April - NABOF Month

April will be my NABOF month. Not Actually Blogging On Food month.

I have done some excessive research on my head. Which didn't honestly take a lot of time. But my conclusion is that I need to take my mind of things like that. I will attempt -- to for an entire month -- not blog about food. I might keep a post I will fill with my thoughts on food for later, but I will try not to. I mean, it's too much of an obsession, and I'm doubting that it's very interesting.

Actually speaking of danes I had to rescue a dane the other day, she had a horrible fall on her skiis and lost one of them. She kept rolling down the slope, so I had to do hit the brakes on my board and pick her ski up. Then when she'd stopped rolling I gave it back to her and helped her up. I don't think she understood me, our languages are slipping apart like a poorly stirred hollandaise. But either way she seemed grateful. Those danes have no business up in our mountains, the mountains are too dangerous for them! They should return to their levelled homeland and ride their bike to the bakery and have some pastry and beer. That's what I think they should do.

The boys are cooking

Alright, for once I'm actually kicking back and watching my brothers cook. I only just remembered why I never do it.

It's actually hopeless entertainment. They pick up everything and then put it back down - and only this very moment my older brother spent time just to see if he could attach a regular knife into the potato peeler.

Sights like this is enough to drive you insane, I actually have to tell them to stop throwing all the cheese to the rottweiller and attempt to add it to the food instead!

And of all complicated things, they're making nacho supreme.

SKJALG! STOP THROWING THE TENNISRACKET ABOUT! GET BACK TO THE AVOCADOES!

We'll be needing a drink, they've started to cut things, with knives.

Edit:
I just opened the fridge and I went "raaaaaaaarrrghhh".
My little brother looked up at me, and said: "Tora. Is this something I should be worried about?"

Pepper Desert

The truth was that the business of tourism fashionetta was one of a slow nature. It was only as much of postcards and trolls a planet could rightfully need, or handle for that sake. Falling back into old habits was also a little bit too tempting after living on wax baguettes for the past two weeks in a row. They were also getting increasingly low on rum.

It was a very simple plan, but it was also a very good one – this because it had been made by none other than capt’n Seabeard, and he had an impressive moustache as well. A plan of this calibre had to be split into three stages and be simplified as much as possible so that every crew member could understand it. Even young Cross-eyed Jimmy with the asparagus cauldron over his head.

Firstly the most crooked crew of YARRHR (Yellow Association for Retired and Rehabilitated sea Hulks, sailors, Rebels and pirates) would have to attack random moose trams throughout the Pepper Desert. Secondly they would have to scare the passengers to bits to make sure they regained their once extremely fierce reputation. Then third, start hosting events such as guided tours “Desert Extreme Safari” and pirate spotting throughout the desert, both in the amaretto ponds and all along the sandbanks. This would without doubt not just increase the sale of postcards and sandtrolls, but it would also open up for new possibilities in the tourist fashionetta business. Printed t-shirts, miniature trams, little pirate action figures that you could yank in the arm and they’d go “Yaaaarrgh!” In other words, this was a desirable future.

This was the first of the attacks they’d planned for the day, and it was such a disappointment that their trusted ship, Lady Catherine, or their crew (for that sake), wasn’t having a good day. Sailing over the foaming peaks of Pepper Desert was a past profession that had somehow gotten a little lost over the years with penthouse parties, young models, and excessive rum abuse. The retired and rehabilitated pirates had simply forgotten how to steer their ship and had been forced to rent a moose to drag it through the dunes. Sadly, this made them about half as terrifying and kind of ruined the whole point.

From inside the blue tram they could hear aggravated barking, but it got fainter and fainter until the tram disappeared over the horizon. They obviously had to think of something different. They were also getting a little vain, if only they hadn’t fought over the mirror – maybe they could have intercepted the tram in time.

Chairlift - At My Side

I don't know about you. But I have never heard of Chairlift before. This song is very beautiful though, I hope they become huge and can share their awesome jingly, feel good, fun spirit to the planet! It's like Oliver North Boy Choir, or Thomas Dybdahl ft. Feist - but all with a bit of naive, kind of young touch! All comparison meant as a compliment to every part. Watch and listen!

