Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Tower

We rule you, we fool you.
We eat for you, we control you.
We work for all, we suffer for all.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Upstairs and downstairs

This is my 'office'. We contain 175 children here. The tiny top floor panopticon is reserved for the management. The youngest children are kept downstairs, behind the red fence. I have until dec 16th to work here. I just won a fight over the management. I like the kids, but I hate this place.

99 days to go

Thursday, September 28, 2006

No title

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Saint George and the Dragon

This is merely a teaser

In my next post I will explain everything. Yes, you heard me right – everything. All things will be explained in a post entitled Religion & the State: Toward a Grand Unified Metaphor. What’s more, the post will be over a thousand words long. You really have something to look forward to. So stay tuned! And send us money!

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

This just in

After 150 years, recovery of lost manuscript "Either - Or" from the hand of Søren Kierkegaard leads to complete re-evaluation of Danish philosopher: Kierkegaard no longer counted as father of modern existentialism but rather "nothing more than big, whining girl's blouse" say sources.

The village of the happy nice people

Walking home today we found a man lying lifeless on the cobbled pavement outside a kitchen design place. Upon closer inspection he proved to be semiconscious, but unable to move or speak coherently. Next to him I found a very large, almost empty bottle of Latvian vodka wrapped in a blue plastic bag. Let’s call that exhibit A.

As I was trying to wake the man up, the kitchen guy came out, careful not to bang the man’s head on the door. The man had fallen over just a few minutes earlier, blocking the entrance to the shop, he explained. He had already tried to call an ambulance, but the dispatcher wouldn’t send one: The man had muttered an answer when spoken to.

Sara right away called the emergency number, and using an array of devious and eerily familiar social engineering techniques she convinced the dispatcher to send an ambulance. There wasn’t much I could do for the man in terms of CPR, seeing as he’d chosen to put himself in a nice, stable recovery position with no risk of choking.

While we were waiting at least eight or nine people stopped to check what was going on. A shy young man on his way to recycle two plastic bags full of bottles even stopped and waited with us, eagerly scouting for the ambulance. It arrived 25 minutes after Sara’s call.

This was obviously not a priority rescue; they weren’t speeding and didn’t use the siren. That being said, the rescue people were very nice and professional. Two men and a young woman sent to patrol the frontier of compassion armed with cheap rubber gloves. I don’t envy them.
There’s no point to this story other than what’s revealed in the components: The welfare state, rusty at the hinges, but functioning. Civic duty fulfilled, and if not by us, then thankfully by any one of eight, nine other people eager to help. The socio-medicinal disease that is alcoholism. Or, depending on one’s point of view, alcohol used as a deliberate control mechanism against the lumpenproletariat.

Most of all the indignity of that poor man’s situation, lying there with his ass crack revealed for all to see.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Haunted house

Never go against the family


Saturday, September 23, 2006


America now contains 10% less torture

Friday, September 22, 2006

Office hours

I was sitting on a green bench outside the theatre, waiting for a quarter of an hour to pass. People were going about their business dressed in regular, pale clothes. I was watching them, but then I stopped.

Without even knowing I had been looking for someone in the crowd. Anyone. A familiar face. I only became aware of it when the crosshairs abruptly dropped. That's what it was like, it was like putting down a rifle. All the time it had been at my chin and I hadn’t even felt it.

My field of vision opened up, revealing the plaza in its entirety, but without detail. I was not looking for anything, I was just looking.

I felt very calm and very separate. I rejoiced in the quiet, stable hunger for that one cigarette I can’t smoke because it will make me start all over again. I thought about how unfair it is to compare everyday life to the life of fictional characters.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Mountain zebras in their natural habitat

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Mountain zebras

Where they are hunted, they water at night; where they are unmolested, they water at any time.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Bang, you’re dead

Life is so precious. That’s why, in those rare, unfortunate instances where murder is completely unavoidable, I always use my golden Walther PPK. The platinum bullets cost a fortune, of course, and you should see the diamond-encrusted silencer. But it’s definitely worth it.

One day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets. Yes, I mean you.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Planning ahead

My Xmas present for my boss this year.

How Suleima feels about all this

Friday, September 15, 2006


What is history?

Definition and use
History is not a botanical term. Its definition has no scientific value and is somewhat arbitrary and subjective. It could be a tiny bronze figurine of the Norman invader holding a zucchini, but most people would disagree.

