Friday, June 30, 2006

Pray for our souls

But we need empty bottles

Since we're both working there'll be no vacation for the SHÄDY ÄCRES staff this summer. That's why we're planning a little island getaway this weekend with a handful of friends and co-conspirators. We promise to return on sunday with a tan/more freckles and pictures from our boating expeditions.

REMEMBER: If you're leaving for the summer, you don't have to change your subscription to this blögzine. The interknit will find you.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

This is an authentic statement

Cheap thrills

So I got a little lost in the sauce again yesterday. I was hanging out at the tiny bar I like, minding my own business, and suddenly the drinks just jumped me. It all happened so fast, it’s like a blur. I was busy with a little bitter dram that I’ll be honest and say I drink for purely sentimental reasons, but then the nice bargirl introduced me to a dark, Jamaican rum that I instantly developed a crush on.

One thing led to another. For a while I was tempted to hook up with that cheap bourbon I have been breaking up with for years, but I figured my high maintenance Islay single malt would get jealous.

I am such a slut with my drinks. Tequila broke my heart, and I’ve had to learn the hard way that gin just wants my body. Don’t get me started on vodka. Why, oh why do I never learn? In my heart I know I will always love the golden lady of the barley. God, I’m getting thirsty just thinking about her. I mean it.

Breaking news

There is a right way and a wrong way to wash a spoon.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

And then, in that light, I saw Katla

A while ago I was reading The Brothers Lionheart to the kid, and it was still as powerful a story as when it was first read to me, many years ago. I’m not ashamed to say I cried like a little girl.

This is one of the truly great children’s books, maybe the best one ever written. If you haven’t read it you should run out and buy it right now: The Brothers Lionheart, written by Astrid Lindgren and illustrated by Ilon Wiklund.

(But I don’t have any children to read it to, you say. Well, this would be a great time to think about adoption. Or you can buy an orphan on the black market.)

As children’s books come, this is a rough one: The boy Scotty is very sick. To comfort him his older brother Jonathan tells him about Nangiyala, a saga land on the other side of the stars. It’ll be much worse for me, Jonathan says, I’ll be left here on earth without you.

As it turns out it’s the other way around. Jonathan dies throwing himself out of a window to save Scotty from a fire in their tenement building. A few months later Scotty dies too, and the two brothers reunite.

Nangiyala seems like a happy fairytale land at first. The two brothers live in a small house outside the village, among the trees and blossoms of Cherry Valley. They go fishing by the creek and ride their horses through the woods. The people of the village love them.

But Scotty keeps hearing dark rumors of another valley, over the mountains, a coming danger that threatens their peaceful days. It seems the people of Wild Rose Valley have been enslaved by Tengle the usurper, and Katla, the primeval she-dragon that he has tamed.

Eventually the brothers are thrown into the battle to free Wild Rose Valley from the tyrant, the central conflict of the story. They must journey into a land of darkness and slavery to rescue Orvar, the imprisoned resistance leader.

As they return to Wild Rose Valley, Orvar, more dead than alive but burning with fury, immediately sets to work organizing his great rebellion. On the eve of battle the brothers are present at his secret war counsel:
Then he talked again of how they would quickly have to liberate the valley from every one of Tengle’s men, and Jonathan said:
"Liberate? You mean kill?"
"Yes, what else would I mean," said Orvar.
"But I can’t kill anybody," said Jonathan, "You know that, Orvar!"
"Not even if it was to save you own life?" asked Orvar.
"No, not even then," said Jonathan.
Orvar could not understand this, and neither could Matias, it seemed.
"If everyone was like that," said Orvar, "then evil would be able to rule for all eternity."
But then I told him that if everyone was like Jonathan, there wouldn’t be any evil.
This is the great riddle at the heart of this story. I have been mulling it over in my mind for years.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Monday morning

This is the plan: I'll sleep a few hours, hopefully wake up tolerably refreshed, shower, maybe even shave, get dressed, get drunk. Let me check my schedule: Yup, that's all it says. If you want you can come along - but I'm warning you: My horoscope says I'm a little intense today. That's the kind of guy I am. The last of the famous international playboys. Yes sir.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Things I hate about housework

1. Vacuuming
2. Folding clothes
3. Taking the garbage out
4. Cleaning the dishes
5. Tidying
6. Tidying
7. Tidying
8. Tidying
9. Tidying
10. Always being the one to change the toiletpaper

Sunday quiz


Saturday, June 24, 2006

An imitation coin or token

At 8000 hits, this blögzine becomes an agent of desire. Our subtle strategies of seduction endeavor to entangle you, our audience, in your own petty voyeurism.

What we want you to learn from this is that the engines of Finnmärck are fueled by your cravings. You, and you alone, are the cause of every repressive depiction we offer you.

