Arctic

Videoer, men se den første, så den andre rett etterpå. Jeg holdt seriøst på å drite meg ut når det var over http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V618uw3q-xE

Du sitter i sofaen, og dine mange års erfaring innen data plukker opp en bestemt lyd bak tv-benken som er garantert minst en av to ting: 1) usannsynlig irriterende metallisk resonans fra en NAS jeg har stående der bake 2) minst en harddisk i nevnt NAS er i ferd med og dø Either way, jeg må opp av sofaen og DET kjennes bare feil ut akkurat nå

Du skal få pulveret, men du må riste den selv

Jeg spanderer en proteinshake til den som kan forklare meg mekanismen for hvordan kjærlighet kan være en drivkraft for noe annet enn kroppen den er i.

De første fire delene i mitt lille pågående forfatterverk Nerdlevel: over 9000. http://www.filedropper.com/brutallyhonesthonestlybrutal

[insert obligatorisk kvasi-pervospøk] kanskje derfor damene er så glade i meg? [/end pervospøk]

Om du ikke klarer det med musklene, så bruker du fingrene vi snakker så klart opp-ned retning, ikke bak-frem med mindre du insisterer på å kjenne hvordan drøvelen din kjennes mot tungespissen.

Om du flipper tunga 180 grader, og kjenner på dens venstre side (som nå er mot høyre kinn), vil du kjenne det på "feil side"

Tror du utvikler allergi før du utvikler noen farlige sykdommer

Dagens negative? Lyden visaen min lager fra lommeboka mi når jeg nå sitter i nyinnflyttet kåk og surfer ikea-katalog. Hva kan man kalle det? Et stereotypisk gay moment?

Okay, hva i helvete kan under-30-år gamle meget heterofile ungkarer ha i slike hyller? FARK!

Endelig internett i kåken (ja, jeg er en mann som er veldig, veldig enkel å gjøre fornøyd )

En god årgang med "jeg vil ikke at verden skal ikke ta stilling til meg, men det faktum at jeg har en vagina", I guess.. When in doubt - patriarchy.

Hvis noen lurer på definisjonen av viktighet av kontekst, så er dette svaret

Virker som konsensus i dag er at så lenge frøknene dekker rompa med noe, er det fullt akseptabelt og gå i tights. For min del må de gjerne show the goods if they got them, men det er jo bare min personlige, særdeles heterofile mannemening.

Meg, fredag @ Jysk, betaler for møblene de har på lager - de får adressen, telefonnummeret og beskjed om og levere det på tirsdag. Får beskjed om at det blir levert mellom 16 og 20 på tirsdag. Humør: bra Meg, tirsdag @ hjemme, 1930. Etter nesten tre kvarter i telefonkø kommer jeg igjennom til Jysk, og spør på en meget høflig og rolig måte hvor i helvete senga og sofaen min er. Får beskjed om at det ble forsøkt utlevert, men de hadde ikke telefonnummeret mitt så de måtte dra. Så nå må jeg gå hjem til muttern og sove på hennes sofa, for senga mi står hos Jysk. Humør: forbannet, men scratcher den av som human error, og roer meg fort ned. Meg, onsdag @ hjemme. Ringer Jysk 1610 for og dobbeltsjekke at møblene mine kommer i dag. Joda, det gjør de, men nå mangler det plutselig et av tre kolli på sofaen?! Den kan sittes i, men midtseksjonen kommer "kanskje denne fredagen fra leverandøren, eller kanskje neste" Humør: take a wild guess.

Oh yes

Siden livet mitt bokstavelig blitt Game of Thrones, passet det bra at jeg overtok nøklene til denne kåken i dag og blir innredet med RETTE DRITEN i morgen. Bachelorpad from SCRATCH. Take it away, Ben Folds!

Jeg bare ber og trygler alle gudenavn jeg kan komme på om at de gjorde det rette - kastet EA-designet på døra og gjorde det like bra som det første.