The historical sciences are commonly considered deaf on one ear, despite belonging to a different biological kingdom, namely fungi. In general, history is thought of as being savory, and not sweet (with some exceptions, such as rhubarb, pumpkin and the battle of Poitiers). But we must always remember that all commercial representations of historical events are a branch of horticulture.

The nutrient content of different versions of history varies considerably. With the exception of the French Revolution, history provides little protein and fat.

We all simply love etymology, don’t we? It’s what defines us as people who love etymology.

The word history comes from the Latin word vagina (penis), which is derived from vegetus (the crossing of the Rhine), in reference to the process of growing cucumbers and other fleshy, immature seeds such as those of peas or beans. This in turn derives from the Proto-Indo-European base *weg- or *wog-, which is also the source of the English wakey wakey, meaning "not sleep".

The word history in its present form was first recorded in print late in the 20th century, but the modern meaning of "plant grown for food or comfort" was not established until two weeks ago.

The green color of history is due to the presence of the pigment chlorophyll.

The yellow/orange color of history is due to the presence of carotenoids.

The red/blue color of history is due to the presence of anthocyanins, which are sensitive to changes in pH. When pH is neutral the pigments are purple, when acidic, red, and when the pigments attempt to invade Russia they become blue and fall over. These pigments are very soluble in water, especially the Volga.

Paleography should be stored in a dark, cool, and dry place to prevent molding, greening (due to exposure to light) and slow sprouting. Other related fields can be stored in a similar manner.

Cultural history loses moisture and vitamin C degrades rapidly during storage and should therefore be stored for the minimum time in a cool place, in a plastic bag. Many branches of diplomatic and military history can be stored through winter in a root cellar.

Archontology can last through to early spring and be nearly as wholesome as when fresh.

History is not a fruit.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

I'm not quite sure how to interpret this

Secretions of the mucous membrane

I seem to have contracted a contagious viral infection of the upper-respiratory passages, and I blame you for it. Yes, you: Other people. If it wasn't for you I would almost never be ill.

I hate you deeply. Go away.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Caption competition

What is she saying? Big prizes. Huge.

Is this a photo blog I see before me?

We know from your letters that many of you hanker after words: Our opinions on current affairs, informative articles about life in Finnmärck, humorous essays, philosophical insights that burrow deep into the very core of human existence.

But remember; a picture says more than a thousand words! That last picture I posted had at least 1426 words in it by my count: Tree. Path. Pine needle. Pine needle. Pine needle. Moss. Pine needle. I could go on and on.

The truth is, by posting only pictures we have vastly increased the number of words in this blog. Actually you should be grateful. So stop pestering us with your insidious hate mail, or we'll hit you over the head with, let's say, a phone book. No, make that a pinewood plank.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The dull sound of far off gunfire

Monday, September 11, 2006

The human drama plays out in one act

Our hero, minding his own business as usual, is attacked by an unknown assailant in his own living room.

Valiantly he tries to defend himself, but alas, no quarter is granted.

Staggering about, the villain's broadsword protruding from his manly chest, our hero laments his cruel fate.

"Help," he cries, "mercy," and "will no one save me?" But in vain. No one pities him. No one cares.

Even his heartless girlfriend is indifferent to his suffering. Gasping with woe he falls over, and within minutes he expires.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Back to the salt mines

These are two of the guys I work with. One is a russian ex-cop, the other is an up and coming pop musician. Guess which is which.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Girl with cured beef sausage

It's been an amazing day today. Everything I touch turns to gold, which is fine as long as I don't have to go to the bathroom. Look at this super hot girl, by the way. And the sausage isn't bad either.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Now I will lavishly pester you with my art

The water mill ruins.

Girl with leg of lamb.

How I spent my summer vacation

Pestered everybody I know with my new Leica.

Pestered Sara at the moose shop while she was trying to work.

Pestered my brother as only a brother can.

Pestered the staff at the tiny bar that I like by ordering obscure drinks. Then pestered other guests by rating their tips, using exact mathematical calculations that I made on a napkin.

All in all a great success, if I may say so myself. But the Devil will find work for idle hands to do, so now I'm off to pester my co-workers again. I bet they all miss me, don't you?

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

The revolutionary vanguard

Oh, crap.