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.

The Red Bull story and more gladness.

So, I apologize for my absence the last days that may or may not have been caused by a Red Bull induced blackout that may have sent me on a mental roadtrip through Happytown.

Howevvah!
On to my epic tale of semen and Spain.

I was sitting in a bar by the seaside, sipping on the wonderfully blue and silver boxes containing bliss, when a somewhat tipsy Spanish dude dumped down next to me and greeted me with a slurred "Hóla!"
Always pleasured by new aquintances I greeted him back with an overenthusiastic wave and took a sip of 'Bull.
"You know what that means?" I suddenly heard from my left. The Spanish dude had a cheeky grin on his face and pointed at the can where it said "Contains Taurine."
"Naah?" I answered. He laughed, and told me that a can contained 0'4% of the stuff, then he asked me again what I thought it could mean.
Then he revealed the horrible answer.
"Taurine, means bull semene. Bull sperm!" and laughed like a hyena on weed.
I didn't drink RB for a week.

Then I discovered that Taurine is a proteine that is a part of making the bull semen. Not the semen in itself. (Thank god, or I would have a trillion of small calves swimming around in me)
And I mean a trillion. Because - when avaiable I drink it like a gold miner drinks beer.

On another note, this is my bro making his new invention. "Happy Fun Juice."©
The recipe will be guarded with our life, because when he dies, he will be serving the stuff in heaven. It's like a roundhouse kick in the tounge, but in a good way. I mean, like if you see something awesome, and discover its' yours. That drink is rosepetaled bliss covered in chocolate sunshine and happy smiles.

Last but not least... Guess.... just guess which AWESOME band worshipped by me and millions more I am going to see on monday!
I am so excited I need a restraining order against myself! Let there be rock!