Stormland Page #4

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I'm writing.

I'm a poet.

Writing, grumbling.

It doesn't matter when

you have to change diapers

or pay the bills.

So you don't want my help.

The role of father wouldn't

be your strongest suit.

You're a great guy.

But not quite in

touch with reality.

And I don't need assistance.

Well Dagga, congratulations

on your child.

It was the year 1022.

Grettir smundarson swam

from Drangey to Reykjanes

after the sun set.

He came to a farm

and lay in its hot spring

as he was quite cold.

He baked there

the whole night

and then went in.

It's beautiful, kids.

To understand Grettir's Saga

you must be bitten by the cold.

Then jump in the hot pool after.

You boys first.

"What doesn't kill you

makes you stronger"

Nietzsche said.

Get in.

Okay.

- Come on.

F***, it's cold!

I once went much deeper.

- Really?

I can't now.

I've got glasses.

Glasses?

If you want to

impress the girls

you have to show them

you're a real man.

Show them why your name

is Brimar Saer.

What are you doing?

Are you crazy?

What are you doing?

What's wrong with you?

Are you nuts?

Are you crazy?

What's wrong with you?

I'll tell dad.

You'll be exiled

from the family.

I don't care if you

f***ed Dagga.

A youth was in danger

near Grettir's pool

at four this afternoon.

Witnesses say the

youth program leader

B?var Steingrmsson was

showing the boy

how Grettir the Strong swam

from Drangey to the mainland.

These pictures show the

severity of B?var 's methods.

B?var lost his teaching job

after his student

broke a leg

on a field trip to Drangey

last spring.

We couldn't get hold of

B?var today.

The boy has pneumonia.

You almost drowned him.

He won't be able to

go to the Funfest.

Maybe he will

slim down then.

Hey, mate.

Open the door,

you bastard.

Open the door.

Has he read

the book yet?

Is he dyslexic or what?

You don't have to change

one letter in this book.

It's not a bloody

crime novel, you know.

It's a self-help book

for life itself.

You have to profit

no matter what?

It is quite clear.

It has to be published

before Christmas.

Yes, do that.

What? Oh, hi.

You deliver mail today?

What? No.

I have to go.

Hello there.

Did we get mail?

- It's December 26th.

I met the postman,

Lra Maria.

Yes, exactly.

The mail came.

Joke.

Hey, I've had a crazy idea.

Well?

- I was thinking.

We should do a

film about this place.

This town.

A movie?

- Feature film.

You'll write the script.

You're great at that stuff.

And I'll do the rest.

We'll do something that matters.

And make some money.

Maybe once

the book's published.

Wasn't it supposed to come out

before Christmas?

My f***ing publisher

only understands low culture.

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