Couldn't help myself...

“Please, where is line for second-class peoples?”


“HA?”


“Where is line for second-class peoples?”


“Talarðu ekki íslensku?”


“I am sorry, I not understand.”


“grrr...Ok, vhat is your question?”


“I am needing food, what line do I stand in please?”


“Vhat is your flokkur, you know, your rating?”


“Rating?”


“Your rating, yes, vhat is it?”


“I am sorry, I not know.”


“....útlendingar...OK, I vill explain. That line is for Icelanders, they get served first, don't stand there!”


“OK”


“The next line is for hálf-útlendingar. People who have Icelandic citizenship, but are not Icelandic. Ewen if they have been living here a long time, ewen if they speak Icelandic, own a home or business in Iceland, are married to an Icelander, and have half-Icelandic children. That is vhat the sign says. Íslenskir ríkisborgarar af erlendum uppruna. See? Not íslendingar.”


“Yes, I see.”


“The next line is for E.U. citizens, or as they are called in Icelandic, erlent vinnuafl. They should go home but some of them don't understand the Icelandic system and stay here. Are you a EU citizen?”


“Sadly no.”


“OK, then you must go in this line, see? It is the line for mostly brown not EU people who come here to steal our jobs, cheat our well-fare system, steal our men, abuse our women, create mafias, destroy our culture, and steal food from the mouths of our starving children.”


“But I am not coming here to do that!”


“Oh good. Ve keep trying to make them go home, but nothing vorks! They have to pay taxes for it, but they can't get bætur, ve can send them home if they don make more than minimum vage, or if they can't afford to pay fines instead of going to jail, and ve have a rule that they can only get a job if no Icelander vants it, and still they keep coming! But if you are not here to do that, vhy are you here?”



“I am coming here to teach dancing.”


“Vhy didn't you say so! See that much nicer line over there? That's the line for exotic foreigners who make Icelanders feel cosmopolitan and culturally hip. You belong in that line!”


“Why is they all so high?”


“THEY'RE DOING DÓP!?!?! ÚTLENSK GLÆPAGENGI!!!!!!!”


“I sorry, I mean to say why are they so tall?”


“Oh! Ha ha. Oops. That is also the line for foreign athletes.”


“Oh. I understanding. Thank you. Please can I ask one more questions?”


“OK.”


“The place with leather arm chairs and free champagne, who is that for?”


“Oh, well, that is for íslandsvinir.”


“Um...I am also friend of Iceland. Can I go there?”


“Vait a minute, I thought you don't speak íslenku!”


“I don't but the author does, he just forgot about it 'cause he ain't had enough coffee yet.”


“That would explain vhy all of the sudden your accent vent from generic foreigner to hillbilly Yankee.”


“Please to be regaining plot now?”


“Oh, yeah, sorrí. Anyvay, íslandvinir are rich or famous foreign people who like Iceland, or at least come to wisit once or tvice. Because they are famous, they make us look famous too, so ve give them special treatment.”


“Oh, like what please?”


“Vell, They never have any problem with getting wisas or vork permits, ewen if they are from outside of the EU, the police usually don't bust them for drug use, and if they are famous enough, ve vill grant them asylum or citizenship if some other country vants to charge them vith tax-fraud or something silly like that.”


“Really? Is allowed asylum seeking here?”


“Hahahahahaha. Ó mæ gadd nei! That is vhat that electrified cage ower there in the corner is for! Ha ha ha ha!”


“OK, I think I am understanding. Who is all the peoples in parkas though?”


“Those are tourists. Also the ones in skinny-jeans and ironic T-shirts. Ve like them, they come here and spend lots of money. They even tip! Sometimes they are so stupid they pay for other people's drinks! Best of all, they leave!”


“I see. Thank you so many for helping me. Could I ask one more thing?”


“Sure, vhy not?”


“Where can I be finding list of rooms to let?”


“Let?”


“Yes, am needing to find new place to live.”


“Oh, you mean “rent”, funny how you útlendingar can't even speak correct útlensku. Vhy do you need to find a new place to live?”


“There are homo-faggots living in the house!”


“Hólí sjitt! Ég trúi ekki að þú hafir sagt þetta! Hvað er þetta með ykkur fokking útlendinga! Þið eru öll svo helvíti fórdómafull!”


“What?”

"Never mind. Here is your order. Do you want kokteilsósa with your fries?"

I know, I know. Mean. Ranty. Negative. Stuff I was gonna stop doing...but c'om! It's funny!

Ideas I've had in the last few days...

Ideas I've had in the last few days...

