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Zombie and monkey have a discussion

IM IN UR MEDIA

COVERING UP UR WAR CRIMES

På jakt etter deltidsjobb i kommunen?

The week in review

Here are some pictures of King Zog of Albania

Why? No particular reason. It's just a good name. King Zog (beat) of Albania.

Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog Zog.

I kinda miss being an anarchist

Well, it's not too late to turn back.

And for my next trick I need to borrow your eye

Homer

BBC: "-This does not mean that men who prefer Play-Doh to Plato always have poor sperm. Dr Rosalind Arden, Institute of Psychiatry."

Ekstrabladet: "Forskerne påpeger dog, at fordi man bedre forstår Homer end Hegel, er det ikke ensbetydende med, at man har dårlig sæd."

Bedre forstår Homer end Hegel?? Det var da en sær differensiering, tænkte jeg, før jeg forstod at det naturligvis var Homer Simpson der var tale om, ikke den blinde græker. Så gav det mening.

Gudskelov. Så var der ikke noget i vejen med sædkvaliteten alligevel.

Let's get a few things straight

Feite-Erna dysleksi-mobbes av SV-blogger

- Skandale, raser nazi-lesbe.

Erna Solberg skriver alle nyhetene

Viktige spørsmål

What do you get if you cross a criminal genius with a supermodel?

You get a nine year old heartbreaker. Happy birthday!

Feminism in the 21st century

Pearls of wisdom before swine of stupidity (you)

Some of you may not be fully aware of this, but I am a very wise man. I'm so full of wisdom it's hard to even describe how wise I am to ordinary people, but I'll give it a try: Have you seen that movie about the magic ring and the dwarves and the elves and the hobbits? OK. Do you remember the old guy with the beard? OK.

What about that other movie with the light sabers and the golden robot, have you seen that one? OK. Do you remember the tiny, green jedi master who makes things float in the air? OK. And do you remember Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid? Of course you do. OK. Now try to imagine those three guys, only much, much wiser and without the beards, all rolled into one super wise package. Hey, and you can put a little Mycroft Holmes in there too. Got it? Good. OK. Hold that image in your head.

Now try to imagine that your new composite super sage was raised by a pack of unbelievably sneaky arctic foxes (Alopex lagopus) in the vast alpine regions of northern Finnmärk. Imagine the small pack in danger of extinction, starving and desperate. As you may know, the abundance of arctic foxes tends to fluctuate in cycle with the lemming population, and there just aren't enough lemmings to go around.

Also, the arctic fox is losing ground to its old nemesis, the red fox, which has usurped the niche of top predator in the range ever since the gray wolf was hunted to near extinction. So you see, things are tough for the arctic fox. Things are tough all over.

The elders of the pack therefore decide to send out their sneakiest member on a quest to track the Great White Spirit Fox and hear his advice. Yes, it's the super sage, but without the beard, and in the shape of an arctic fox. Try to stay with me. So this super wise and sneaky fox tries to track the paw prints of the Great White Spirit Fox across a dreamy, arctic landscape, but for weeks and months he finds no scent.

Still he continues relentlessly, only stopping once in a while to hunt. With keen ears he locates his prey, pounces, and punches through the surface of the snow. There, a furry lemming squirms in his claws: "Please," it squeaks, "let me go and I will take you to the place you seek, I will lead you to the Hidden Den of the Great White Spirit Fox!"

He follows the lemming to the foot of a mighty, snow-clad mountain. "From here I am forbidden to go any further," the lemming squeaks, "but follow the dance of the northern lights up the mountain, to the very place from which they spring, and there you will find the Hidden Den of the Great White Spirit Fox." The fox goes on alone, how far he knows not, until he stands at the opening of a great den. He enters.

Green light shines dimly through the icy walls of endless, labyrinthine tunnels. Deeper and deeper the complex network bores into the heart of winter and cold, until finally it opens into an immense burrow. There at the end, huge and unmoving, sits the Great White Spirit Fox, with his great, bushy tail curled around him. A great spear leans against the wall of ice behind him. Reluctantly he opens a single eye to inspect the visitor.

I AM THE GREAT WHITE SPIRIT FOX, a quiet voice whispers inside the mind of the fox. YOU HAVE COME VERY FAR, LITTLE ONE, BUT I CANNOT HELP YOU. YOU MUST GO TO THE LANDS OF THE HUMANS AND SEEK OUT THE ONE THEY CALL MIKKEL; FOR HE IS THE WISEST OF ALL THE HUMANS AND INDEED ALL LIVING THINGS.

And you know what? The little arctic fox did exactly that. And I gave him my advice. I also gave him some anti-parasitic drugs to help cure his mange, which turned out to be caused by some nasty ear ticks. But that's another story.

This is my point: You should take my advice, for I am very wise, and my advice is this: Girls, for the love of God, will you please stop shaving your pussies? I don't know how the hell you got that crazy idea into your heads in the first place, but it's just not working, so stop it. It's not sexy, it looks ridiculous and it irritates the skin. Just stop it, please. Thank you. I'm glad we had this talk.

Woopdefuckingdo

So the www is 20 today, apparently. I should probably blag this on the blag. Please everyone stop what you're doing while I blag this on the interblag-faceblag-interfaceblag 3.0 twitterblag. It's called: "The random flotsam and jetsam of the musings of a ranting madman!!!!" Subtitle: "It's all about me." Happy anniversary, interblaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.

