I just realized what my biggest challenge is when living here in Germany. Language? Occasionally a problem, but no. Homesickness? Of course I have it, but no. The biggest problem is, readers, that I am completely incapable of being funny in German.
To be able to understand this, readers, I must present myself as a cake. A personality-cake. The cake that is me consists of 10 pieces. I suppose the type of cake is irrelevant, but let's say I'm a chocolate cake. The deal is that normally 8 of 10 pieces of the Trolldis-cake is humour. 8 of 10, that is like 80%! So this means that only 20% consist the rest of my personality, so you know, kindness, intelligence (we're only talking cake-crumbles in this field, but I guess it's there), and so on. Bottom line 80% of the Trolldis cake is humour, 20% the rest. So most of Trolldis is a lump of humour. Here's the problem: Turns out you don't only have to learn the language, and how the German people are put together, you also have to learn humour. Clearly I am completely incapable of being funny when talking German. It's not like I don't try, it's just that every try ends in a massive fail.
Mostly I learnt my lack of German humour when i.e writing someone. I often ask my boyfriend to look through, makes me sure I'm not sending something braindead to people. And more than once I got the comment "Ehm.. Yeah, well.. We don't say that in German". "That's not funny in German", "I don't get that". "Nobody will get that" - at least he kinda prevented me from saying something really stupid, so it did not seem like the 80% lacking was indeed a reduction of the brains.
At least the Germans can laugh when I fuck up in German, and make embarrassing mistakes. For example, replacing "Krawatte" (tie) with "Karotte" (carrot), or saying "Waffelstillstand" when I wanted to say "Waffenstillstand" (sorry, I have no good translation, so I guess this one is just for the Germans). Of course, I disgrace myself like this all the time, but that's not the kind of humour I mean here.
The biggest problem, when the 80% humour cannot be shown inside Germany, only 20% of my personality is left to be shown, and I suppose you can all imagine what this means: Not only do Germans see a Trolldis 80% reduced, but I must appear to be the lamest personality to ever have set foot in Germany. Imagine what person you appear to be if 80% of your personality is just gone. Yes, you may feel sympathy. Thank you, readers, it is so kind.
At least I hope that it is just in German that I'm lame, maybe I just really hope this is the case, when in fact I am just getting lamer and lame with age. And the day I turn 22, my humour will drop to 0% and people run away in order to not talk to me. So my 80% goes from humour to BORING. To be honest, I prefer to believe the "lame in German" thing, that means I can at least have someone smiling at me when returning to Norway. So, readers, let me live in this hope!
Whether I am capable of being funny in English or not is up to me to decide, but that's not my biggest worry. Now I will go learn some German, and I'm not talking about vocabulary or grammar. I'm off to learn some German humour!
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Friday, 17 June 2011
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
Hopeless Intentions: Trolldis during Academy Awards
In my little world, intentions constantly.. let's say it in a nice way compared to what it really is - gets totally fucked up. And this does not only apply to intentions that argue with my lazy lifestyle. You know how cleaning the apartment is a good idea before you actually pick up the bucket and start washing? Or how training tomorrow is a good idea today? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, it also applies when I don't want it to. Like, for instance, when the Oscars were going on TV.
As you probably know the Academy Awards were a couple of nights ago, and then too, I had high intentions. (Not only in what I'm about to tell you - but I've been wanting to write this blog-post since the Academy Awards - point proven? Too well.). So the whole intention-game consists of what I intended to do, and what I did. And this is how it looked at the night of the Oscars.
What I intended to do
Stay up till 02.00, follow it with graciousness and full attention, in my imagination I looked elegant, very awake. With a cup of tea. I did not look like a troll, I did not have a hairdo of a, and please forgive the lack of creativity, troll. Breath like an angel, perfect makeup. So yes - nothing like I normally look at 2 in the night.
What I did:
Struggled like crazy to stay awake, fell asleep at 01.00, but my clever self had thought of that scenario, and the alarm went off at 01.50. Desperately forced my eyes to remain open till 02.00, though I suspect that I was actually asleep, just with open eyes. And then there's a lot of blah-blah, and Sandman had evil plans the whole evening already, and hid under the bed. So we fought. When the action finally started half an hour later, Sandman had kinda won the match. What a bastard. So what did I do? Sleep like a rock - DAMN YOU Sandman. Hair like a troll, snoring. And though I cannot describe how I look when I am sleeping - I can guarantee you that it is no pretty sight. Not my most gracious Oscars, but what the hell - someone's gotta make the others bloom, ne?
