instincts. People have been concerned about their dinner, their bloodline and their physical welfare since, well, always. Only when freed from these obligations, only when we're living in Luxury and giving our very own survival the finger, is it possible to discover just what the hell we're supposed to be doing (if anything).
I am aware that this is impossible, which is why it doesn't really matter, but, boys and girls, you also need to be aware of this: Luxury is not the same as Apathy (nor is it an excuse for it), and it is not Surplus Energy, either. It is merely a state of mind, and impossible to reach unless you have Other People looking out for you. Which, in turn, means you have to look out for Other People. And so the wonderful (or hideous, depending on your point of view) cycle begins.

And so the lesson ends, with many questions. You may ask: Who are these Other People, and where can I find them? Just what is it we're supposed to be doing, then? What the fuck are you babbling about, anyway? I will answer your questions in the very spirit of Angry-La, like so: Don't know, don't really care.

One more thing: Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate that sort of thing, and Have a Nice Weekend to those of you who don't.

Adventure Waits for No Man (or elf)

2005-12-14T01:23:00.000+01:00

My grand return to World of Warcraft turned out to be a bit disappointing. I had expected horns and fireworks, and a collective sigh of relief that things were finally back to normal, everyone could let go of their dreadful longing (for the me) and start enjoying the game again.

The reason this didn't happen is, of course, because WoW never really stopped when I left, not that many people noticed, and in addition I have now started a completely new level 1 character on a whole different realm. Nevertheless, another dream of greatness shattered, in the most brutal of ways: By simply not caring.

Besides that, it was fun. Slower than I remembered, but still.

Harry Potter, professional bully

2005-12-08T16:45:00.000+01:00

As you've likely guessed from the headline, it's time to talk about the deeper machinations of the mind. This stems from a discussion I had with a friend the other day. We were watching Harry Pothead and the Stoned Philosopher when she suddenly cried out: This is crap. Well, she didn't say it like that, and besides, she speaks norwegish, but still. Her main source of aggression was the blatantly obvious way in which the characters are presented: The bad brats are cowardly and stupid, while Potter & friends are kind, courageous, succesful, violent (but only when they 'need' to be) and petty. Wait a second. Petty? Oh, yes. The nice kids love nothing better than seeing their rivals get beaten and humiliated. My friend continued her tirade by saying how kids should't be exposed to this and how she would keep her own children from seeing it.

That's really where I chimed in (arguing that kids are capable of at least some thought), but that's beside the point. The Potter series is, as far as I'm concerned, quite harmless in its obvious escapism. Besides that, I agree with her completely, and had the same thoughts myself the first time I saw it. But let's leave Harry to his evil schemings and talk about something far more serious. Today, you see, I read the newspaper (and this is where you all go, "oooh!"). It told me that 18% of Norwegians between 18 and 25 years thinks torture is acceptable and a valuable tool in the skirmishes against terrorism. When every damn military intelligence expert will tell you that torture does not work, how in the pus-soaked hell have people gotten this impression? Yes, 24, I'm looking at you. The wildly overrated TV series throws torture at the viewer as often as possible, as many of you probably know. But the worst thing is, it's the good guys who're doing it. And they always get the information they need.

Of course, 24 is not alone in this ridiculous point of view. Basically, Hollywood (and most other parts of western culture) are telling us this: If the Bad People (tm) are violent, we, the Good Guys (tm), need to be even more violent. Violence is key, violence is God in western society. To me, this is far more disturbing than some kid who fights evil by waving his penis, excuse me, his 'magic wand', and plays airborne rugby without having to adjust his glasses once.

Have nerd, will trade

2005-12-08T02:13:00.000+01:00

Seems like it's open season on nerds these days. First, go read this. And then, let me follow up with some colour commentary: Since the relative success of the football nerds, apparently Norwegian TV execs are desperate for other strange things they can get nerds to do. If you close your eyes, you can, mayhaps, see them in your mind; wondering, what places haven't nerds been before? The answer, of course, is blindingly obvious: The bosom of a beautiful woman. It's a concept almost mind-bending in its ingenious simplicity, yet it sounds about as fresh and innovative as a modern-day Dallas. But the logic of the executives is flawed, they're forgetting one thing: A beautiful woman is far more common than a quality nerd. They're in grave danger of treading well-worn waters when they're asking the females to apply, as well. Why not just grab a bunch of nerds and toss them into a den of sex-crazy strippers? And how about they replace the nerds with world-weary, physically deformed dwarves (preferrably intelligent ones)? Now that's a show I'd like to watch.

My guess is they'll get quite a few candidates for this one, though. For all their combined intelligence, the football nerds still don't seem to grasp the fact that they're being ridiculed on national TV. But neither does the average viewer, apparently.

Celebrate the Randomness

2005-12-05T15:06:00.000+01:00

What do you know, after each aggressive, pessimistic post there must follow complete nonsense. This time it comes in the form of Wikipedias graveyard of silliness, which should warm the hearts of everybody, especially fans of absurd humor.

