He's bold and bald. Check him out! (5 MB video clip, wmv format)
Kids, if you don't go out and burn stuff, the terrorists will have already won.
I failed. There are thousands of famous Swedes but I just couldn't choo-choo-choose which one I should blog about tonight. Let's all make paper hats instead.
With a piece of newspaper and a little imagination, you can become another person. Recycle an old newspaper and roleplay your favorite character by making and wearing a hat!
This is one of Sweden's most beloved actors of all time. He is Iprenmannen, the Ipren Man, and it's his job to walk around with a guitar, singing the Ipren Song:
Jag är Ipren den intrelligenta värktabletten. Mot värk och feber är jag en effektiv en. Smärtstillande febernedsättande ja, Ipren är helt enkelt intelligent. Jag har antiinflammatoriska egenskaper. Bra mot muskelvärk ryggvärk och ledvärk. En Ipren fyrahundra milligram hjälper oftast bättre än två receptfria tabletter med Paracetamol till exempel Alvedon vid huvudvärk mensvärk och tandvärk. Jag är Ipren den intelligenta värktabletten.
Why is he doing this? Because he gets paid. Who pays him? Pfizer. Why do they pay him? Because he's trying to market a product called Ipren for them (hence his name). Ipren contains ibuprofen, or, as I like to call it, 2-(p-isobutylphenyl)propionic acid, which is a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug. Pfucking Pfizer calls it "the intelligent painkiller".
Iprenmannen's real name is Johann Neumann but nobody knows that except you and me. He was born in Austria, just like Adolf Hitler.
Watch the Ipren Man in action here! See him parody Sound of Music! Have you ever seen such a wild and crazy guy?! Imagine what he must be like in bed!
This is Tommy Nilsson. He's like the Swedish Michael Bolton. I met him once in a svartklubb. Svartklubb is Swedish for black club but it's for all kinds of people. Whitey is welcome too. Black clubs are illegal though because they're selling beers and stuff without having the proper licence for it. And people shoot at eachother. Anyway, when I met Tommy I asked for his autograph so I could give it to my friend, the female bartender who was too shy to ask for it herself. When I explained to Tommy that his autograph meant free beer for me and that he wrote sucky music he became sad. But I was happy because I had beer.
Indeed. Let this photo of tennis player Maria Sharapova devouring a refreshing, cock-shaped banana stand as a sign of SUPERBLOG!!'s holy pledge to STOP SUCKING as soon as humanly possible.
Come to think of it, the image sends mixed signals. It could just as well indicate that we vow to keep sucking. Such is not the case. We want to put an end to our suckiness, however much fun sucking might be, for all involved. But... how do we do that? We've been sucking for so long now, I fear we may not know how to stop!!!!!!!!!!!
Help us, SUPERBLOG!! readers (if there are any of you left)! Tell us what we should do! If you're not with SUPERBLOG!!, you're with the terrorists, YOU TERRORIST-LOVING FUCKING SCUM.
After 3 minutes on German soil we saw these signs.
They meant a lot to us. As a matter of fact, you might say that they saved our lives.
So, what is this? Pimp rings? The one ring and the other? Only the brown man knows....
BTW, posting pictures with the blogger thingie is fucking easy.
I was gonna post a positive sort of bloggy post with a nice image attached but fucking Blogger's fucking fucking FUCKING image add-on thingie uploading fucking thing keeps fucking crapping out. AGAIN! Again and again and again, just like yesterday. Fuck. This is fucked.
FUCKING BLOGGER. I HATE YOU UP THE ASS.
This SUPERBLOG!! post was made possible by the generous support of Blogger.
Hello Kinder! Was ist passiert? As you may have heard, we've returned from Naziland. We lost a great many brain cells, but we gained plenty of blogging material, so that's a fair trade.
This is an artist's rendition of the brown man we met in the hotel bar in the middle of the night. We spoke with him and his posse for quite a while, but I don't remember very much about what we talked about. He was American, played football for a living, and had some weird rings he was proud of. I think he might have used them to beat people up, but he seemed like a nice guy. I was drunk, and shortly afterwards I fell down. I awoke the morning after with a renewed sense of purpose.
Such was my encounter with... the brown man.
They are loco. The German germs. And if you drink a lot you become a German too. We really tried to get drunk in order to speak lots of German but it was still hard to master loco language. English better, we met some people who could talk the talk. One of them was a fatter version of Svennis and the other one was some Terry Brown. He said he was a footballer but I was taller. More in depth reports from awesome Dysseldorf-trip any day. Please rhymes with Weeze which is the name of the little airport our plane landed on.
Looks like we're going to Dusseldorf today. Any time now. Right on. Dude. Have no time for this. Must put stuff in bag and put bag in car and start car and drive. Bad picture. This better picture and also better post. Leave now and go read better post.