But luckily my boyfriend had a back-up plan, and recorded it, so we had the opportunity of watching it the next day as well. As you can imagine, you still want the action, the excitement and the full glamour the day after. So no, you don't wanna read how many Oscars this and that film got at the front page of some tabloid, nor what this and that hottie had on. So the hours before watching the Oscars yesterday were hell for me. All potential spoilers hover around you like a hawk. TV remained off, Facebook was off limits, Twitter was creepy. And when it came to the news, well.. Anything could have happened yesterday, World War III could have started, dinosaurs could have arrived with huge spaceships from Mars, eating the American continent, and even chops out of Europe. And I wouldn't have known anything. But luckily it did not, and after a long struggle, around 20.00 it had all been worth it, as Colin Firth got the Oscar for Best Male Actor, and The King's Speech all in all 4 Oscars, I will go to bed for the next week with a huuuge smile all over my face.
For those of you who didn't hear about The King's Speech, do yourself a favour and check it out. Here's a trailer for you:
Enjoy! Good night, and I hope your intentions don't always fuck up as badly as mine.
PS: Really! Watch The King's Speech - It's awesome, it has everything. It's educational. Colin Firth. Funny. Touching. Great. Go go!
As you probably know the Academy Awards were a couple of nights ago, and then too, I had high intentions. (Not only in what I'm about to tell you - but I've been wanting to write this blog-post since the Academy Awards - point proven? Too well.). So the whole intention-game consists of what I intended to do, and what I did. And this is how it looked at the night of the Oscars.
What I intended to do
Stay up till 02.00, follow it with graciousness and full attention, in my imagination I looked elegant, very awake. With a cup of tea. I did not look like a troll, I did not have a hairdo of a, and please forgive the lack of creativity, troll. Breath like an angel, perfect makeup. So yes - nothing like I normally look at 2 in the night.
What I did:
Struggled like crazy to stay awake, fell asleep at 01.00, but my clever self had thought of that scenario, and the alarm went off at 01.50. Desperately forced my eyes to remain open till 02.00, though I suspect that I was actually asleep, just with open eyes. And then there's a lot of blah-blah, and Sandman had evil plans the whole evening already, and hid under the bed. So we fought. When the action finally started half an hour later, Sandman had kinda won the match. What a bastard. So what did I do? Sleep like a rock - DAMN YOU Sandman. Hair like a troll, snoring. And though I cannot describe how I look when I am sleeping - I can guarantee you that it is no pretty sight. Not my most gracious Oscars, but what the hell - someone's gotta make the others bloom, ne?
But luckily my boyfriend had a back-up plan, and recorded it, so we had the opportunity of watching it the next day as well. As you can imagine, you still want the action, the excitement and the full glamour the day after. So no, you don't wanna read how many Oscars this and that film got at the front page of some tabloid, nor what this and that hottie had on. So the hours before watching the Oscars yesterday were hell for me. All potential spoilers hover around you like a hawk. TV remained off, Facebook was off limits, Twitter was creepy. And when it came to the news, well.. Anything could have happened yesterday, World War III could have started, dinosaurs could have arrived with huge spaceships from Mars, eating the American continent, and even chops out of Europe. And I wouldn't have known anything. But luckily it did not, and after a long struggle, around 20.00 it had all been worth it, as Colin Firth got the Oscar for Best Male Actor, and The King's Speech all in all 4 Oscars, I will go to bed for the next week with a huuuge smile all over my face.
For those of you who didn't hear about The King's Speech, do yourself a favour and check it out. Here's a trailer for you:
Enjoy! Good night, and I hope your intentions don't always fuck up as badly as mine.
PS: Really! Watch The King's Speech - It's awesome, it has everything. It's educational. Colin Firth. Funny. Touching. Great. Go go!
Saturday, 19 February 2011
I hope you did not find what you were looking for
I hope that it does not make me a bad person, actually I have several arguments (I would say strong arguments) that I am not a bad person:
One: I have the dignity to hide it when I laugh of people falling on their butt on the ice.