Mankind Behaving Badly

2005-12-05T14:21:00.000+01:00

Global peace is just around the corner! Or maybe not. Although it's easy to, once again, blame Israel for making an unnecessary contribution to world chaos, reality is as always not that simple. Actually, their behaviour in this case resembles the actions of a spoiled child more than a psychopathic killer (which is usually the case). And on that same note, the sulky brat-award this week goes to Iran, who've announced that they want to build another nuclear power plant, while still looking for the 'on' button of their first one. I could give you more examples, but my guess is you get the general idea: Kids with guns is a bad thing, but kids with nuclear weapons, hordes of religious fanatics and/or a strong diplomatic relationship with the world's most powerful and evil country (I'm not talking Switzerland here, folks) is just plain crazy. Add in the fact that all responsible adults seem to have left the planet permanently, and it leaves all of us with two choices: Stay awake at night and tremble with fear, or fuck it and try to make the best of the time that's left.

What's that you're saying? You're thinking about the future? Damn it all, haven't you been paying attention? Go for a swim, and if that doesn't clear your head, why not go shopping? And feel free to sound off on a random internet forum.
Yes, the future looks fantastic. Remember to save your money, your children will need them to get the toxic spill out of their hair (using a special shampoo, produced under license from the Coca-Cola Company).
Oh, all right. Rant complete. Have a nap. (Zen fire ze missiles!)

The Truth is Outer (part 1 perhaps)

2005-11-27T04:19:00.000+01:00

Remember that old sci-fi/horror show, the X-files? Remember how cool you thought it was that there finally was a serious show about aliens and ghosts and other strange stuff? And after a while, how you were able to see through each episode completely; that Mulder and Scully would survive, that they would never learn anything of value, that each episode would end with Scully giving a completely ludicrous scientific explanation on the events of today's episode and then something would happen to make her go "WTF?"?
Around the time I got access to the channel broadcasting the X-files, another sci-fi show made its way on to norwegian television. This show you may not remember, it was called 'the Outer Limits'. Here there were no safeguards, all bets were off, there was no such thing as a predictable outcome, and noone was guaranteed survival. Why? Because OL was an anthology show. Each episode a self-contained story, trying to trick and twist the viewers mind as much as their budget would allow. All sceptics beware: I was about 14 years old at the time, and hadn't really seen that much genre shows. I was also completely unaware of wonders such as the Twilight Zone or Tales from the Crypt, but that's irrelevant.
The Outer Limits (the 90s one, not the original) only got one full season on norwegian television (the original got none, in case you were wondering), but due to trickery and obscure, dark magicks I have, over the years, gotten to see a lot more. And every damn time I watch it, I get the same thought in my barely-functoning brain: Why on earth aren't any norwegians making stuff like this?

More on this later, perhaps, if these thoughts remain (unlikely, but worth a shot). But now I am going to bed. It is late; my chin is getting hairy. Also, watch in awe as my pun powers grow.

A quick fix of religion

2005-11-21T17:32:00.000+01:00

God-bashing goodness from Penn Jillette in this essay. Read and rejoice. A quote to whet your appetite: "Did I mention that my personal heartfelt definition of the word "elephant" includes mystery, order, goodness, love and a spare tire?"
And for all you lazy bastards out there: Relax, it's a short one.

Boring facts about penguins

2005-11-21T16:28:00.000+01:00

Prehistoric penguins were unable to fly. They could swim, however, and that's probably how they've survived.
The colours of the penguin (black and white) serve as camouflage.
Penguins have no external genitalia. This sounds sad. But then again, since they don't have hands, they couldn't have done anything fun with them anyway.
Penguins are evil and about to take over the world. Run away. Now.

Life is hard but it's just too bad, man

2005-11-14T13:19:00.000+01:00

Yeah yeah, no posts, and no excuses this time. I'm just lazy. Anything resembling coherent thought seem to be harder to come by at the age of 24. As I get older I only seem to grow angrier and more intolerant. Where is the wisdom that I was promised with age? Where are the life-changing experiences I heard so much about when I was younger? Anyway, some shout-outs to the people who saturday 6th made my view of life slightly less grim for a second or two: You know who you are. You know I'm grateful.

