Stormland Page #3

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- What?

I can.

Have you gone crazy?

What's wrong with you?

What do you mean?

- What do I mean?

My mom "watered the

trees with Coke"?

Have you gone nuts?

Take it down right away.

You can't blog like

this about my family.

Having just slept with me.

It's disgusting.

I wrote this before

we f***ed.

After your dad fired me.

What's the problem?

What's the problem?

Please.

Find another way to get revenge.

Come on.

It was just a joke.

No, a joke is funny.

This is just mean

and nothing else.

Nobody reads it.

Why do you blog if you

think no one reads it?

This could end up

in the papers.

It's just a metaphor.

- Metaphor my ass.

What's that?

A metaphor?

- Yes.

A simile.

When things get a different

meaning from before.

For example,

a table leg.

Table leg? And what does

the word "fat" then mean here?

You can interpret it

as you like.

You can't do this to us.

I can't change it.

I'm not for sale.

Not for money or tears.

Maybe I'll metaphor

a description

of what it's like to

sleep with you.

On Skagafjrdur.com.

What?

And describe in detail

how you do it.

You're trying to

censor my blog.

Am I not a free man?

In a free land on a free Internet?

I'll look at it.

- You'd better.

Do we have to

work in this rain?

Of course not.

Are you mental, Aron Freyr?

Grandpa always said

it was no use raking wet hay.

Your granddad was

a nutter

and never in the youth program.

He was just a lazy farmer.

Do you think Grettir

thought about the rain

when he swam to Drangey?

- Grettir who?

You're from here, Brimar Sr

and you don't know Grettir?

Get out.

Work.

Green with yellow bulbs

and multitudes of wild roses

the land bows down

to a still water.

And swimming swans

drunk with kisses

dip their heads in

holy water.

Oh, B?var.

Did you come to visit me?

Or Lra?

Just to work in the garden,

remember?

I need a garden hose.

Isn't it raining?

- Not anymore.

Well.

What are you doing here?

Watering the garden.

- Why are you in here then?

Why aren't you out in

the garden?

I was just...

I was going to connect

the hose in the laundry.

It's good I bumped

into you.

I want to dedicate a

poem I wrote to you.

Get the f*** out.

What?

- Get the f*** out.

Bddi.

- F*** off.

You're crazy.

You going to the concert?

- What?

In Tallinn.

The f***ing good times

are tempting.

But after the mega party

you end up spewing

in an abortion

wishing you'd never

been born.

Stuck in this f***ing

hellhole. Forever.

He's crazy.

Am I only a semen provider?

Is that a problem?

Do you want anything more?

Yes, why not?

You're not father material.

Not the type.

Spend all your days

grumbling on the net.

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