Reserverte den på lørdag for henting i dag, og når jeg våknet i dag lå det en reklame som sa den havnet på kampanje fra i dag, så sparte nesten en tusing

Jeg ble så forbannet over Windows 8.1 at jeg skrev en liten rage-mail til Microsoft. Jeg følte meg glad når jeg hadde skrevet det ferdig, og det er vel en god ting? Har ikke sendt det enda, though. (det er skrevet klokken 06.00, så vennligst ignorer skrivefeil her!) ------------------------------ Please note the following before reading further: The following letter is not written in my normal, polite and formal way of adressing companies such as yours, but with much more hyperboly for no less than three reasons; You might get the point. The text itself migh hopefully make you laugh somewhat, because that is what I am doing writing this and This is about as close I can get somewhat of a revenge over the internet without breaking any fucking laws. So, Dear Microsoft I have been a steady user of your product Windows since the trusty 3.1-release. While using it having admittedly caused me rage-fits worthy of Kratos the Greek god, it was a product that worked by everyone else using it. Knowledge of how to use it applied on nearly every normal computer you would park your ass in front of, so learning it was a great investment, and if you did not wander into the galaxy of writing your own code, it was on the rather easy side. And the simplicity was its saving grace over Linux in my opinion, since the whole concept of Windows\Linux can be summed up like this; in order to spend time with your best friend, you also have to spend time with the following person: his slightly retarded, but fun and loveable little brother, or his anarcistic hipster-girlfriend who required you to speak a made-up language in order to tell her basic shit. Forest Gump beats Cruella deSkynet. Now, the entire range of Windows-products have been to a varying but acceptable degree likeable, scratching the Vista-incditent (not doing that would be like any self-respecting member of the bird-species actually mentioning the Dodo during an explenation – completely fucking retarded) up intall your last try, the number 8. And the reason for my part is singular; someone, over at your offices that work with design, with way more power than he and\or she deserves (and I hope you took a big swing of the axe across his stripes on his shoulder for this one), desided that to remove the one thing that made the whole thing make sense, the start button, was a big-ass leap forward. Incidently, trying to solve the problem mentioned later in this letter, I came across an article explaining that you scoffs at this idea, and that it only «takes time getting used to». Allow me to first explain to you why you are, like topping your wedding cake with shaving-cream, wrong on so many fucking levels. It's like losing your leg, and instead of a crutch, you have to learn to walk using a six-foot rod of frozen feces. It does not takes time getting adjusted to, because it feels downright disgusting from the get-go. And the new alternative, which is in essence digital Ebola since it makes all my organs bleed, is called «Tileworld». Seriously, had you named it anything more juvenile, you would make it sound like the title of an underground web-forum for pedophiles. It's horrible. And while the title does makes sense, since all you get is a screen full of fucking tiles, that is where the logic stops. Is this supposed to replace the start-menu, that was so brilliantly simple? The metaphorical if you want to do it fast - shot in the head-method? Now, because of the fact that your product Windows 8 is now standard on every god damn new computer, switching out the good ol' number 7 (that was brilliant, by the way – respect where its due), a lot of people who, unlike me, know how to write code, wrote shells that gave me back the button that Windows 8 needed more than a heroinist need an intervention and a bath. And that sort of leveled out things – there was plenty more shit I would like to shave off, but the start button calmed me enough to let things slide. But there was one thing that kept annoying me; the «update to Windows 8.1 for free»-offer. Why? Because if you have driven BMW's for your entire life, and your brand new one features droplet-shaped wheels, because some German thinks it will make the ride better, you do NOT want to experience their version of «an improvement of that». So this offer was, like an offer to gobble down a pint of Cyanide, turned down every time because I felt it generally served my health better to do so. You thought that the sting was over now? Well, to quote a sadistic urologist: find a ruler or a stick outside and bite into it, because this will make your eyes water. Until one night some days back, where I returned to my computer after a trip out only to be greeted by a semi-transparent black screen with something like the following text: Hello! You have turned down our offer so many times now, that we just downloaded Windows 8.1 for you. Hope you don't mind! Would you like us to rape your OS now, in a couple of hours or a couple of days? Your choice. Bye! Do you actually want to hear what that message feels like? It feels like your husband\wife\partner waking you up one morning, telling: «Honey? You know that to have turned down my every request to shove an arm-sized peppergrinder up your rectum? Well, when you slept last night, I glued your genitalia shut. So, you want your hole bleeding now, or in a couple of days?» No brain that recieves sensory output the correct way would agree to this, so, in looking for a faint glimmer of hope that somebody controlling this show of yours would actually activate his grey cells in such a magnitude he realized that we screwed the pooch on this one, I put it off. And, a couple of nights after, I got the message that could only been more dramaticly recited by a completely black screen, with the word «grinder time» voice-acted by Dennis Haybert (the giant man that played Manute in the Sin City-movies) written in normal font and size mid-screen. So I sat there, pissed off more than Tom Cruise at an Psychology Today-christmas party, and waited for the entire system to grind itself into whatever new shape you wanted to it to look like, and I made a vow; if a lose a single byte of porn because of this, someone is going to die. And there my trusty little button with the many options was gone. And back was the concept of Tileworld. There is no better way to say this: how unbelievably fucking dumb. Oh my maker, the magnitude of inter-cranial decay. What sort of human being decides that yes, the ONE thing that everyone got so pissed off about and had to change themselves? Let's restore it to the way it was. Not the good way, the bad way. And I am truly sorry, but the offer you gave instead – the grey, Shaft-length box of options you gave when you right-clicked on the symbol in the corner was like offering a victim being stabbed nine times a fucking Band Aid. In case I have not made my point loud and clear, allow me to type it into fine print; You know why Pizza works? It works, because it's simple, the ingridients are somewhat the same around the world and no matter the version of it, when you order a pizza, you get a pizza. You know what would make Pizza NOT work? If the monopoly manufacturer of pizza decided that yes, a deep-fried turd is something that belongs on EVERY pizza. It's as common sense as telling your girlfriend that yes, indeed, those pants makes her ass fat is a bad fucking move. So why exactly am I sitting here, again, with a button in the corner, again, that leads to a concept so shadely named it deserves to be on How to catch a Predator, again, that works as good as a toad after an eight-ball of crack, still. And do NOT let me start on the whole oh, so you want to use the cursor on the left side of the screen? Well, you better watch it, because if you put it the wrong spot we will warp up a giant fucking menu across your screen. Its like having your computer on a desk in a 45-degree angle down to the right, and every time your hand slides too far down, an 835-pound man will slap his cock in your face. Because of gravity, it is from time to time unavoidable. And every bit as un-fucking-necessary. So please Microsoft – don't become the pre-modern Citroen of the computer world – so many ideas, and so few of them correctly done. Stick to the tried-and-true formula, and improve on that. It might not be as fun, but it works. Like pizza.