Alright, so that last part there was a blatant rip-off from Blur. Did I mention how I feel even less creative than last year? But that's what it's all about, right? Not being complacent with the way things are, not being pleased with oneself, isn't that supposed to be necessary for personal growth? One year of a persons life is just time, after all, unless one actually learns something in that period. And very few people do. To the people who refuses to awaken, those who considers this news story (about a Norwegian football player with a cold (that's soccer to any raving lunatics, or Americans if you prefer, who should happen to stumble upon this blog)) worthy of the front page of Norway's most popular "news"paper: Stop stealing berries from my dad's garden. Also, sharpen up: As much as I hate to admit it, the world can't do without you. You are the reason it's all so fucked. Think about that.
And if that's not enough to get that old, underemployed brain working, consider this: Someone will rape and kill you and your family unless the world changes. If it doesn't happen by itself, I will hire somebody. But enough angry ranting, let's bring in the joy for a moment. Because:

The quality of my life is about to skyrocket. The reason? This wonderful gadget. Yes, music really is that important. Here's the proof: A blind couple making quite uplifting music. And have you heard of these guys? Their unnamed album (you know, that white one) is one of the best ever made. And while we're on the subject, why is it that popular music so often sucks? Is it any wonder it's all going down the drain? Do you believe me if I say that someone asked me, just the other day, who the Beatles are? I thought not. But I swear it's the truth. No, really. I'm not saying everone should like them (even though I will think you're a moron if you don't), but one should at least recognize their impact on modern music. Oh, wait. Did I just say no more ranting? Bah, let's be honest: That's what you come here for.

(The author would like to apologize for any badly written, unfunny, or just plain rude parts of this post. Well, not really.)

MovieMania!

2005-10-24T11:41:00.000+02:00

(Post presented here as originally concocted late last night, when Blogger refused to cooperate)
Once in a while, I thoroughly enjoy watching a movie. Most of you know the feeling; that a great movie is precious, and when you see one you think to yourself: 'Damn! I really ought to own this one (but first I need a job).' If you don't know this feeling, you are probably a pre-programmed zombie devoid of any actual opinions. If you find yourself often thinking, 'wow, those CGI explosions are really cool', or if you thought that the plot twists in Wild Things were pretty clever (here's a link, since you've (hopefully) forgotten that stinking pile of dreadfulness), please sit down in a corner and shut up until the end of this post.

Resuming original thoughts: Once in a while, they say. Now and then. You don't see this sort of celluloid art often. It is the law of averages (or something); to find a great movie, you need to sit through 5 decent ones and 20 dreadful ones.
Well, stick that law up my arse, 'cause I've had one of my best movie months in a very, very long time. In no particular order:
The House of Sand and Fog - alright, so it's been over a month. Still, with work and all, I've seen so few movies lately that I'm allowed to cheat. If you don't like it, go make your own blog and stick it up your arse.
Sideways - pretty straight-forward, but still immensely entertaining. How come depression is so fun in the movies, when in reality it's not?
Kung-fu Hustle - crazy fun, violent and beautiful.
Shaolin Soccer - not nearly as beautiful (nor as violent) as Hustle, but way more laughs. Chow is cooler than a billion Jackie Chans with their heads up their arses.
The Royal Tenenbaums - oh, okay, so I've seen it before. It's still borderline genius and funnier than all the minions of hell crammed up your grandmothers arse.
Lost in Translation - funny, beautiful, and calm like the ocean. The calm ocean, that is.
American Splendor - funny and touching. I'm starting to run out of adjectives here.
Mystic River - actually a bit disappointing, mystery-wise, but the actors are cracking and it's damn good in most of the ways that count.

Next up is the Good, the Bad and the Ugly, a Very Long Engagement and hopefully even more Murray madness with Broken Flowers and Life Under Water. Plus, again hopefully, Hitchhiker's Guide, the two new Burton films, Violent Cop, Oldboy, Stalker and a number of others. I feel like I'm on a roll.
I couldn't be bothered providing links for the entire list, just go search IMDB if you're curious. Lazy sons of bitches.

Word of the day: Arse.

By the way, I just saw one of the stupidest things I have seen in a while. First off, some background: Because of a rather gross turn of events, I removed the trash can from it's usual spot under the sink and washed it. Thinking it would dry sooner, I left it on the warm, cozy bathroom floor, informing my fellow residents that such an action had been taken. Apparently, one of them got the sudden urge to throw something away, which is, of course, understandable in today's society. Naturally, he put the trashcan back where it belongs and neatly filled it with a plastic bag. Wait a second.. actually, he did neither of those two things. He just sorta stuck a bag in it, which leads me to the conclusion that somewhere in this aparment lives a very lazy man. And this time it's not me.

Welcome back, me

2005-10-19T14:57:00.000+02:00

Hello all. It's been quite a while. For the last two weeks I've been living at work, as previously mentioned. My life, as I knew it, completely out of reach, refusing to wait for my return. And now, the struggle to reclaim it has barely begun. I have had some not especially exciting adventures during that time, however, and of course I'm going to share them with you. But for now, let me just welcome myself back into the real world. Hello, me.

A hard day's night

2005-10-03T23:23:00.000+02:00

For the next two weeks I will be living at a Norwegian hypermarket called Smart Club. I will eat there, shit there, but most importantly, make a wad of cash there. Yes, not-so-dear readers, I have once again joined the ranks of the employed, and for approxomately 144 hours spread over 12 days I will earn the dough needed to salt my eggs. In case you flunked math, that's 12 hours each and every day, hence the living and shitting mentioned above.