Two: When the punker-burglars on the main station runs after me asking for money (that they end up using on beer, beer and more beer) I do not ask them to fuck off. (I know, readers, an impressive amount of self-control)
Three: When Jehovah's Witnesses ring the doorbell, I do not slam the door in their faces.
Are you thinking what I'm thinking? "What is she even doing still? She has clearly proved her goodness already." I could have listed a million reasons why I'm not a bad person, but I have better ways to spend my time. Old readers already know that I'm a giver, and for new readers: I'm a giver. So the whole "Is Trolldis a bad or good person" is not really a question anymore, agreed?
... either way, I still hope you didn't find what you were looking for - this applies to people finding my blog through searching terms like "panties made in Germany", "drunk Germans Lederhosen", "men in manties", and the terms "drunk German" and "lederhosen" in more combinations then you even would think existed, and when it includes the word "sexy", even more combinations come into light . Because - if you did search terms like this, and you did find what you were looking for, this automatically makes statement about my blog, that I would prefer was never made. Not only about my blog, but subsequently me as a blogger. If I were even half as fascinated with panties, and then especially manties, as most of my readers (ok, so not "readers", more "most of the random people stumbling randomly upon my blog searching random, and at times pervy words") I would personally send applications to the nearest psychowards begging them to take me in and fix my head, and I believe I would also get a spot pretty fast. We're talking sick, sick fetishes, ladies and gentlemen. I will not give you any percentage of pervy hits here, those of you who know me personally probably know that my strongest talents are not within maths, those of you who do not: I suck in maths. But who needs maths when they are such pure, good souls?
This a final proof of my striking lack of intelligence. What do you all think happens when writing a blog-post containing words that already bring many doubtful individuals to finding my blog? That's right, it is even more likely that these terms lead to my blog. If I continue like this I'll come before "manties.net" when someone search "manties" on Google. So, the chances are doubled that mantie- and lederhosen-lovers, people wanting sexy drunk Germans on Octoberfest, and other pervs end up right here. Plus, in this blog-post I also applied the word "butt" and "Jehovas Witness" - are we talking a fucked up new fetish? I will be sure to announce when someone stumbled upon my blog with these words. And if you're the person: Hi there, please send me a mail and let me write a blog about you. Love, Trolldis.
I suppose it's time to go to bed before I manage to write more crap, or fall asleep on my keyboard and post a blog written uniquely with my head, perhaps assisted by my nose.
Good night, dear readers! See you next time, then I'll try not to be overly tired and write crap. Promise. :)
One: I have the dignity to hide it when I laugh of people falling on their butt on the ice.
Two: When the punker-burglars on the main station runs after me asking for money (that they end up using on beer, beer and more beer) I do not ask them to fuck off. (I know, readers, an impressive amount of self-control)
Three: When Jehovah's Witnesses ring the doorbell, I do not slam the door in their faces.
Are you thinking what I'm thinking? "What is she even doing still? She has clearly proved her goodness already." I could have listed a million reasons why I'm not a bad person, but I have better ways to spend my time. Old readers already know that I'm a giver, and for new readers: I'm a giver. So the whole "Is Trolldis a bad or good person" is not really a question anymore, agreed?
... either way, I still hope you didn't find what you were looking for - this applies to people finding my blog through searching terms like "panties made in Germany", "drunk Germans Lederhosen", "men in manties", and the terms "drunk German" and "lederhosen" in more combinations then you even would think existed, and when it includes the word "sexy", even more combinations come into light . Because - if you did search terms like this, and you did find what you were looking for, this automatically makes statement about my blog, that I would prefer was never made. Not only about my blog, but subsequently me as a blogger. If I were even half as fascinated with panties, and then especially manties, as most of my readers (ok, so not "readers", more "most of the random people stumbling randomly upon my blog searching random, and at times pervy words") I would personally send applications to the nearest psychowards begging them to take me in and fix my head, and I believe I would also get a spot pretty fast. We're talking sick, sick fetishes, ladies and gentlemen. I will not give you any percentage of pervy hits here, those of you who know me personally probably know that my strongest talents are not within maths, those of you who do not: I suck in maths. But who needs maths when they are such pure, good souls?