This is the oldest trick in the book; if we fall short, you are at fault.

I'm full of ideas and 65% water

* Carry a goth theme for a while; change layout to red on black, take emo pictures of self with runny eyeliner and write poetry about ängst and dragons.

* An absurdly lengthy photo reportage about my new hat. Interview strangers about it on the street.

* A World Cup sports column wherein I review armed conflicts instead of soccer matches. Israel vs. Palestine, Somalia vs. Somalia, USA vs. Terror and so on. Use weak metaphors like "coach", "foul" and "red card".

* Send an item back and forth through the mail, like an action figure on vacation, have people in different parts of the world take pictures of it doing cool stuff. It could even be a giraffe, I don’t know. Maybe this is lame.

* Declare total war on another blogger, like the anonymous crypto-fascist who got so scared of my one comment that he blocked my IP-address. Do it in some sneaky way that can’t be blocked or traced to here. Hammer him every day until he commits suicide.

* Start some sort of campaign where everybody has to send us small items and then we redistribute them according to our whims. My instinct says "panties" but my transcendent faculties say, "gross" and "don’t milk a dead cow unless you like cold milk", to which my instinct replies, "what the hell does that mean?".

* Stalk one of our local readers, take stealthy paparazzi pictures of them, go through their trash, maybe even do a bit of the old B & E. This is not a bad idea actually.

* Make a travel brochure about our bathroom. I could cram all our potted plants in there to make it more exotic.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Globes for everyone!

Do you want to be the first kid on your block to own your own stylish, rotating SHÄDY ÄCRES globe?
Well, I think I figured out how to do it. I do after all hold a doctorate in Panty Studies. Simply copy this text to your template, preferably in as many different places as possible:

(This is not mandatory, by the way. The SHÄDY ÄCRES globe is only available in white and it may cause epilepsy)

Thursday, June 22, 2006

It's my birthday

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

13 weeks

It's bigger than it looks.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Be merry, my friends, be merry

There was a death at my workplace today. I can’t say much about it, and I wouldn’t even if I could. An untimely death is always a hideous tragedy. In the words of Paul Auster: "Death lives inside you, eating away at your innocence and your hope, and in the end you’re left with nothing but the dirt, the solidity of the dirt, the everlasting power and triumph of the dirt."

Governess spank cane

The creative genius behind this presentation would like to thank Jon the advertising guy.

Dear diary

Today in the laundry room I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and afterwards I had this 40.000 years old dream. What does it mean?

Monday, June 19, 2006

Land of milk and sausages

It’s five thirty on a monday morning and I have something important to tell you: Milk is good for you. Especially if you’ve been out with your friend the art director and he talked you into eating a kebab.

We were at the bar where we go to look at the younger people, and it was empty except for this Asian girl at the next table who kept complaining that the shawarma place was closing. So we went there and it was empty except for the surly Kurd who runs it.

I had the mergaz sausage thing, and on our way out I asked the Kurd if it was true that they were closing. He gave me a long look of exasperation and said: "No. No. We just had to get a new sink, OK?" That's my entire night out, right there.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Speaking of barrel-shaped cheese

"I never truckled; I never took off the hat to Fashion and held it out for pennies. By God, I told them the truth. They liked it or they didn't like it. What had that to do with me? I told them the truth; I knew it for the truth then, and I know it for the truth now."
(Frank Norris)

Saturday, June 17, 2006

V is for vomit

Damned and blast. Last week, a tourist cruiseship arrived here with a vomit virus epedemic raging onboard, which they accidentally failed to report to the local health authorities. For the past 24 hrs+, I have been pinned down, with a temperature of 39 degrees (f 102), absolutely spewing my guts out. I even had to sleep on the bathroom floor, head next to the toilet because the bed felt to soft and was making me feel even more sick. Unfortunately, this stage of pregnancy allows me to smell everything. I can still catch whiffs of last weeks dinners way after everything has been cleaned and thrown out. Thus, I woke up yesterday at 04.30, after having dreamt a very repetetive dream about big bellies that had to be strapped in, by the smell of my otherwise brand new pillow. Suddenly I can't sleep because it smells. The smell of brand new goosedown keeping you awake? Not to mention the thaifood I cooked last week. I can still smell it and it's making me sick.

More love or re-education camp

This post contains nothing but garbage.

These snippets are all the posts that were saved as drafts, every stinking one of them since we started. They were either forgotten, abandoned or we ran them and then pulled them for some reason or other. Some of them are roughs, some are just pictures, some consist of nothing but a headline.

But they have one thing in common: As you are about to find out, they all suck.

More love or re-education camp
A Comparative Investigation of Reward and Punishment.