Today was the longest one, checking in at 14 hours. Ouch. So if the blog updates become a bit random the next couple of weeks, you now know the reason. 'Nuff said, off to bed.

Celebrate the modern end

2005-09-29T13:41:00.000+02:00

First of all: If you are situated in Norway, I hope you caught the first episode of the new Doctor Who series yesterday. It's very entertaining, but in a good way.

Second: I missed the 5-year celebration of the Palestinian intifada yesterday, because I went shopping. How's that for irony?

2005-09-24T18:57:00.000+02:00

It is he, the me.

Midnight Rambling

2005-09-23T00:02:00.000+02:00

I have decided it is time to rise up and claim that thing which rightfully belongs to me; that thing called respect. Far too long I have muddled around like a dog cooking dinner for its fleas. Never again shall I grant favours to those who demand them from me without first asking, in a small and squeaky voice, "may I have some respect, please?".

My dignity is so cheap, I'm practically giving it away. Come get it while it's hot!

Celebrate we will

2005-09-21T16:38:00.000+02:00

Hello, all. It's been a while, hasn't it? The election is over an' all. And the good guys won. Sort of. But I'm leaving the political analysis to someone who dares look the results in the eye, 'cause whenever I try to, I'm reminded that 1 in 5 norwegians are dead stupid. Oh, and that estimate is really only me being nice, because it only includes those who voted for the most populistic, most ridiculous party to ever grow large in Norway. In other words, these are simply the people who, through a massive display of idiocy, have declared themselves unfit to walk around in one piece. Spoiled fuckers.

Anyway, some lighter news: We had a party (of the kind where alcohol takes the place of politics) at the apartment last saturday. It was going to be a moving-in party, but somewhere along the way it just became a normal one with a lot of people in it. The merry event itself was fun, filled with beer and booze, and ended up the way these things should, with people slipping drunkenly in the shower and others passing out all over the livingroom. The hours leading up to it was the stressful part, however. Let me lay it out for you: One came home early saturday morning and slept through the day. Another ran around the apartment, nervous he wouldn't get laid at the end of the night. Then we had the one shouting "I don't give a fuck!" everytime someone asked her a question. In short, tensions were running high.

And then there was me. Trying to prepare the poor apartment for the onslaught of people (which never happened, by the way) we were expecting. I ended up buying some chips and tossing whatever garbage I could find into the nearest bedroom, while at the same time telling people off left and right. It was glorious. And, I nearly forgot, some mates of mine came early, friday in fact, from places far away, and one of them wanted to go shopping the day of the party. For shoes. After the thirty-second shoe shop visited, he finally gave up. That's when we bought the snacks, and shortly after I found myself showering in cold water while my mates went to sleep in my bedroom. But hey, later I got drunk, so I'm not complaining.

One more thing. Go buy this album. It's funky as hell.

You're listening to the streets

2005-09-09T18:24:00.000+02:00

I have yet another bone to pick with polical advertising and the fuckers behind it. This morning, you see, one of my flatmates got a text message saying vote for us because yadda-yadda-yadda, with a personal greeting from one of the party's leaders. Oh-kay. My hope is that these types of lows will have the opposite effect (NO-VOTE-FOR-YOU), but sadly I doubt that's going to happen. So put this in your text message and smoke it: You Are Scum. You Exploit People's Lack of Intelligence and Ability to Think for Themselves. You Will Die Alone and You Will Go to Hell if There Is One.
Another form of advertising, which those of you who check blog comments may have noticed, is just as annoying but far more retarded. My smug smile was quickly changed to an angry frown when i discovered that the first comment from someone I don't know actually was a disguised advertisement. So you've bookmarked my blog, have you? Then read this: You're systematically going to fail at everything you attempt to do in life. The people you prefer to hang with will, eventually, grow tired of your half-assed attempts at being funny, and the people you can't stand will become your new best friends.

And now it's time for what today's blog is supposed to be about: The streets. While tha artist by the same name is excellent and should be heard by all, I'm talking about this: The actual streets. In case you're not norwegian or just clueless, Norway has gotten it's own version of The Big Issue. It's called =Oslo and, having checked it out myself, is definately worth your attention and money.
This I was planning to write this morning while reading the magazine and downing ridiculous amounts of coffee. Then I went outside. What I saw was, to me, deeply affecting and definitely one of those experiences where you learn something about yourself. The situation was quite simple: Some guys throwing another guy around, beating him, while he yelled for help and we all moved the fuck on. It sure as hell wasn't pleasant, but the worst part, naturally, was my own reaction (or rather, lack of). Anyway, their logic was, according to the shouting, this: The guy owed them money, so they had the right to beat him senseless. 'Flawed' doesn't even begin to describe their reasoning. Then again, if one has the problem-solving capabilities of a pitbull then this may be the closest they've come to a meaningful conversation since their mothers tried to get them off their tits. Either way, if God indeed created Man he sure didn't put a lot of work into it.