This a final proof of my striking lack of intelligence. What do you all think happens when writing a blog-post containing words that already bring many doubtful individuals to finding my blog? That's right, it is even more likely that these terms lead to my blog. If I continue like this I'll come before "manties.net" when someone search "manties" on Google. So, the chances are doubled that mantie- and lederhosen-lovers, people wanting sexy drunk Germans on Octoberfest, and other pervs end up right here. Plus, in this blog-post I also applied the word "butt" and "Jehovas Witness" - are we talking a fucked up new fetish? I will be sure to announce when someone stumbled upon my blog with these words. And if you're the person: Hi there, please send me a mail and let me write a blog about you. Love, Trolldis.
I suppose it's time to go to bed before I manage to write more crap, or fall asleep on my keyboard and post a blog written uniquely with my head, perhaps assisted by my nose.
Good night, dear readers! See you next time, then I'll try not to be overly tired and write crap. Promise. :)
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Saying Goodbye
It seems like yesterday. We sat around the table, drinking beer, laughing, having fun. Little did I know, that this evening would lead to something dreadful. Little did I know that what seemed like a triviality, would have major consequences.
It was early in the semester, plans, hopes, dreams and intentions. Things were new for us all, new subjects, new time tables, new challenges. I personally had nothing to do with what was decided that evening, I was just the observer. I remained silent when I should spoken, still when I should scream "No, for the love of GOD, NO!". Knowing that you could have done something makes it even harder to say goodbye. But it is inevitable, at a certain point you simply cannot refuse to open your eyes - see the facts - accept the facts.
So here I am, trying to enjoy the last evening with you. Somehow it is hard to realise that you will no longer be here tomorrow. Hard to realise cause I do not want to realise it. Please, give me one more day - one more week. Why now?
I'm drawing my fingers through you one last time, not wanting to let go. But I have to face the truth. You will not even die a graceful death. Tomorrow you will be cut off by an electric razor, fall in a pile of dead hair, and later be flushed down the toilet - what a fate! You will be gone - and my boyfriend will end up looking like an egg. But in all the sorrow, it is important to see, that it is not over. Hair grows out again. The world goes on. However, before this happen: if you will see five eggheads wandering around the streets of Leipzig, you know that they all sat around the table the very night in question - the night that would change their lives more than they knew.
So what's the deal here? What happened this special evening? I think the time has come to tell you, readers: This very evening my boyfriend and his friends came up with this wacko idea of shaving their heads if they were to pass a certain exam at the end of the semester. And great news - they passed. And here I am - about to be the girlfriend of what looks like an egg. A charming egg - he'll get that. I'll just have to think every day that it's hair - it grows out again.
Well, well.. Now I'm spending the rest of the evening with my soon-to-be egg, parting with his hair, in other words: Goodbye.
It was early in the semester, plans, hopes, dreams and intentions. Things were new for us all, new subjects, new time tables, new challenges. I personally had nothing to do with what was decided that evening, I was just the observer. I remained silent when I should spoken, still when I should scream "No, for the love of GOD, NO!". Knowing that you could have done something makes it even harder to say goodbye. But it is inevitable, at a certain point you simply cannot refuse to open your eyes - see the facts - accept the facts.
So here I am, trying to enjoy the last evening with you. Somehow it is hard to realise that you will no longer be here tomorrow. Hard to realise cause I do not want to realise it. Please, give me one more day - one more week. Why now?
I'm drawing my fingers through you one last time, not wanting to let go. But I have to face the truth. You will not even die a graceful death. Tomorrow you will be cut off by an electric razor, fall in a pile of dead hair, and later be flushed down the toilet - what a fate! You will be gone - and my boyfriend will end up looking like an egg. But in all the sorrow, it is important to see, that it is not over. Hair grows out again. The world goes on. However, before this happen: if you will see five eggheads wandering around the streets of Leipzig, you know that they all sat around the table the very night in question - the night that would change their lives more than they knew.
So what's the deal here? What happened this special evening? I think the time has come to tell you, readers: This very evening my boyfriend and his friends came up with this wacko idea of shaving their heads if they were to pass a certain exam at the end of the semester. And great news - they passed. And here I am - about to be the girlfriend of what looks like an egg. A charming egg - he'll get that. I'll just have to think every day that it's hair - it grows out again.