Pepper Desert

It was horribly early in the morning and the other girls had warned her to stay clear of any local crooks, it was said that they could dismantle your ears fairly easily if you didn’t do as they wanted to. She was used to that sort of thing and pulled a hat down over her face before boarding the tram, just in case someone’d have a jab at her ears.

The sweaty businessman had suddenly deflated and fallen asleep as he finally got on board, so the only creatures awake on the tram were her and a snail on the floor, closely examining a giant truffle. It was a funky snail, it had DVNO printed in gold on its back, and was humming an electronic tune. And there was a dog, with a squint.

The sun was still very red and was still colouring the entire sky in a kind of pink fashion. It was nice and warm inside the tram, there was no chauffeur – it was one of the resources that had been cut back on after the launching of the Pepper-moose Expressway Tram Services. The moose then steered the trams through the hot vastness of the desert all by themselves, they knew every grain of pepper, and every oasis – and every refreshing pond of amaretto.

The Pepper desert had many names whom which it was impossible to know the official one. Casually it was usually just named “The Pepper Desert”, to make it as simple as possible, because there was just one pepper desert.

The desert looked like a large dark stain on maps, so the old hairplane pilots referred to it as “The Coffee Splash”, the shepherds named it “The Grand Sneeze” while as the dyslexics in the want of their own name for it, called it “The Splash of Sneeze”. Either way, it had become extremely famous in the countries abroad, thousands of pepper desert postcards were printed each year by the Yellow Association for Retired and Rehabilitated sea Hulks, sailors, Rebels and pirates (YARRHR), a grand manufacturer and distributor of tourism fashionetta. Obviously no one ever came to visit the desert, it was large and hot and boring, and it made you sneeze a lot. A fitting description that also meant you weren’t likely to come visit. But it looked good on postcards, at least.

All of a sudden the squinting dog had barked furiously out the window, it was now standing on its back paws and squinting towards the rising sun. What was going on? She made sure her ears were kept safe underneath her hat.

Pepper Desert

Alongside the platform ran a white line – like someone had wanted to leave a mark, but had been carried away, drawn a line along the whole thing and before they knew it forgotten why they were even there and left. Because there were no lines anywhere else on the platform, just right there, by the edge.

A platform of this calibre was considered quite uncommon – though obviously, it did occur at times, like here for example. It was the entrance to the station known as Bronze Hairpyn, a delicate little bronze oasis set in the middle of the vast pepper desert. The Pepper-moose Expressway Tram Services had several stops in the pepper desert, this because moose have a distinct sense of smell that make them unable to sneeze – even when surrounded by entire oceans of pepper, and of course that people needed to get to places.

Moose have never been considered an ideal ingredient in transport, not even the Vikings rode them even in their time, because they have antlers and hunchbacks and they don’t know how to count, unlike horses, who can. But desperate times had called for desperate measures, even as desperate as these – when the cities of Alphybette and Slingalongtong had become important destinations for trade and tourism, seal clubbing and other hobby featuretta, a transport system across the desert had been essential.

“FFfzzzttt …. ---krrxxxzt-- … tzzap-kkrz- Tram number fourtheeen to Alphybetteh is noow –fzzt- approaching the plathform –xtzap— soh pleaseh stand back frohm ‘fzzzhh- white secyrity line –fzz- thank youuh”. A voice announced loudly and unprofessionally.

Bronze Hairpyn had once been an important pit stop for the giant haircrafts that delivered important goods and mail way cross the vastness of the country. This industry had more or less been taken over by the moose-trams, the trained moose pulling old, blue trams transversely over the pepper. But even so a few of the elder haircraft companies still remained and allowed passengers to transfer between a hairborne haircraft and a moose-tram depending on their final destination.

There were only two people waiting for the moose-tram today, they had come by Ryanhair from Buenos Haires and had now both taken a step back, to make sure they didn't cross the white line. One of them was a sweaty businessman from Spawnhog, he had a curly beard and a busy face and lots of other things, but I wont tell you seeing it really isn't important. The other passenger was a girl with the largest behind you have ever seen, she wasn't even wearing a lot of clothes.