I went looking for the darker side of Oslo in my imagination, but it seems like reality has paid attention. Let's see if it can keep up.

(Edit) I'm leaving the comment spam untouched for public viewing. I also feel that if someone is inane enough to actually fall for it, they deserve whatever misfortune life throws at them.

Bend over like Beckham

2005-09-08T13:34:00.000+02:00

So, here I am, thinking to myself: What the hell am I supposed to blog about today? After a day of moving stuff around (the result is quite nice, only slightly disappointing in that it's not as amazing as I had hoped) I feel rather empty in the bump on top of my body (on other people often referred to as 'brain'). But what do you know! Another friend to the rescue! What is The Question Quest, you might ask. And lo! it's creator has already asked for you, and given a coherent answer, too. Like before, if he keeps it up, he'll most definately go in the left. He's barely funnier than me, but not even half as rude. So by my standards I win. Ha ha! Anyway, go click already.
Friends: Writing about stuff so I don't have to. Gotta love 'em.

What is it like to be lost in a dark, disturbing version of Norway's capital city? I don't know, but I'm planning to go there and find out (no, I'm not talking about the west side). Somewhere inside my head there's a story noone has written. Why must it be me? It's hardly fair.

Watch this space

2005-09-07T00:29:00.000+02:00

Hello all. It's me again. My, what an insane rate the site was updated all of a sudden, you might think. But, you see, I just found this, which is a friend's blog. It's still in the earlies, only a couple days old, in fact, but it's looking good. If he keeps it up, he might go on the left. But hey, we need some sort of quality control here, right?
Anyway, in sharp contrast to my not-so-humble self, this fellow actually has something to write about. What is this thing, this thing that he writes about, you might ask. But, I won't tell. Then why should I check it out, you might inquire further (at which point you would be starting to annoy me. It's one tiny click, after all). Why, for one thing he's much nicer than me, which is supposed to be a good thing. For another, nothing really encourages a blogger like people actually reading what you've written (believe me, I know). If you need more reasons, how about this: If you do not comply with my command (which is to check out his blog, in case you've forgotten) I will boil your grandmother and eat her as a sidedish to my fishsticks (alright, alright, I'll lay off the grandmothers from now on. Just this one last time, I promise).

So here's another link to his site, just to make sure you don't miss it and your grandmother comes off without a scratch.

And a third time.

And that's it. Now beat it.

Get behind the mule

2005-09-07T00:18:00.000+02:00

I just had to chime in and tell you how confusing it is to have good old Tom Waits on my headphones. Here a crash, there a creak, every time I have to turn my head, wondering if any of my flatmates have had some sort of ugly accident. But, of course, it's just his crazed percussion.

Beware of the police at the station. They don't look friendly, methinks.

New Rules

2005-09-06T12:58:00.000+02:00

These people should be shot at birth: People who don't clean up their own mess while living with others. People who work with political advertising. Newspaper editors (and journalists) who treat their readers like kids. I'm tempted to put people in general in this category, but I won't. For now.

The election's closing in, and I've just had my eyebrows waxed. I think that about sums up the general level of political consciousness in Norway. Still, it looks like the left will finally have their day, but of course, it's a left with adjustments (which means, basically, that the largest coalition party is nowhere near the left side of the political asshole-line). Even so, if they get the majority of representatives (in the Storting? Big thing? Unsure of the english term there) we might (I repeat, might) end up with a country that won't sicken me to death before I hit thirty. I suppose the decent thing to do is to encourage people to vote, to have their say no matter what their opinions are. But I'm anything but decent. Here's my advice: Vote for the socialist party, and tie everyone who's planning to do otherwise to a table come election day. Remember that other people actually do exist, and aren't just dreams to be used for your own benefit (as the right-wing parties seem to think). And if you think that's un-democratic or some such nonsense, try this thought on for size: Would you rather that other people voted for their own benefit, or for yours? Socialism is the new sliced bread, make it happen people. I believe in you, just this once.

Some words of wisdom in closing: The earth revolves around the sun. You are not the sun.

Some (hopefully) well-known news

2005-09-01T10:45:00.000+02:00

In case you haven't followed the news lately (like, I'm ashamed to say, myself), here's a comment on the latest natural disaster to rock the world. I'm not going to make jokes about it, not because I'm in love with the U.S but because as always, it's the poor and the so-called "unfortunate" who suffers. Also, I strongly doubt even the most zealous islamic extremist hates New Orleans. To me, at least, it's always seemed like one of the best things the country of brutes have going for them. And now this. Damn shame's what it is.

Of course, the bastards overseas aren't alone in experiencing tragedies. If we're talking death toll, then Baghdad beats them easy. It's so sad when events like these are simplified for political use. Note to world leaders: Ya can't blame it all on terrorists, fuckers.