I had forgotten about this until recently. You remember how I was working on a novel awhile ago? Well, this segment (everything except chapter 30) was written in the middle of the night several months ago. It's surprisingly coherent (albeit a tad foulmouthed), seeing as how I remember being somewhat pissed. Maybe I should write novels while drunk more often. Maybe we all should.
Where are chapters #24-29, you ask? Well, you see, I locked them away securely in shut the fuck up.
Chapter 30: Banana Story
You can never eat too many bananas - or drink too much booze. It's a cosmic truth. Let me tell you a story.
William was peeling yet another banana when suddenly it came to him that not only was he wasting his talent (William was an accomplished jazz musician), but he was wasting his entire LIFE. The thought filled him with dread, but as soon as it came to him he realized it was true.
So he stuck a pencil in his cellmate's eye and called for the guards. The guards let him out, and he was a free man once more.
"Be sure to stay out of trouble now, William", said his best chum among the prison guards, a Mr Whittaker.
"Eat shit and die a thousand deaths", replied William, and pushed Mr Whittaker off a cliff.
Suddenly it was September, and the roads were slippery with wetness. Shit! I can't continue this story. I've hurt my index finger. And the story was coming along so nicely, too. Insert anti-smiley here.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: That was true, the stuff about the finger.)
Chapter 31: I Waited Outside the Bar
I waited outside the bar for fucking EVER. Where were you? I thought you loved me. Today I destroyed you with words. What kind of a name is "McDuck" anyway? Richest fucking duck in the free world my ASS. Who gives a shit you feather-covered COCK? My best friend is a girl made out of sticks. My worst friend is a boy made out of flour. Among my friends in the middle, perhaps the most prominent one is DOCTOR DESTRUCTION.
Chapter 32: Dieter Destruction, M.D.
So I was sitting there like a motherfucker, watching MTV, and what the fuck did it REALLY tell me about the world? I mean REALLY. The rain was pissing down like rain always seems to do, and pissing down it was. And it was pissing down. Lovely MTV aired a commercial. What was it for? Who gives a BAP?
Chapter 33: B.A.P.
Look out, Gnutten, the Creepiness set in fifteen minutes ago. So the war of the worlds had begun and it was largely a war of words. But words can be deadly! Remember how words brought down President Kennedy?
Remember that? How he was shot by a magic bullet made of words? Through the head? And then Jack Ruby killed his killer, Leonardo Dicaprio, also with words. Do you remember? Try to remember, PLEASE.
This will show up on the test, YOU KNOW IT WILL.
Chapter 34: Monkey, You're Wrecking It!
Have you noticed how everything nowadays seems to be made out of glass? I mean aside from my friends the Girl (sticks) and the Boy (flour). Please to shut your fucking face.
And then everything turned weird. Bad was good and good was strange. Strange was salty and love was made of gingerbread. Have you noticed? How everything - EVERYTHING - seems to be made of glass? I mean aside from your windows. And your eyes. And your shoes. And your sucky taste in music.
Chapter 35: Your Sucky Taste in Music Brought Us Down
The Bible is my favorite book. If I could take only one single book with me to a desert island, it would be a survival guide. I mean the Bible. The Bible tells us everything there is to know about life and love and pain and death and suffering. I'm looking at my Bible right here, and do you know what verse I would particularly recommend? Luke 35:24. Look it up and call me in the morning.
Your sucky taste. It manifested itself in pretty much everything. Choice of clothes, and food, and friends. And of course in music. This is a subject we will have reason to return to in this work of fiction. Turn to the next page and call me in the morning.
Chapter 36: George Clooney was a Crappy Batman
How many fingers am I holding up? Just guess! The answer may surprise you.
Whatever happened to Alicia Silverstone? She was hot. Maybe she still is. Alicia, if you want to look me up on the Interweb, my ICQ nick is "Piss_is_as_piss_does". But turn off your brain first. And grow bigger boobs.
Whatever happened to Mary Poppins? That bitch was smoking. She could force-feed me medicine any time.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Chapters 31 through 36 were written in a drunken stupor. Don't tell me I didn't warn you. Oh wait, I didn't. Shit french fries.)
They told me to continue publishing my glorious novel on SUPERBLOG!! and I will. VERY. SHORTLY.
They told me to link to an animated gif of Tom Cruise and Tom Cruise.
They told me to link to an animated gif of an Ewok and his friend.
Hey, Eniro - Spanaren! What do you have to say for y'self?