Enhver bachelorpad trenger en bachelorsofa Og gjett hva jeg fant i dag! Føler meg nesten litt pervers

Jaaaa, kjære fittnessblåggen - her på radio Arctic: Jeg har endelig fått pellet meg til å begynne og skrive (til de som ikke så den posten, så har jeg en challenge på og skrive en erotisk roman bedre enn fifty shades of grey på minimum 50.000 ord i løpet av novembers 30-something dager) etter at mine muser forlot meg for en heroin-ferie i Kambodia. Men så plutselig, etter noe sirkusvann og mye knising over mimring fra fordoms tider slo det meg nesten som en fuckings murstein. Så jeg satte meg ned, og bare bygde opp skjelettet av boka (den ble gode 1700 ord alene), så det her ser ut til og bli heftig (du vet du koser deg når du sitter der i skredderstilling over laptopen på senga, kniser og ler høyt for deg selv mens du skriver fingrene dine nesten glatte ) Et lite hint: folk ville blitt sjokkert hvis de visste hva som er, og ikke er, fiksjon i dette verket Christian Grey? Come at me, bro! ADDENDUM: Til de som tenker "hvordan i alle dager blir dette?" så er svaret følgende - jeg håper og skrive en bok som har en meget uvanlig og snodig presentasjon som folk ikke er vant til og lese. Se på det som et dypdykk ned i de små tannhjulene i girkassen til en forferdelig rar kar som forteller en historie om et miljø de ikke er kjent med. Hvis jeg også klarer å få folk til og tenke litt ved siden av så er jo det enda bedre! Men prio numero uno vil jo alltid vær at dette er ei bok damene leser mens de sitter på vaskemaskinen og venter på den skal bli ferdig, if you catch my drift

Fant en leilighet til leie i avisen klokken 10.00. Var på visning klokken 12.00. Klokken 12.25 stod jeg med underskreven leiekontrakt. For og gjøre en lang liste veldig kort; dette er den sykeste leiligheten jeg har SETT, ikke selv bodd i. For 7500 i måneden. Fuck me Så mandag blir en bra dag!

DSPD - døgnene mine har våketid på gjennomsnittlig 20 timer