Posts Tagged ‘jew’

”Where did they go?” Okie asked. “I think they went up the stairs” Teresa answered. Okie the Walrus Boy looked at her. “Why did they do that?” he asked. “Because Jesus is up there” she answered and pointed her hideous bony finger at the top of the stairs. They were brown and worn, and they smelled like burnt leaves. “W-w-w-who’s Jesus, Teresa?” the Walrus Boy stuttered, the hair on his back started to stand up. There was something eerie about the old hag, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Was she nice? Or was she bad? She sure looked evil to Okie, but she had given him a box of chocolates earlier, some very good chocolates indeed, so she couldn’t be bad. Could she? Okie had never seen a bad person give anyone any candy.

“Jesus is the son of God, my little tusky friend. He is a great man and he died for your sins” she answered. Her voice sounded like she’d just downed a handful of gravel. Harsh and unwelcome. “Don’t you want to meet Jesus, Okie?”. Okie looked up the stairs. It was dark up there. Couldn’t see a thing. Was that music coming from above? He looked back at the old woman, her hump moved with the soothing rhythm of her breath. Her breath smelled like burnt matches. She smiled at him. With her teeth. All of them. They weren’t normal. They looked a little shorter than normal and it seemed like there were twice as many as normal.

“I don’t know. He sure sounds like a nice fella” the Walrus said. “But why is he all the way up there? Can’t he come down here? The stairs look so very dangerous to step on!” Okie said. He looked in the chocolate box for the last piece of coco delight. They were all gone. “Because, my curious little friend, Jesus is old now. He was born waaaaay back, almost 2.000 years ago, and when you are 2.000 years old, you wouldn’t be happy to walk down those stairs, would you? Now get up there and say hello…”

Okie looked at the stairs again. Tiny ants crawled all the way up his spine as he took the first step. The wood started screaming as he took the next. He stopped at once: “Why are the steps screaming?” he yelled. “Those are some very old steps, young friend. Just hurry up there. Maybe I’ve got another box of candy for you if you hurry!” the old witch lured. Okie sure liked candy, and that Jesus guy did sound nice, and if he was that old, it sure would seem rude not to say hello. Not many old people tend to get visitors and all their friends are dead. Okie knew that because his great grandfather’s friends died too.

As he took the final steps towards the top of the stairs, he looked down at Teresa. It seemed that the staircase has gotten longer since he started climbing them. “Don’t you want to see Jesus too, Teresa?” The bottom of the stairs seemed so very far away that he had to yell for her to hear him.

“I will join you in a minute young lad” Why didn’t she have to yell for Okie to hear her? This was indeed a very weird house. Very weird indeed.

At the top of the stairs Okie saw a small door. It looked like a door for a dog. Not a small one, but certainly not for a big one either. He knocked three times: “Mr. Jesus? Mr. Jeeeeesus? Are you in there?” Okie didn’t get any answer; he took hold of the door knob and opened the door. He really had to squeeze his way in there.

When he got inside Okie was stunned out of his mind! The room was huge! Not just big, but really, really huge! There were at least 50 meters to the next wall and when he looked up he couldn’t see the ceiling! Never had Okie been in such a huge room before. He started to walk about. There wasn’t much to see. The walls were covered in white wallpaper with something that looked like purple flowers and the floor was made of wood, the same wood as the staircase.

A voice called out. It came from the other side of the room. Okie started to walk towards it. “Hello? Anybody there? Mr. Jesus?” he asked, hoping to get an answer. “Who’s there” the voice answered. It reminded Okie of his great grandfather just before he died. “I am here” the voice said. It sounded like whoever it belonged to where very, very tired. At the opposite side of the door he came in from, he found him. Jesus. He looked very old, after all Teresa said that he was about 2.000 years old. And that’s old. His eyes where pale and his long white hair and beard almost reached his hips. “Are you Jesus?” Okie asked. “I am Jesus Christ” Jesus answered. “What are you doing here, young boy?” he asked. The Walrus Boy tried to look him in the eye, but his wrinkles was in the way. He looked as if he was in great pain. “I came here with Teresa. She’s an old hag but she gave me chocolates, she doesn’t smell good but I think she’s nice. There were some other people too, but I don’t know where they went” the boy said.

Then he saw what had happened to Jesus. He was strung up on a cross! Somebody had put nails through his hands and feet and hung him on a wooden cross! “Oh, Jesus! Why are you on a cross? Don’t it hurt?” the choked Walrus asked. “It doesn’t matter anymore young lad, get away from here. Bad things happen here. The things I have seen. Oh, dear Lord, get away from here!” the tired Jesus replied. “But I have to get you down from there!” said Okie. “No! The woman you are with. She is not good. She will get you the same way she got me! Get away from here quick!” said Jesus. He tried to shout but he was too weak. Then suddenly the door went up with a huge slam and in the door stood Teresa. She looked older than before. “Young boy! Get away from here”

But it was already too late. The boy and Jesus were doomed. As Teresa moved towards them, Okie felt the hairs on his back stand up, and he was certain that he’d eaten the last chocolate in his life. “Jesus!” Okie screamed. “We are doomed!” and suddenly all went black.