Well, well.. Now I'm spending the rest of the evening with my soon-to-be egg, parting with his hair, in other words: Goodbye.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
With the intention of turning your Sunday-frown upside down
If you would drug me down, put me into a completely black room without any contact to the outside world, or any knowledge about time, day, week, month or year. If you would keep me there for years, feed me through a hole in the wall where I'd get all food in floating form through a straw. No television, no newspapers, no nothing. I would go completely crazy. And in the state of being completely crazy - I swear - I would still be able to feel when it was Sunday, cause I am 100% certain that Sundays will always just feel a bit sadder, greyer and shittier. Now, this is not me making a bet or anything, so I'd really appreciate it if you would not kidnap me.
This particular Sunday you are all in luck, this is, if you like British humour. If you do not like British humour, I suggest you locate the cross in the upper right corner and click it. I would really appreciate it, cause guess what, I do not wanna be the person who made the crappy Sunday even crappier. That would make me the devil or something! And you know readers, that's just not me.
Ok, so lets get to business. The first attempt of making that Sunday-frown turn upside down!
If it is still a frown I officially failed as a blogger. But I'm not giving up before Hugh and Laurie gave it a shot too.
One last shot. And this, readers, is a classic. Thus: You have to find it awesome.
I hope I have made your Sunday evening feel a bit less like a Sunday evening. And that you smiled at least once. Then I'm happy.If you did not, I've gotta try harder some other Sunday, and mark my words: Once I will rock your Sunday!
Have a nice evening, everyone :)
This particular Sunday you are all in luck, this is, if you like British humour. If you do not like British humour, I suggest you locate the cross in the upper right corner and click it. I would really appreciate it, cause guess what, I do not wanna be the person who made the crappy Sunday even crappier. That would make me the devil or something! And you know readers, that's just not me.
Ok, so lets get to business. The first attempt of making that Sunday-frown turn upside down!
If it is still a frown I officially failed as a blogger. But I'm not giving up before Hugh and Laurie gave it a shot too.
One last shot. And this, readers, is a classic. Thus: You have to find it awesome.
I hope I have made your Sunday evening feel a bit less like a Sunday evening. And that you smiled at least once. Then I'm happy.If you did not, I've gotta try harder some other Sunday, and mark my words: Once I will rock your Sunday!
Have a nice evening, everyone :)
Sunday, 16 January 2011
New years rant
Hello, dear readers. I know you're probably totally pissed cause I didn't wish you a happy new year yet? I hope you weren't all grumpy till now... Well, let me lighten up the rest of your year. Happy New Year! The new year resolution this year is to wish happy new year next year, when the year is actually still new. And you know loosing weight, start doing sports, eating healthier, be a good student, [insert all clichés] All are doomed, I know.
I'm always surprised the blog lets me log in, I kind of expect every time that I'll get some kinda refuse since the blog banned me.If I were this blog I'd totally do so, I refuse to believe that lousier blog owners exists. Oh yes, that should be another new years resolution, take better care of my blog, feed it a bit. Not to mention entertain my perhaps 3 readers, if they didn't ban me as well.
Is it a valid excuse that I've been busy? You know, reading books, Jane Eyre, Sense & Sensibility, writing essays about Violent Video Games and Children, and about Sonnet 128, and about Stephen King's "Last Rung on the Ladder". Is it at least a bit valid? (and I feel that you all can be a bit kind here, karma, people, KARMA!)
Fact is, readers, I'm turning old and boring, and the day that you'll realize, I'll be left here, with only a blog. No, actually, that's pretty much a lie, cause then I'll abandon the blog as well. So the blog will be left here, with nothing but old crap, and the occasional person stumbling in her by mistake looking for Sexy Germans in Lederhosen (and someone googling this term did indeed end up in my blog somehow). And it will die a sad death amongst endless loads of internet crap, what a destiny! I can always hope that you, readers, turn old and boring with me, and somehow find the old and boring crap I will write entertaining in your state of being old and boring. But I guess I shouldn't push my luck too far, I somehow suspect that it will come back biting me in the ass then.