On those all-too-rare occasions when I get off my ass and haul said lump of lazy to the gym, one of my favorite bits of equipment is the good ol' fashioned rowing machine. I like the nearly-whole-body movement, and tend to just close my eyes and imagine I'm rowing over to Fox Island from my Uncle Paul's beach house just south of Purdy.

But for all the liking, there are a few things that could most definitely improve this fitness classic. I don't like how the chain-driven machines require you to pull in a completely straight line. If you try to put a twist into it, to work the sides of your lower back (which in my case are a pair of muffins that always come out on top) you can totally trash the machine. The other main problem is that while the act of pulling yourself forward does work out your legs and abs a little, you get almost no work from your pecs and triceps.

So I came up with a simple solution. Instead of the chain, or the older (and much less fun) design with the two hydraulic handles, you have a single pneumatic tube, with an adjustable intake and outtake valve, which would provide resistance on the push and the pull. Mount this on a ball-joint, so that you can twist, lift, and lower, and viola! You've got a rowing machine that provides a whole-body workout, won't get all messed up if you add a bit of rotation or twist (especially if the handle can be rotated vertical to horizontal), and is mechanically far simpler than most of the models on the market. Rpm, distance, etc could be calculated by a fan-wheel on the end.

The other idea I can't stop playing with whilst walking to work is based on my personal fascination with methane. I don't know why the idea of converting waste (yes, including poop) into fuel appeals to me so much, but it does.

Go ahead, get all Freudy on me.

Anyways, I've come up with a automated system that connects the kitchen sink drain via a garbage disposal unit, and the toilets in a house to a smallish (about the size of a large refrigerator) device that heats the waste slurry to the necessary temp, mixes it to the necessary consistency, and then allows anaerobic bacteria to break it down, producing bio-gas, which would then be filtered and pumped into a holding tank for use in cooking, hot-water systems, fireplaces, grills, etc. The waste would then be pumped right down the same sewage lines it would have run before. A second input could be mounted on the outside of the system (which could be installed up against the wall outside of a house) for yard waste (especially lawn clippings) to be added to the mix.

A small computer and a few sensors could make sure that the temperature staid optimal, and with a few automated valves said computer could add chemicals (mainly ammonia) to maintain the pH levels. All in all it would require only the occasional maintenance, not unlike a wood stove, heat pump, or septic tank.

Now, for a system like this to work, one would have to be really consciousness about putting all organic wastes down the garbage disposal (vegetable scraps, food scraps, etc) because human poo just doesn't have the right make up for massive methane production. You'd also have to come up with a way of breaking down the TP, as cellulose takes a long time to break down this way. Finally, you'd have to create a specially formulated toilet cleaner to prevent throwing the Ph off and/or killing off all the bacteria.

A family of four could probably cook most of their meals on a system like this, or enjoy a lot of fire-side reading, BBQ, or hot showers. For a house with a gas range, it would likely pay for itself in a year or two, and combined with other power-saving/producing features (solar cells, solar water heating, wind turbines, etc) it starts to make even more sense. I mean hell, if you buy a methane powered car you could never pay for gas again!

I'm souper, thanks for askin'!

So once again with the segueing...

As mentioned at the end of the previous post, one of the strongest arguments one can make in favor of multiculturalism is simply that it tastes better. Food culture is often the last aspect of any immigrant's culture to wain, holding out longer than language or even religion, and as such serves as the unnamed diplomat of many a cultural minority. Good food breaks down barriers faster than bulldozers, I mean hell, even your most hardcore goosestepping skinhead idjit can't stop his mouth from watering in the presence of a really good kebab.

Which leads me to today's idea.

A few years ago, as more and more "ethnic" restaurants started springing up around Rvk, I began to ponder the question of "what one type of food unites humanity?".

'Course, as a Westerner, the first thing to spring to mind was the ol' staff of life, bread.

But that doesn't hold water, because most of Asia doesn't subsist on bread, neither does much of South America. So that's right out.

All the other starchy foods don't work, too much variety, everything from potatoes, rice, barley, wheat, corn, palm hearts, cassava, plantains...

See what I mean?

Eventually it hit me though, as I settled into a steaming bowl of Pho at a wonderful little eatery downtown.

Soup is the universal food. Well, soup/stew is the universal food. But really, the difference is only in the volume of liquid, so let's call it soup.

I mean think about it, nearly every culture, or geographic area can almost be defined by its traditional soup.

Think about, you've got Icelandic "meat soup" (a mutton stew), clam chowder in New England, mulligan stew in Ireland, bouillabaisse and onion soup in France, miso in Japan, menudo in Mexico, chile con carne in Texas, Navajo stew in New Mexico, gumbo in Louisiana, minestrone in Italy, borscht in most Slavic countries, ox-tail or won-ton soup in China, hell even desert cultures make soup .