One last word: If you thought this post was terribly boring and wonder when there will be more fun and less depressing news, then close your eyes and try to make thoughts in your sad, mis-shaped head for once.
Don't get me wrong, fun will be had by all, eventually. After all, fun's the drug that keeps our heads from exploding while we're watching the world get fucked, right?

Morning blues

2005-08-30T09:41:00.000+02:00

Today, it is tuesday. The traditional sunday fear and loathing should have gone by now. There is not even the slightest possibility that any alcohol at all still resides in my body. Yet it's there, barely, peeking out from beneath my inner eye. And I blame it all on this: Lack of sleep. I live in an environment severely hostile towards sleep. I'm not the kind of person who's able to sleep seven or eight hours a night and still bounce about like a bumblebee on speed. I really need to do something about my curtain-thingy.

But aside from that, I'm thinking it's about time to stop writing about my mundane everyday experiences. After all, I'm here for your entertainment, since you're all too lazy to step away from your computer. So I'll try to update more often, my social life be damned. But right now, I've got to prepare for two brutal hours of lecture at the university. Oops. I did it again, it would seem. Ponder this while I'm gone: Yesterday I saw a man with boobs, and he wasn't even fat. Scary.

On bodily fluids and IKEA

2005-08-18T11:09:00.000+02:00

Alright all you dimwitted leprechauns, this is the shit: I am now wireless, moneyless and I have the ability to actually talk into my mobile. Also, I have furniture. Hurray for me! Due to an ill-timed sickness, however, I've been unable to do anything the last couple of days without sprouting goo from my nose all the time. Which includes two quite traumatic visits to IKEA, only one of which resulted in the actual buying of furniture, and the assembly of said furniture.

As for the collective, our actions this last week can perhaps best be likened to those of a headless chicken arguing with itself. Not very coordinated, to say the least. Which brings me to my next point: One of my housemates (the one who most likely infected me with her evil bacteria) wanted to be mentioned in this blog (perhaps expecting something cute? But perhaps not), so here goes my first co-resident presentation: Don't let the sweet looks fool you, this one's a spankin' dominatrix, only without all the leather. Her hobbies probably includes barbecuing cute animals and small boys while laughing maniacally. She was last seen complaining over something. All in all, she's one of the nicer girls out there.

Not much time for spelunking around the internet lately, but I do have one tiny link for you all to check out. Here you will find some music made by an old schoolmate of mine, enjoy.

The Imaginary Death of a Salesman

2005-08-12T12:27:00.000+02:00

I hate my job. Now, I'm not too thrilled about working in general, but the reason I hate this job so much is simple: I despise people. They're rude, they're foul-smelling, and now I even have to talk to them and put up with all their poison and filth in order to earn money. It's degrading, it is. Of course I mention this only because I had my first headbutt with a tremendously moronic customer (or not, as it were) tuesday. He was pill-poppingly angry at me for some reason, and as such proceeded to yell at me and call me names. Boo hoo. Well, here's what I couldn't say on the phone, but would have loved to:

Dear Moronic Customer: First of all, learn to speak in such a way that people will be able to understand what you are saying. Second, shut the fuck up. I understand that you're confused and have trouble interacting with other human beings, I just don't care. If you're so miserable you have to unload on people doing their job, maybe you should consider getting a divorce. Or a cat if you're single, which I very much suspect is the case. Either way, here's a tip on dealing with people selling you stuff you don't want: Just Say No (Actually, this I did say on the phone). It makes your life easier, and it sure as hell makes me less destructive. (End of rant)

The other day I saw a "Non-stop Delivery" car stopping at a red light, and found it amusing.

Learn skiing for FREE (but not here)

2005-08-05T12:39:00.000+02:00

Now I've officially settled in my new apartment. Not all residents are present, however, so the big, juicy conflicts haven't reared their heads just yet. I did encounter a problem in my room, namely that the curtain-thingy refused to stay down, but that was fixed rather quickly with some tape and a skiing accessory. Tell me, what can't some skiing equipment and a little bit of ingenuity fix? Hell if I know.
Although, I imagine if someone falls down the somewhat steep stairs that connects our living room and kitchen, I imagine it'll take more than a couple of slalom boots to fix them up.

Fun fact: According to Wikipedia, skiing was pronounced "she-ing", from Norwegian, in the early 20th century. Oh, alright, maybe the fact wasn't quite as fun as I led on, but who said you're supposed to have fun while learning anyway? You spoiled bastards.

Currently listening to Herbie Hancocks Head Hunters, which is annoying the hell out of one of my housemates. Heh, heh. The simple joys of everyday life..

