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Topics - EK WAFFLR

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No idea if this is anything to get worked up about, but the awful pun in the heading tells me no.

Apple Talk / The Norwegian Beard.
« on: August 29, 2013, 12:23:26 pm »
Is a thing now.

Kristoffer Hivju (Game of Thrones)

Thorbjørn Harr (Vikings)

Aksel Hennie (Hercules: The Thracian Wars (2014))

I do approve of this beardiness.

Apple Talk / Attn. Roger
« on: August 28, 2013, 08:08:00 pm »
Every time I casually glance at your new avatar I see this:

That is all. You may now return to WHNing the place.

Apple Talk / Alright, you fuckers!
« on: August 22, 2013, 10:24:11 pm »

Apple Talk / Your answer is correct.
« on: August 16, 2013, 01:03:20 pm »

Aneristic Illusions / Wtf Apple!
« on: August 09, 2013, 08:06:43 pm »

Apple Talk / Cop selfies!
« on: July 30, 2013, 10:20:21 pm »

« on: July 25, 2013, 05:07:17 pm »
So, last weekend, (12th to 14th of July), me and my chum did London. We met some friends, got drunk, went to a concert, got even more drunk, collapsed. That was friday.
Saturday was spent sightseeing, visiting a friend for beers and late lunch, then getting drunk. And more drunk. And even MORE drunk. We met some new, awesome people, one of whom had just come from his stepdad's stag party. He had a bunch of masks. The maskes portrayed his stepdad. I got two of them, by promising I'd use them in my band's show the following Saturday.

Fast forward to this weekend (19th to 21st of July), me, my band mate and the ladyfriend all take the train from Oslo to Hessdalen, this tkes nine hours. We are p icked up, driven to the festival area, set up our tents, and get drunk, and watch a few bands. collapse in tents.

Saturday was spent bathing in the river (around 8 degrees celsius, or 46 F), barbequing and getting drunk. I suddenly had to play synth for another band, which was fun.
Then it was our turn, as the third last band to play. The time was 01.30 AM. We were shitfaced.
And we looked like this:

Apple Talk / ROGER & NIGEL
« on: June 19, 2013, 03:36:30 pm »


Apple Talk / Chasing the Black Dragon, a tale.
« on: June 02, 2013, 11:54:52 pm »
Part one: Cup of Brown Joy.

Chapter one: You say “Herbal”, I say “No Thanks”.

“Herbal?! You gave me herbal?” Arthur spit out his tea, and gave his valet the evil eye. “What is the meaning of this, Carruthers? Are you trying to kill me?”
Carruthers cleared his throat, giving the impression that he thought very little of Arthur's hissy fit indeed. “Yes, sir. I'm afraid we are all out of your regular tea.” “By Jove, Carruthers, out of tea? But why didn't you just stroll over to the shop?” Arthur said, eyeballing his manservant with malice aforethought.
“I did to the shop, sir. They were sold out. The manager said hat they hadn't received any tea for weeks. When I returned, I called a colleague of mine to borrow some tea, a task I found most embarrassing, sir. However, the story was the same there. It seems that there's no proper tea to be had in the entire area of Greater London. My apologies, sir.”
Arthur fell silent for a bit. He brooded with a passion. This was a crisis! A disaster of epic proportions! Arthur needed, no, craved his tea. He would sell his own grandmother for a cup. Well, he'd sell your grandmother. He let out a deep sigh, deflating like an old zeppelin.
“This is dire news, Carruthers. I need my tea. And herbal just won't do. No right-thinking man drinks herbal. Say, you haven't happened to read anything about it in the papers, or heard something on the radio?”
“I'm afraid not, sir. I find it very mysterious, to be honest.” The manservant looked nonplussed, or at least not as plussed as usual. This troubled Arthur. Carruthers were his intellectual superior in almost every aspect, and he secretly wondered if God had the intention of turning his life into a Wodehouse novel. He hoped not.
Arthur brooded a bit more. Then, he got a determined look on his face, stood up and walked towards the front door.
“I must investigate, Carruthers. This tealessness can't continue. I shall comb every tea shop in London! “
“Very well, sir. If sir doesn't mind, I will telephone my colleagues to see if I can find out some more,” Carruthers said.
“Very good, Carruthers, get right on that!”

Arthur hated using public transport, but he didn't dare drive his care in his current state. Besides, driving in London was a hassle at the best of times. As the metro noisily took him to Oxford Street, he daydreamed about doing 90mph down it in his ’37 Cord 812.
The metro stopped, and he got off, almost running to the nearest tea shop. As he entered it, he noticed a distinct lack of items on the shelves. There were plenty accessories and postcards, but very little tea. Arthur asked the proprietor about this.
“I'm afraid I don't have any answers. I haven't been able to find fresh tea for weeks. The only teas I have left are herbals.”
Arthur shuddered. “But, why has this happened? And why haven't the news reported on it?”
“It's baffling, isn't it? But I know as little as you, I'm afraid.”
Arthur thanked the proprietor and left.

He spent the rest of the day visiting all the stores he could find, all had the same story to report, and nobody knew why. Defeated, Arthur went home. The valet had no news, as his manservant colleagues knew nothing either.

That night, Arthur wept himself to sleep, and dreamt of horrible things.

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