When you float around in pure darkness nothing seems real. No light. No sound. No smell. No nothing. When you can’t smell, feel or hear anything, are you really present then? Where do you go, when you die? These where the thoughts that went through the mind of the Walrus Boy. Okie found himself floating through the mighty abyss of darkness that is death. He didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t feel anything. Suddenly he felt an eerie presence in the dark, something familiar. He didn’t know if his eyes where shut or open. How could he?

Then, like a huge explosion out of nothing, all his senses returned. A woman was shaking him, yelling, at him. “Okie! Okie!” she screamed. The boy didn’t understand. Who was she? Where had he been? “You were just having a bad dream, boy!” she said, as Okie started to realize where he was. He recognized the posters, his bookshelf. It was just a bad dream! But it felt so lifelike. He didn’t understand, it had felt so lifelike, there was no doubt that he had died earlier.




What’s up?? PANDA CHEESE, that’s what’s up!

This saudi arabian panda’s gonna fuck you up, if you don’t buy his cheez… Whaaat!?

So, it’s been a while since I wrote anything useful. I’ve had just about 500 years of history up my skinny white a$$, so excuse me for minding my books and not my blog.

If you don’t already know what a book is, then these (above) are books. They are like the internet, just made out of paper. Try and read one once in a while. Retard.

Medieval burial customs and younger germanic iron age in Denmark. Yeah, that’s juicy stuff, I tell ya!

Anywho, I met this guy in the train the other day, and he was clearly a geniune fucktard.

And how do I know that he really was a fucktard? Well, first of all, fucktards all have one thing in common.

They are sorry ass nazis who think that the best thing in the world is not having a job and/or an education, because then they can spend all their sorry ass sparetime chillin’ on their white trash couches in their dirty wifebeaters drinkin’ canned beer in their trailers.

Kinda what this dude:

… Probably does right now

Anyway, this sucker asked me why I was reading the book (that I was currently reading at that time) – if you sir indeed are a sorry ass fucktard then this:

Is a fine example of one.

So I told him, that I was reading this book because I am currenly studying archaeology – to which he replied something in the lines of “Duuuuuude… What the fuck? Why do you waste your time with boring books and shit??”

to which I replied: “Because I can see the clear benefit of actually having an education, with which I can get a decent job and thus earn an honest salary, with which I can feed my family and buy a car and other nice shit, and I’m sad to see that you don’t want to follow my example and be of use to the society of which you and I are part”

Then he dropped the

With his reply: “I don’t care. It is stupid”

My mind’s reply to that unbelieeably stupid comment was something in the lines of

So I got up from my seat, said thanks for the conversation and got off my train two stations early.


So, kids. My advise for you is this:

Stay in fucking school. Don’t do drugs. Get a proper education. Get into a good university and make something of yourself, so you and your family have something to be proud of. Contribute to society whether you want to be a teacher or a space astronaut. Make something useful of yourself, and don’t be a fucktard. Remember how a fucktard looks like?

Like this

Or this

Or these duds.

And if you don’t? Well, then you’ll got to fucking Hell:

If you don’t believe in stuff like that, I’ll just bring my big ass brass knuckles and beat you up a little

Till you look like this:

And I’ll be back once a month.


I think bears are awesome.

Chainsaw bear. Indeed. Chainsaws. Plural.

But there’s only one thing even awesomer:

The bathroom.

The last place where a man can be a man without a woman constantly interrupting with all the girly stuff she can interrup a guy with. A place where a man can be a man.

The toilet.

A place where a dude can take a leak – or a dump if he wants to. Or just read the newspaper or a good book

A good book

… All by himself. A place of solace and serenity. Of chosen loneliness and concentration. Where one can find peace and relaxation amongst the fumes and odours that makes a man a man.

A sacred place. For man and woman actually.

But it is also a controversial place.

Every single man who shares, not only his life, but his home, house or appartment, knows the problem.

A man can stare for hours at this picture without realizing what's wrong. A woman only needs about 2½ seconds.

One of the most discussed situations in every relationship:

The toilet seat.

Over the years, many solutions has been proposed, this is just one of them:

And this is another:

But I see myself as a rational human being. A man of reason and intelligence. But yet, I still don’t see what it is that woman find so damn inconsiderate about the whole toilet seat-dispute.

Seen from a rational point of view, not putting the seat down is in fact a considerate thing to do.

