Clearly a part of the northern wilderness of the US, commonly referred to as "Canada". Despite our barbaric and hedonistic ways, we do have geography in school here.
At the last gig I just finished, my main co-worker for 2 years was Swedish. It was very early on that we got everyone on the team just randomly saying "borka borka borka", him included. On the days I was working from home, I had a Swedish Chef puppet I bought off eBay that I'd "consult with" when I had questions or needed some advice, and all it said was "borka borka borka". The first time I skyped with Johan, and he saw the consultation with the sock puppet, he fucking howled and almost pissed himself laughing. Since then, he picked up a Hamish the Scottish Steer puppet and does the same. Yes, we're geeks.
I need to see that show/series/cookingprogramme, whatever it is. It looks awesome. I usually converse with my moose when I'm riding to work, but it hasn't occurred to me to inquire for cooking tips and tricks. I did a quick youtube search for "borka borka" and this was the first result. Awesome. Do the borka, borka, razborka Get your booty on the floor Entertain me, give me more Borka, borka, razborka
I just hobbled in from a bon fire, possibly our last bon fire of the year. Drunk asses are roasting sausages over flaming veneered trim. I imagine that's really tasty... "Yeah, I like a little varnish smoke on my hot dog." And my friends think I'm the fucking redneck. Why was I hobbling? Glad you asked. I broke two of my toes. I wish to fuck I had an entertaining hillbilly story to tell about it, but the truth is I did it in my sleep. I woke up one morning with my left foot the size of a well fed possum and quite a bit more colorful. I've been gimping around for the past week like Quasimoto looking for a bell tower.
So. Lemme get this straight. This fucker was taking a shit. Was looking around. And went "I'm gonna fuck that pool noodle". Proceeded to cut it, line it with condoms, and mount it on the mirror with a plunger. God help me if I ever reach that level of desperation. Where I cant take my mind off needing to bust even while I'm shitting.
That, and ABBA, is how the rest of the world views Swedes. The only exception are the hot swimsuit models, of course.
So... (forgive me for interjecting but it didn't seem like you guys were on a specific topic at the mo anyway)... My 11 year old son has recently gotten involved with the youth group at one of our local churches, at the urging of one of my girlfriends and her husband (presumably spooked by all my coincidences with the ole 666 thing). We have never been the church-going sort and I am as agnostic as the day is long (and soaked in alcohol) but I am frankly glad the kid is getting involved in something other than baseball and video games. The problem is that my girlfriend's husband is the local clown. Like "stilts and big, red, honky nose and dunk-tank" clown. Upon hearing this, my dad FREAKED out, swearing that this was another John Wayne Gacy, sending me Wikipedia links and hollering that all clowns were crazy, psychopathic, serial-murdering pedophiles. Thoughts? For the record, I consider myself a decent judge of character and I don't get any kind of weird vibes from the guy. He's kind of a dweeb actually. It should also be noted that this particular child of mine HATES clowns and has no problem with him. (This post brought to you by a half a bottle of cheap Pinot Grigio. Classay!)
Nah. I had to walk to the store the other day because I had no vehicle (hubby and the kids were in NY state) and if you think my fat ass is going to willingly lug a 5 pound box of wine 2 miles home from Kroger, you be trippin'! (That may have been... no... absolutely was the most redneck thing I have ever written in my entire life. Jesus. Way to knock a gal down, Nettdata.)
Ugh, looking through my posts from yesterday, I realize now that Percocet and Vodka might not be the best combination after working all night.
Notice that somebody else took the picture.. There's clearly 2 right feet in that pic and that makes it all the worse. Carry on, I'm goin back to beers.
I hoped you remember to pick up that ten pack of Skoal for the yung 'uns. If the box doesn't cut it switch to Night Train. Or maybe just spike some eggnog with mouthwash.