Now, look what happens when a person writes just to write, so the blog does not end up hating me, and we'll always have a good relationship. A question just comes to mind, if a blog were to hate, would it hate most for occasional poopy blog posts, or no blog posts at all? I suppose it depends, if the poopy one kinda feeds it, I suppose it's just full and happy. So conclusion: A occasional poopy blog post is ok. (This is mostly to calm down my own mind when I wake up tomorrow and read all the crap I wrote yesterday, it's allright, Trolldis! Your blog is happy, that's aall that counts! Plus, if it is even poopier than you remember, you can always delete it.)
Now. That's enough crap for one evening. Once again, happy new year, and I hope not all new years resolutions went to hell already.
I'm always surprised the blog lets me log in, I kind of expect every time that I'll get some kinda refuse since the blog banned me.If I were this blog I'd totally do so, I refuse to believe that lousier blog owners exists. Oh yes, that should be another new years resolution, take better care of my blog, feed it a bit. Not to mention entertain my perhaps 3 readers, if they didn't ban me as well.
Is it a valid excuse that I've been busy? You know, reading books, Jane Eyre, Sense & Sensibility, writing essays about Violent Video Games and Children, and about Sonnet 128, and about Stephen King's "Last Rung on the Ladder". Is it at least a bit valid? (and I feel that you all can be a bit kind here, karma, people, KARMA!)
Fact is, readers, I'm turning old and boring, and the day that you'll realize, I'll be left here, with only a blog. No, actually, that's pretty much a lie, cause then I'll abandon the blog as well. So the blog will be left here, with nothing but old crap, and the occasional person stumbling in her by mistake looking for Sexy Germans in Lederhosen (and someone googling this term did indeed end up in my blog somehow). And it will die a sad death amongst endless loads of internet crap, what a destiny! I can always hope that you, readers, turn old and boring with me, and somehow find the old and boring crap I will write entertaining in your state of being old and boring. But I guess I shouldn't push my luck too far, I somehow suspect that it will come back biting me in the ass then.
Now, look what happens when a person writes just to write, so the blog does not end up hating me, and we'll always have a good relationship. A question just comes to mind, if a blog were to hate, would it hate most for occasional poopy blog posts, or no blog posts at all? I suppose it depends, if the poopy one kinda feeds it, I suppose it's just full and happy. So conclusion: A occasional poopy blog post is ok. (This is mostly to calm down my own mind when I wake up tomorrow and read all the crap I wrote yesterday, it's allright, Trolldis! Your blog is happy, that's aall that counts! Plus, if it is even poopier than you remember, you can always delete it.)
Now. That's enough crap for one evening. Once again, happy new year, and I hope not all new years resolutions went to hell already.
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Shit. I'm getting old.
I just had a great Christmas celebration in Northern Norway with my mother, my stepfather, my boyfriend and my oldest younger brother, and for the first time ever I met his son. This, of course led to my mother telling stories about what my brother and I did as kids, and at times this was indeed very funny.
My brother, when he was small, he was quite the flirt, or should we say perv? Once when we were in church, he cannot have been older than two years old. He impulsively kissed a stranger in the church, an old women that we didn't really know right on the mouth. She was totally flattered, and from that day on she always sent us flowers in Christmas. Some years later, he was probably around four, he flew for the first time. There were a couple of drunk guys sitting right next to us. Someone touched the stewardesses ass, as she turned to tell the drunk men to stop it, she saw my little brother, with a smile from ear to ear, staring at her in admiration, and she realized that the perv was a little bit younger this time. At this point she could not do other than laughing, saying that "well, you're starting early!". I bet stewardesses don't get felt up by kids every day...
I was the best big sister in the world, I pushed him down the concrete stairs, into a table, out of the bed. I took his bottle, drank all that was inside, and hit him in the head with it before giving it back. The number of stitches he had to sew cause of me is at least consisting of two digits.I would plan the crimes, I'd tell him what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Organized Child Crime to tha bone. I'd tell him how he would be able to steal as many cookies as possible, without leaving a trace. How he would be able to cover up the broken vase, that I broke, of course. I used the poor guy as my own, personal, loyal slave. One time our babysitter was talking in the phone, or something, and we decided to eat some. He fetched the ingredients, I was standing guard. Eating is not illegal, the way we prepared the food, however... It can be discussed whether mixing corn flakes, milk, sugar, and jam on the wall to wall carpet was a good idea. We would say yes, our parents were more on the no-side. I bet the carpet still stinks like rotten milk.
