Cause your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance then they're NO friends of mine

-Well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man. No time to talk.
Bee Gees.

So, initially I intended to make this post a casual yet devastating gateway into the mind of an outcast teenager, but what the hey, Awards for Literature will have to wait as I DO have to write about my vacation in Spain and Sweden.





After having a ball back in Norway, even after enduring the tragic loss of a dear classmate, (Rest in peace, Knuttis.) and hanging out with my beloved gang of rascals, (causing incidents like the one below... yes we tried to mow the roof, big laugh, wanna fight about it?) and attending the most EPIC consert of my life. (AC/DC has still got whatever makes us retarded for them, and will continue to have that essence of awesome imbibed in their music and performance for many years to come. Seeing Angus and Brian on stage was like having a religious orgasm and the Devil skullfucking (pardon the offensive lingo)
my ears into oblivion. I was flabber- gasted and speecheless and god knows how many other verbs affected me at the time. It was, in short, sweet.

After rocking Norway, and saying my goodbyes to all the lovely people I continually miss like Coke on a hot day, I set off to the fabled land of blondes and cheap meat. Sweden.

In Sweden I just happened to be the High DJ of my cousin's wedding... okay, I just pressed a button twice, but I do feel that the wedding could not have proceeded successfully
without me. Kinda. In any event, I really
enjoyed being 18 at a swedish wedding,
and it was fun to be liquored up by my cousin and his friends who have known me since diapers was my choice of apparel.
In addition, I felt like quite the little Che Guevara in my brown SNEAKERS at a WEDDING. (Crowd gasps and faints, frail
women are carried out on stretchers.)

Then, ladies and... okay... forget it....lady who is reading this... mom...
anyhow: Then... I went to Spain. Oh dear allmighty Yoda, I went to Spain!
2 weeks of chilling and drinking and hanging with some awesome and lovely people, and then my awesome and lovable bros stopped by for a week in our own appartment. Casa de Sogn was a reality, and we did so much fun, crazy and messed up shit that I am not allowed to talk about half of it. I can, however, tell you that I pulled off a nearly perfect Double Backflip, only slightly hurting my knees... and face... and balls... with a slightly smacky pain. I also went out on the town dressed like a pirate and tried to do the Michael Jackson "Thriller" dance. Sorry, Mike, that was probably the worst tribute to you ever.

Well, that's it for now. The next time I will write about something that makes sense, for once.