Last Call

2005-07-30T16:41:00.000+02:00

Now I'm sitting in my soon-to-be-ex-apartment, listening to Gorillaz using only the speakers God (AKA Dell) gave my laptop. In a way it reminds me of the music from older, PC speaker-only games, only a bit too rich for it's own good. But anyway, tomorrow I have to return my keys, so now I'm picking up the few pieces left and dragging them to my new apartment, which is rather nice. The biggest drawback is the internet situation, which remains somewhat unclear for the time being. So don't expect any immediate updates (not that you did anyway, right?), but make sure to check back in a week or so.

Thought of the day: Just because we think we exist, does that make it true? I know, I know, it's not the most original idea, but I have to leave you bastards with something until I return, right? 'Cause return I shall, and an impact on the world it will have. Maybe just a small impact, extremely tiny even, but hey, I'll take whatever I can get.

What Women Want (with no Mel Gibson in sight, thank Monkey)

2005-07-22T21:36:00.000+02:00

I'm finished with my first week (AKA 2 days) at work and have become immensely tired. Alright, so work in general is exhausting, I get that. But can someone please tell me why, after sitting down for several hours, I'm tired in my legs? To me, at least, that doesn't make a goddamn lick of sense. But then again, I don't feel very bright after repeating the same sentences 69 times.

Also, after spending my breaks at work with mostly girls today, I can proudly say that I've uncovered the truth about women. Yes, gentlemen, I have solved the puzzle which men worldwide have tried to crack throughout all of history. Actually, it's dissappoitingly simple, and I know some of you will smack your foreheads in a minute and cry out "Of course! I knew it!". Which of course you didn't, but that's OK. So now, let me give all of you the answer to the question 'what are women thinking'..

I hope you're paying attention? Good, 'cause here it comes:

Cock.

No need to thank me (although some money would be nice). Just venture out into the great ole world, armed to the teeth with this new, not-so-revolutionary knowledge, and give them what they want. And then all wars will end, and everyone will live happily for the rest of the weekend.

As for me, I have some serious relaxing to do. I think I can hear Knights of the Old Republic calling in the distance.. calling for some brave soul to step up and destroy the whole fucking universe. Today, I'm that soul, so pray for your loved ones before Darth Sleeper comes knocking.

MOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! (or, if you prefer, ROFL)

Back! And with a new, exciting link

2005-07-21T14:57:00.000+02:00

Whaddya know? Now I'm a bastard and getting paid for it. If I call you, please don't hang up. Because I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime..

..or something. Anyways, I've joined the evil ranks of telemarketers now, and although it's not the lowest of the low (it's for a good cause. No, really) it's not exactly the most honorable of professions. But did I mention that it's for a good cause? Besides the fact that I, too, need to eat, I mean.

Before I run, let me welcome the new link to the left, which leads to Bobleboks, an illustration and design company. It's a very small company, but since when did size matter anyway? The owner (and only employee) is a friend of mine, and he assures me he's not into heavy drugs (well, actually I never asked), despite evidence to the contrary. Have a look for yourself, it's mighty fine work.

And so it came to pass that I really had to get ready for work. But rest assured, from now on I'll do a better job at updating this blog. Really, I promise. You've got it in writing now. And as we all know, when something is in writing, it must be true.

Life, or something similar

2005-07-11T00:31:00.000+02:00

Just thought I should chime in, since it's been awhile. I'm back, and I'm mostly unharmed. My vacation, in brief: The reunion was disappointingly uneventful. Sure, people disappeared mysteriously and neighbours reported strange lights in the sky, but you know.. there just wasn't any action. It was nice and all, but nothing worth reporting, or even exaggerating. So there.

I am planning to write something rude about Bob Geldof and his grandmother, so there's always a chance I might do that. Also: Finally saw brazilian masterpiece City of God, which you should go see immediately. Spent eleven straight hours watching the American remake of the Kingdom, which you don't really need to see. And I had another rather brutal confrontation with Mother Nature. More on that later. Probably.

I also watched a number of movies (none of them porn) and learned this: Where I'm from, people are so bored, they torture each other for fun (link in Norwegian). Or they torture others, anyway. Ladies and gents, I present to you: Humanity! (mild, unimpressed applause)

Like that big man with the missing brain says, "I'll be back". And soon.

Who you callin' a fat cow?

2005-06-30T23:13:00.000+02:00

Mother Nature Strikes Again! A ladder was mercilessly attacked by a cow yesterday. If, by some strange twist of fate, you don't understand Norwegian, here's the gist of it:
A hired Lithuanian was innocently painting a house (what kind of house? It doesn't say) when the cow known as Monkey (lie) pushed the ladder he was on top of (but not in a sexual way, he claims), causing the man to break both his wrists. He explained what had happened by waving his limp hands around (a sight I would pay dearly to see) since he spoke neither English nor Norwegian. Noone knows what trauma the ladder suffers as a result of this. The police are holding the cow in custody, but have yet to extract a motive. Then again, they're not reading this blog. 'Cause you and I know what happened, don't we? Oh yes we do.