Min dag så langt:

A civilized conversation with Nadia

nadia 1:19
shall i send her a threatening letter
composed of letters clipped out of the newspaper?

mikkel 1:20
that's it!
stalk her

nadia 1:20
:)

mikkel 1:20
turn that shit around on her

nadia 1:21
i kNOw whERE U livE & iM wAtCHINg yOU

mikkel 1:21
ha ha

nadia 1:21
yOu mAKE My TItS wEt

mikkel 1:22
???

nadia 1:22
tHey R aLl wET

mikkel 1:22
ha ha
wet tits, that's funny

nadia 1:22
:D
thanks i came up with that when i was stalking someone else

Happy Girly Day!!! (sic)Gratulerer med jentedagen!!! (sic)

Hand of Fatima

They want beer

Fastland

I ask: Brother, can you spare a dime, a decimal, a decade?
And they answer always: Patience, brother, patience.
WHAT AM I? A soldier king, a veteran of countless wars,
A panhandler, a speaker of the thieves' cant, a bum?

Farewell, my island kingdom. Farewell palatial baths.
I used up all the hot water. The link that I followed
Was invalid or incomplete. My accounts were deactivated.
The laurels of my many victories were but a spice

To season that great soup: the world's ocean. I alone
have survived to mourn the loss of a fleet. From the wreckage
Of comradeship I swam, away from journeys brave and poetic,
And came here, to the Fastland, where the gods do not exist.

Perhaps I survived because I was never here to begin with.
The fear of death is the fear of my own skeleton. Pain
Is the fear of my own blood. Ghosts are scared of music,
As everyone knows, and the gods do not exist here.

And what of the Fastlanders? They take their coffee with milk
And the memory of heartbreak: I was doing fine, you see,
Before the metallic banging started. There were voices
Outside the door, voices I didn't recognise, but I knew

They had to be bastards. I tried to go back to sleep,
But they were in the room with me, tearing at my arms,
Pulling me upright. I tried to make my body heavy to discourage them, but
they had me up on my feet and I was being walked down a carpeted corridor

By two guys in cheap uniforms. They looked too young to be coppers. You could tell it was hard work, the poor bastards cursing me in some foreign language. They had to drag me up a flight of stairs and down another corridor, and I didn't make it easy for them. I could see I was on some kind of a ship, and it freaked me out. Why are you putting me on a ship, I asked. We're not, one of them answered, we're trying to get you off. Alright thanks, I said, and after a while I stopped resisting. The two stewards (they were stewards) led me to the exit ramp and handed me my tax free bag. It felt too heavy. As I started into the walkway there were black people coming the other direction, pushing little carts with mops and buckets on them. Would you mind telling me please where the fuck I am, I called out as they passed me, but the bastards wouldn't answer. This whole being on a ship business was very unexpected. The last thing I remembered, I saw myself drinking Sapporo beer in some Japanese themed place in Newcastle, pretending to have a crush on the nice redhead behind the bar to give myself an excuse. Before that was the bus ride and feeling like an eight-year-old. Further back I saw myself coming finally through the gate, a day I'd dreamt of seeing, and behind the gate, going back two and a half years in time, I saw myself immersed in the routine and sobriety of Her Majesty’s Prison Acklington. I upped the pace as I rummaged through my pockets for cigarettes, following the exit signs down a flight of stairs and into a small lobby. Going through the tax free bag I found an open carton of Pall Malls, thank Jesus, and an empty plastic bottle of Upper Ten. There was a a bundle of clothes in there too, shirt, t-shirt, a pair of socks, something rolled up in a pair of olive boxer shorts. I unrolled it and saw, holy shit, it was an automatic pistol, just as I was being

Waved over by a customs officer. Anything to declare? No nothing. I held
Out the empty bottle of whiskey and shook it, grimacing with mock pathos.
He waved me through. Excuse me, I asked, would you mind
Telling me where I am? Yes, said the customs officer,

I would. All cities in the world are built to stay
In one place, come war or dragons, even until the day
They are ruined, burned, abandoned, or swallowed by the sea.
They sit like acquisitive shopkeepers on every coastline

Of every continent, they straddle every river and crossroad
And mountain pass, taking a bite out of every apple
That passes through their gates. There are cities on islands
Far at sea, and cities hidden deep in the green jungles

And white deserts of the east, and all these cities,
Rich or poor, are built to stay in one place. But you are not
In any of those cities now, for you have come to the Fastland,
And we all know why. Yes, I said. I am come to blind the cyclops.

BT: Fokus på muslimproblemet

Bergens Tidende går foran i kampen mot snikislamifiseringen som har lammet vårt samfunn.

Legg spesielt merke til artikkelen om islamen som vil innføre sharia-steining i barnehagene.

La nå Siv få prøve seg. La nå Siv få prøve seg. La nå Siv få prøve seg.

ADDENDUM: Igjen får BT sin nett-redaksjon sagt mer enn tusen ord:

La nå Siv få prøve seg. La nå Siv få prøve seg. La nå Siv få prøve seg.

The shuttle

I grew, and my blind skeleton grew with me, out of the small pajamas.
I was blind to my skeleton's loom as he weaved his way out of the small pajamas.
I was blind to the quick of the shuttle, but I grew quick to the dead of his bones.
I was cut to the quick when I passed my thread through the dead of my skeleton's eyes.

I had to take the shuttle. I had to follow my skeleton right as he left.
I came through the warp and I followed the weft, and I saw the loom of the land.
When lastly I came to the thinnest strand, he turned to thank me for my mother's milk.
There he put on his new pajamas, and he filled his pockets with stones.

I think we have a code red, people

Dangerous militant muslims are threatening our precious culture. Look how the evil father of the family is suppressing those poor defenseless women. They're not even allowed to wear socks.

Dear God, that wicker couch is probably made out of dynamite.