One Christmas, when we were both quite small, my mother was going outside for a few minutes, she told us to NOT play with the Christmas tree. We replied "yes muuum", and she went. What was the first thing we did? Make one guess. The sight awaiting my mother when returning was two children decorated with one Christmas tree. One could barely be seen, as the tree was covering him completely, while the other was shown partly. Kid number one screamed in full panic, while kid number two (being me, the evil one) had a very confusing, and even more guilty, look in its face.
At a certain age my brother had the bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and watch telly, grab a bite, whatever he felt like.It is not a secret that this was not very popular among my parents. One night he woke up in the middle of the night to get something to eat. He snuck into the kitchen, cut a slice of bread, put on strawberry jam, and was about to eat as he heard our father wake up to go to the toilet. My father is rather bad tempered, so my brother did what he had to do to not get caught. In full panic he ran towards his room, realizing that he had to get rid of the evidence, so he threw the slice of bread the first and best place he found, namely in my fathers shoes. Bad tempered father + strawberry jam and slice of bread in shoe = damn hilarious, believe me.
Oh, the good old times.
Shit. I'm getting old.
My brother, when he was small, he was quite the flirt, or should we say perv? Once when we were in church, he cannot have been older than two years old. He impulsively kissed a stranger in the church, an old women that we didn't really know right on the mouth. She was totally flattered, and from that day on she always sent us flowers in Christmas. Some years later, he was probably around four, he flew for the first time. There were a couple of drunk guys sitting right next to us. Someone touched the stewardesses ass, as she turned to tell the drunk men to stop it, she saw my little brother, with a smile from ear to ear, staring at her in admiration, and she realized that the perv was a little bit younger this time. At this point she could not do other than laughing, saying that "well, you're starting early!". I bet stewardesses don't get felt up by kids every day...
I was the best big sister in the world, I pushed him down the concrete stairs, into a table, out of the bed. I took his bottle, drank all that was inside, and hit him in the head with it before giving it back. The number of stitches he had to sew cause of me is at least consisting of two digits.I would plan the crimes, I'd tell him what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Organized Child Crime to tha bone. I'd tell him how he would be able to steal as many cookies as possible, without leaving a trace. How he would be able to cover up the broken vase, that I broke, of course. I used the poor guy as my own, personal, loyal slave. One time our babysitter was talking in the phone, or something, and we decided to eat some. He fetched the ingredients, I was standing guard. Eating is not illegal, the way we prepared the food, however... It can be discussed whether mixing corn flakes, milk, sugar, and jam on the wall to wall carpet was a good idea. We would say yes, our parents were more on the no-side. I bet the carpet still stinks like rotten milk.
One Christmas, when we were both quite small, my mother was going outside for a few minutes, she told us to NOT play with the Christmas tree. We replied "yes muuum", and she went. What was the first thing we did? Make one guess. The sight awaiting my mother when returning was two children decorated with one Christmas tree. One could barely be seen, as the tree was covering him completely, while the other was shown partly. Kid number one screamed in full panic, while kid number two (being me, the evil one) had a very confusing, and even more guilty, look in its face.
At a certain age my brother had the bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and watch telly, grab a bite, whatever he felt like.It is not a secret that this was not very popular among my parents. One night he woke up in the middle of the night to get something to eat. He snuck into the kitchen, cut a slice of bread, put on strawberry jam, and was about to eat as he heard our father wake up to go to the toilet. My father is rather bad tempered, so my brother did what he had to do to not get caught. In full panic he ran towards his room, realizing that he had to get rid of the evidence, so he threw the slice of bread the first and best place he found, namely in my fathers shoes. Bad tempered father + strawberry jam and slice of bread in shoe = damn hilarious, believe me.
Oh, the good old times.
Shit. I'm getting old.
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
All the things you think you know...
And here I thought North Korea was actually North of South Korea.
Fetched here
Thank God that the news cleared that up for me! :D
Fetched here
Thank God that the news cleared that up for me! :D
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