On a completely different note, I'm leaving my dirty den for an unknown amount of time, which means I probably won't update much during next week. Although, if the 5-year high-school anniversary I'm going to turns crazy I might drop a few lines. You just never know.

Also, 'Don't Get Lost in Heaven' has now officially replaced 'Fire Coming Out of the Monkey's Head' as my favourite 'Demon Days' track.

Interview With the Vampyre

2005-06-29T13:50:00.000+02:00

Let's talk job interviews. My first meeting with this oh-so-crucial aspect of modern civilization was a few weeks ago, as previously mentioned. Then, all of a sudden, I've had three more in the last two days. Now, while today's interview was a quite uplifting affair, the two I had yesterday, both for telemarketing companies, struck me as rather bizarre. Let me count the ways..

The first one was strange in how the interviewers, a man and a woman, had clearly assigned roles. I felt like I was being interrogated, left in a small room, refused water (although in truth, I never asked), and being constantly cross-examined. First off, the man (bad cop) would ask me some questions about my background, personal qualifications and motivation for taking the job. Then he left, and the woman (good cop) came in, asking all sorts of relevant and irrelevant questions, including those I had already been asked, in a friendly manner. About 45 minutes later, another switch.
Bad Cop returned with mostly excactly the same questions, only this time he was quite a bit more aggressive in tone. How many times do I have to say why I want the job, anyway? In the end I felt like shouting out "the money! I'm here for the goddamn money!" but never did.

And yet, despite the 'bad NYPD Blue episode' feel of the whole situation, it was a lot more of an actual interview than the next one. The next one was, you see, something as utterly pointless as a group interview. Me and about nine other people were sitting around a table, trying to resist the urge to masturbate and wondering if that would get us the job. We also had a mini-discussion, regarding Norway's flabby royal line and whether they should be brutally executed or not (I had to argue not, unfortunately). In the end I can't really see what information the Potential Employers could possibly get about us as individuals, but then again, there is no 'I' in 'telemarketing'. Wait, there is. My bad.

Oh, and both interviews lasted for at least one hour. Which is at least 20 minutes too much for a part-time job. No offense meant (take note, because I rarely mean little or no offense), but you Potential Employers really need to ease up a bit. You won't know if someone is fit for the job until they've tried it, no matter how many suits they wear and how much damage their hair is doing to the ozone layer.
About the last interview, however, I've got nothing but good things to say. And so I won't say it, since I know how easily bored you people are.

Fire Coming Out of the Monkey's Head

2005-06-27T16:00:00.000+02:00

I have been meaning to write a mini-review of Gorillaz' latest, Demon Days, but have come to the conclusion that it's pointless. I am able to talk about music for some time, but don't have much love for over-analyzers. There's not much to say about the album, really, other than this: If you have the slightest love for music (and I know people who don't), stop masturbating at once and go buy it. Or go buy it when you're done, I guess that's OK as well. Don't even try downloading it (at least not illegally), because the mountain known as Monkey will know.

Yesterday, I overheard a kid singing ABBA while on the toilet. It was somewhat disturbing, but also tells you everything you need to know about their 'music'.

The mountain has spoken.

Fix up, look sharp

2005-06-24T18:20:00.000+02:00

Just some words of wisdom: Having no money with which to buy food and assorted edibles sucks. But having no money with which to buy tobacco sucks more.

Also feeling friendly today, so here's a warning: Wes Cravens latest horror (and I don't mean that it's scary), 'Cursed', is not worth your money. It's not even worth your toenail clippings. Trust me, it's not funny or ironic, and it's about as intelligent as my slippers. The acting, meanwhile, would make Ed Wood proud.

Todays nerdspeak: D1zz33 Rasc4l pwns.

Stars. Also, Wars.

2005-06-23T16:02:00.000+02:00

Haven't posted in almost a week now. But remember, a true blogger never blogs when he hasn't got anything to blog about.

OK, that one was weak, I admit. You want to hear the somewhat embarassing truth? It's all George Lucas' fault. Well, not really. But my soul has been officially sucked into his blasted sci-fi fantasy universe, and the dirty soulsucker is titled Knights of the Old Republic (a somewhat silly name, I know). Here, the player finally gets a chance to become a true Jedi!
...
Like we've never played a jedi before. Bah, the premise is just as hokey as all the other Star Wars games (I think there's about 335325 SW games on the market now, and tomorrow LucasArts is releasing 750 more, including "Wookie vs. TIE Fighter" and "Sexy Hutts through history: wallpaper collection") but THIS game has been consumed by the Dark Side. It practically terminates your social life as you once knew it. Also, it makes your skin paler, you'll become skinnier, smell fouler and develop several eye diseases from lack of sleep.
What I'm trying to say is, it's fantastic. Hey, at least it's not WoW. One day I'll finish it, maybe even twice, and then I can resume my real life functions.

In other news: Well how the fuck should I know? You were skipping paragraphs again, weren't you?