Secrets man was not meant to know! From Norway!
by Ingvar Jævel
Hello again to you all! Once again it is I, Ingvar! From Norway!
All of the Internet, even the asshole and pansy parts, is very excited about this thing that happened in the sky above my beloved homeland, Norway!
Many people are asking what it was! Do not ask! When we want you to know, we will tell you!
For now all I will say is that despite appearances the moose was mostly unharmed so PETA can eat a big bag of dicks! And anyway the moose asshole had it coming!
.: Tags: ingvar, norwegians :.
December 15th, 2009 at 8:39 am
Krankor, are you still with us? Hope you haven’t frozen straight through and exploded. But y’know, that’s the price you have to pay to live in a place as great as Edmonton.
December 15th, 2009 at 10:19 am
Must you taunt me from your luxurious estate in Lower East Potato Juice Cove? You always lord it over us, with your convenient access to the local Co-Op and surfeit of gentlemen who go by the name Junior. Curse you, Iggy, and your tony Maritimer elitism!
December 16th, 2009 at 7:16 am
Light snow flurries and a temperature of +1C at present. Heh heh… did your car start this morning, big fella?
But I must take exception to your reference of my “luxurious estate” in Lower East Potato Juice Cove. That is merely my summer cottage. I wouldn’t be caught dead pretending to be high society living year round in that poky 5,000 square-foot cabin. And it’s only on 10,000 acres of land. No, sir: I pass the winter, and all the High Holidays, on my true luxurious estate (10,000 sq ft, 25,000 acres) on Weasel Piss Creek. Not as handy to the Co-Op, but I have my man Junior run most of my errands for me anyway.
December 16th, 2009 at 8:51 am
You know what they say about Edmonton: If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. By then the cold will have numbed your brain so you won’t notice the weather anymore.
Weasel Piss Creek is a fine place, no doubt, and fair crawling with shiftless underclass who will gladly do your bidding for scarce more than a copper. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t catch me near the place, owing to its proximity to the tourist haven that is the fictional home of Ayn of Purple Turnips and her twee, insipid adventures, so beloved by the Japanese for no discernible reason.
Whoa! Possessed by LEB there for a few minutes!