What does the upward seat mean?

1) The toilet has been used. Alright, what a surprise.

2) The toilet has been used by a guy. Or a lesbian.

3) The guy urinated in the toilet.

For me to see, I’d rather go take a dump (or if I’m a woman take a leak) on a toilet on which the seat has not yet been put down. The reason? Okay, lets go through this:

1) Women often accuse men for not hitting the toilet when they stand up.

2) When guys stand up without the seat up, there’s a huge risk of pissing on the seat.

3) Women do not, I repeat, not like to use a toilet on which a guy has been pissing on the seat.

4) When the seat is up, it is very difficult to piss on the seat.

Ergo, when a woman finds a toilet where the seat is up, she can be somewhat sure that the seat has not been pissed on, and therefore whe can be sure that the seat is fairly clean and thenshe can use the toilet without being afraid that there’s urine on the seat.

Plus, it only takes 0.67 seconds to put the seat down (with a little help of Mr. Gravity).


Can you have 1 liters of beer instead of just 0.33 liters?

Yes, you can!

Yes. It’s old news. They’ve been around for years now, but I feel that it’s my duty (as The God of Good Taste) to make just a minor note on this topic.

If you read this post’s title, and still don’t get what I’m talking about, then it’s this:

And this:

Teenagers taking pictures of themselves, either in front of their mirror with a lousy mobile cam, or with Your Mom’s lame ass Sony Cyber-shit camera

Appearently ALL fucking teenagers can get their hands on a decent digital camera these days. For crying out LOUD!

What’s the deal with that? And half of the retarded boys and girls who take these stupid pictures has a lower IQ than their fucking shoe size. And why do I say that?

Because anyone with decent wits fucking knows that the only people who find them attractive is guys like this:

Yes. Retarded bodybuilders on steorids. And yes. They DO lack any physical signs of testicles. Plus, they lactate. Yes. They do.

and girls like these:

Your Mom

And yes. That is a certified crack whore. They’ll bite on anything.

It's a house! On WHEELS!

Yeah, I’m sittin’ in a caravan doing some security stuff at a soccer tournament. Not much happenin’ right now, actually.

I just drank a coke.

A regular one, not one of those gay ass diet cokes.

Uncle Sam. Gayest of the gays.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better fate just pokes it’s ugly face in through the door and says: “what up, motherfucker? Wanna see something awesome?”

Well, do ya? Okay.

I give you:

Baconnaise! It’s mayonnaise. With fucking BACON!

Wait? That’s not new? Then how ’bout the Bacon Explosion?

It’s bacon. At it explodes! In your fucking ARTERIES!

Yes. That’s a huge fucking piece of bacon wrapped with bacon. And awesome.

I can feel my arteries clotting just by looking at it!

But that’s still a little last year?

Okay, then take a look at this:

Waffle on a stick?... Fuck... Yes.

Yes. That is a friggin’ waffle on a friggin’ stick. That is a waffle stick. Just think about it:

You take the best of two worlds:

Everybody knows, that stuff on a stick is better than just stuff

Stick. Sticks. When you put something on a stick, you know it instantly gets better. Who’d eat a popsicle

This kid's got a GIANT popsicle. No pedo-pun intented.

… If it wasn’t on a stick?

Plus, when your food is on a stick, you can walk around eating it!

"Uuuuh, look at me! I'm walking around eating my christmas tree-esque watermelon flavoured icy frozen delight! So, fuck you, sir, cuz I'm AWESOME!"

No need to ever being bound to a table when you need a something to eat!

No need to ever do the dishes when you’re done eating! Cause you can just throw away the stick!

… And! Now, you can go to your friend’s house with your sticked awesomeness and show him how awesome your waffle stick is, and rub your awesomeness right in his fucking face!

Waffle on a stick!

Sticks with waffles!

Waffle delight!

Waffles! With sticks!

Because AWESOME just got AWESOMEER!

For the past 4 or 5 months I’ve been looking for a place to live, once I get accepted into the University of Copenhagen. Which I will. Obviously. There’s just one tiny snag:

I’ve been on the fucking waiting list for a fucking room the past 4 or 5 months, and I fucking need a place to live before the 28th of August.

So, now they tell me, that they don’t think I’m gonna get one. What the fuck? Why the hell is that? Where the fuck am I gonna live then?

Yes. A real good idea, considering that it's fucking ILLEGAL!

On a bench?

I’ve got a tent, so I suppose I could live in a tent for a month or so?

Yeah, better than sleeping on a bench. Wait, what is that? Oh, that's illegal too? Well, fuck me...

So, sleeping on a bench in the park or in a tent is illegal? Well, maybe it’s for the best. At least I won’t get tent raped

… by a black guy.