Just nu söker man på
· fönsterbänkar
· Karl-Olof Hammarkvist
· nude underage model
· 1
· jackass
· "Marie Cavalier" joachim
· boyfucklady
· tiava
· webbisar stockholm
· parasollsegel
I use magnets to attach things to my fridge. Pretty original yes? We're going to Dusseldorf and if you compare Dusseldorf with Disneyland you can can see that each place is spelled with the total of ten letters. Disneyland have rats and ice cream but in Dusseldorf you can visit Nachtresidenz Düsseldorf. They claim that it's Die Discotheque in Düsseldorf. We'll just see, won't we....
When researching the joint I found out that you are supposed to dress schrill oder schick. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? The krauts are already beginning to piss me off. I don't wanna be dressed in schrill oder schick girlymen clothes. I want to wear my usual outfit.
Yeah, this was awarded to John Wilkes Booth, the American stage actor, back in 1865, but we forgot about it until now, 141 years later. How embarrassing! Anyway, here's some info on Mr Booth's acting career, courtesy of Wikipedia:
John Wilkes Booth made his stage debut in August, 1855, at the age of 17, when he played the Earl of Richmond in Shakespeare's Richard III. At his insistence, Booth was billed as "J.B. Wilkes," a pseudonym of his creation. Booth, although likely proud of his family's achievements in the acting profession, probably wanted to be judged as an actor on his own merits.
In 1858 he became a member of the Richmond Theatre, and his career started to flourish. He was once referred to in reviews as "the handsomest man in America." John Wilkes Booth stood about five feet, eight inches tall, had jet-black hair, and was lean and athletic and was an adept swordsman; these abilities led him to become a very physical actor. A fellow actress once recalled that on occasion Booth accidentally cut himself with his own sword. A common treatment Booth used to treat his many injuries was to sleep covered in steaks.
In 1859, John Wilkes Booth was preparing for a theatrical engagement in Richmond, Virginia a few weeks before the scheduled execution of abolitionist John Brown. In October, Brown had unsuccessfully raided the federal armory at Harpers Ferry, Virginia (now a part of present-day West Virginia) in an attempt to start a state-wide slave insurrection. Booth purchased a Richmond Gray militia uniform from state officers and proudly stood guard alongside the gallows as Brown was hung.
As once again predicted by psychic SUPERBLOG!! fan Zenmonki, the Internet personality known as "Sara" (obviously a fake name) is the second ever recipient of the Ultimate SUPERBLOG!! Flunky Award. Some will applaud this decision. Others might say it was completely undeserved. If so, you've gotta admit they have a point.
Still, this is the single finest moment in Sara's brief life. It's definitely all downhill from here. Congratulations!
Having performed this vital public service, I will return to watching Scarface.
Dive in.
Enjoy the show.
Drink it down.
Learn to love it.
Pretty soon
You won't be able to
Imagine life without it.
The water tastes
Of piss and shit
And life and love
And all things inbetween.
Kaplaaaaa!! It's a photo from an airport in Sao Paulo and why am I posting a picture like that you might (should) ask yourself. Well, you see, there will be no fucking ship of death next week. We decided it was time to die in flames instead. SUPERBLOG!! is about to fly somewhere with cheap ass airline Ryan Air. Only problem is that we don't know for sure where we are going.
We have narrowed it down to three destinations; Düsseldorf, London or Hamburg.
Ich bin ein hamburger perhaps
SUPERBLOG!! fan Goo made this because she thinks it's an accurate representation of me, but it's not. For one thing, I don't smile.
Also: A large number of other fans have been emailing and phoning SUPERBLOG!! Headquarters to find out what the proprietors thought about this year's Academy Awards. I'm pretty sure this year-old blog entry is still fairly accurate, and I guess a lot of you haven't read it. So there you go. You'll notice I was way more ambitious back then. Today I'd, like, post a picture of a skunk and be done with it. Huh. Now that I think about it, that's exactly what my next blog entry is going to be.
This roe deere (Capreolus capreolus) just ate my hidden apples. Bastard! But still, this definitely means something! Gah! Now there's some sort of rabbit jumping around in the snow outside. The animals are creeping me out! I wish I had a gun so I could shoot them. Animals are supposed to be on my sandwich not outside my window.
UPDATE! A large trailer drove by two minutes after the rabbit incident. It had pictures of animals on it. Pigs and stuff. I'm scared. Help me.
Maybe next weekend or the weekend after that... I don't know for sure but it's time now. Time to chase the demons aboard the ship of death. Be there or be a little sissy with no friends and cancer in your stomach.
Several thousand years ago, a man descended from the sky and told SUPERBLOG!! to tell the world about the One True Faith. And now, at last, we finally get around to it.
Please note that this is NOT in any way a picture of Mohammad (that religious prophet guy you may have heard of) but rather a deeply respectful portrait of a blue-skinned gentleman with a tail who likes to eat at the Mohammad chain of hamburger restaurants. (If there was ever any doubt, let us assure you that SUPERBLOG!! has nothing but respect for Islam and Allah and all that stuff.)