This is a bi-monthly regular with an academic profile. The idea is to compare two individuals for the purpose of investigating whether it would be more rehabilitating to send them to a full-scale totalitarian re-education camp a la the Gulag, or whether a mere healthy amount of love would suffice.

This week: Britney Spears vs Madonna

Camping with insane junkie murderers
I once went camping in Berlin, right across the stinky murky river that divides old East Berlin and Kreuzberg - at East Side Gallery. It was 1995, and there were still remnants of the wall left, we camped within the confines of these. As it were, I was staying nights in a campervan with two kids, one woman, the occasional nun, and two heroin abusers.

I really started to hate them when I found out they had used my book 'Papillion' to light a fire.

How you feel


I have a question.

I once lived
I once lived with my dreaded landlady, Di in Cornwall. To make a long story short, I really love her.

How to survive the holidays
1) Make sure your family is out of town or leave yourself.
2) Alternatively, make sure to drink more than they do.
3) Surprise the fuck outta those bastards.

The dreaded landlady
I moved to England to study, because it was the only country I could get into uni without actually having gone to highschool. In fact, I am proud to have a university degree without ever having done those obligatory three years of tedious trivial pursuit school. The only reason why we have them, I believe, is to keep young people from realising that drugs and not working can be a fulfilling pastime.

But that's besides the point. Time is due for a short story of the bog-ish variety. It's about the time when Diane my dying landlady and I, spiked the drink of our local gourmet restaurant owner.

Diane is a long story and a truly wonderful woman. However, to cut the story a little shorter, Di was diagnosed with a fatal disease way back in 1985, and was told that she had no more than five years left to live. Shit, Di thought, and decided to organise her mortgage and economy in terms of that verdict, meaning that everything would be ok for her daughter when she died around 1990. Until then, she decided, I'm going to party my little arse off. Which she did. Only she didn't die.

I came to live with her as a lodger in 1998, at which point she was still partying, but had ran out of cash. We bonded instantaneously.

Our main trick was to go out together, because all the guys who wanted to talk to me would have to buy both of us a drink. Later, she would cook the two of us fabulous French meals and reminisce about being a painter in Crete and Paris. We had a stuffed crocodile in the kitchen called Eric, and she knew all the stranger characters of the district (there is a lesbian horse named after me, but that's another story).

Anyway, one day, I had gotten hold of some liquid amphetamine, stuff that'll keep you awake and gritting your teeth for days. The local restauranteur came sniffing around and invited us for a red wine lunch, his plan being to get into my pants, of course. Well, can't blame a guy for trying, but he really must have regretted this later.

We drank quite a bit of wine and spiked his drink. Yes, it was evil. He became megalomanic, and invited us to his restaurant where we ordered pheasant and champagne. Actually, I sent the pheasant back to the kitchen and ordered more champagne. We drank champagne until we felt ill and went home and drank more, since we couldn't sleep.

That darn giraffe This is the last one, I promiseIs there a life before death? A quiz.

a) Do you sometimes imagine your mother's funeral in order to check if you feel anything?
1. Yes
2. No
3. Certainly

b) Do you ever fantasize about having wild sex with your grandparents in order to get properly off?
1. Often
2. Once
3. Never

c) What would your best revenge scenario fantasy include?
1. Talking back to someone who offended you
2. A full-scale revolution, complete with genocide or the like
3. Cleaning the toilet with your room mate's toothbrush


Post-holiday psychosis

Forgotten segments

No Inuits were harmed during this experiment.

New Deal

What do you take us for - fools?
Imposter! While it is a well known fact that Prince Vidkun has a birthmark on the left buttock, his twin sister has hers on the right. You are so busted.

Time: 01:02:03 Date:04/05/06

We don't usually do this, but hey

"Anyone who wants to identify similarities between the current administration and true Fascism will have to specify exactly what's fascist about Bush and the Republicans.

This is not a trivial task. However, I believe there's a very strong case to be made.

I'm NOT saying that we have a fascist government in America today. The United States is a democracy, we still have a free press, and the armed forces haven't acquiesced to the one-man rule of George W. Bush. I'm not claiming that it's inevitable, or even especially likely, that America will eventually become a full-blown fascist state. I'm certainly not saying that anyone in power today is consciously striving to create a full-fledged fascist dictatorship on the model of Mussolini's Italy or Franco's Spain.

What I am saying is that the Bush administration has embraced many of the key mutually-reinforcing ideological tenets of Fascism: militarism, imperialism, corporate statism, state-sponsored religion, male dominance, irrationalism, and mass propaganda."

Maybe the worst pop song ever
(We want) the same thing by Belinda Carlisle.

Thursday, June 15, 2006


Our original plan was to destroy Denver. But Denver will be nothing compared to the plans we have for our new capital. We will build the greatest city in the history of the world. And Lasse Schelde will help us.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Time to choose