Now, I love soup, be it something "exotic" like Looz Shorba or something as ubiquitous as Jewish penicillin (otherwise known as chicken noodle soup).

Which stirred up my bubbling imagination until out came the steamy goodness of an idea for a restaurant, which would feature a rotating menu of world soups, breads, and salads, owned and operated as a co-op, and making a point of offering working scholarships/internships to exchange students (so long as they're willing to share soup recipes).

Such an establishment could offer relatively inexpensive food (as soup is mostly water, milk, etc) which would be a boon to the Rvk food scene, as well as serving as a center for inter-cultural exchange.

I wanted to call it "The World Headquarters for the International Republic of Soup".

'Cause eateries with really long names make me laugh.

Silly idea, I know.

But no more silly than a Robin Hood themed pizza place....

Happy Paddy Day!!!

Happy Paddy Day!

I love Paddy Day.

Even though I'm not at all Irish, and have never been to Ireland (much to my regret).

I listen to a lot of Irish music, even play some (mandolin and tin-whistle), and many of my favorite movies hail from the Emerald Isle (The War of the Buttons, The Van, The Snapper, The Commitments, Waking Ned), as does the eternal goodnesses known as stout, soda bread, and corned beef and cabbage.

It's also my pops b-day (Happy 60th Popsicle!) which is funny, considering that he and all his siblings have saint's names, but my dearly departed Granny wasn't much a fan of Eire so he got named Laurence (after the patron saint of Quebec?) instead.

So I'm gonna go all out.

Which I usually do for fun holidays, like Halloween, New Year's Eve, Thanksgiving, and pretty much anything involving large amounts of alcohol and/or fireworks.

Problem is, there just aren't enough of these holidays here on the Lava lump, and most of them are bunched up in the mid winter.

So I propose a few new holidays.

For starters, I think that a general holiday (vacation for all!) should be declared on March 2nd. This would allow us to go out and properly celebrate March 1rst, BEER DAY, and joyously pour libations to commemorate the glorious day when beer was finally legalized on the Lava Lump.

I also like the idea of declaring a holiday (consisting of impromptu street parties) to occur whenever the first snow of the year hits.

Likewise, the first day that the temp hits 10C should be celebrated in a like manner.

The 20th of January should be celebrated by improvised percussion jams and bonfires to honor the all too rare spirit of insurrection.

Both solstices should be celebrated as well, with liquor.

Talk Like a Pirate Day should be celebrated with costumes, rum, and fireworks.

Finally, I think there should be an Icelandic holiday/festival devoted to nybuar (immigrants) complete with a parade, concerts, and most importantly, FOOD!

Because multiculturalism just tastes better!

Just a quick follow up...

"So" I hear my imaginary readers asking "Just what are you going to with all that scrap paper and stuff if Sorpa started paying for people to recycle it?"

Simple. Just make charcoal outta it.

Charcoal is the black residue consisting of impure carbon obtained by removing water and other volatile constituents from animal and vegetation substances. Charcoal is usually produced by slow pyrolysis, the heating of wood, sugar, bone char, or other substances in the absence of oxygen (see pyrolysis, char and biochar). The resulting soft, brittle, lightweight, black, porous material resembles coal and is 50% to 95% carbon with the remainder consisting of volatile chemicals and ash.

Thank you Wikipedia!

Now, making charcoal is very polluting because those "volatile constituents" are even worse greenhouse gases then the CO2 you produce just by burning the stuff all the way through. Happily, those same volatile hydrocarbons are themselves flammable, and can be captured and used as fuel, as in the case of wood gas cars.

So you take all this biomass (old newspaper, grass clippings, scrap timber, tree cuttings, old Xmas bushes, etc), and make charcoal briquettes out of it while bottling the gas. You could like run the entire plant off of the heat produced by the incomplete combustion, say by capturing it to run a steam turbine.

"But why would anyone go through all that trouble?" I hear my fictitious readers ponder.

Because Icelanders friggin' love to BBQ! They spend a lot of money to fuel their burnt meat habit!

You could sell the briquettes to people with standard grills, and the wood gas to people with gas grills, feeding the Icelandic appetite for charred sheep flesh whilst simultaneously cutting way down on the carbon footprint of the current trade, which creates charcoal without harnessing the wood gas, then ships it in petroleum powered vehicles across the planet to be burnt here. In other words, this system would bind up Bigfoot's feet and stuff 'em into a pair of ballet slippers.

New and improved!

“Slouching Towards Bethlehem to be Drunk” is dead!

Long live “Is It Crowded In Here Or Is It Just My Huge Self-righteous Ego?”

Why?

For starters, I haven't done a very good job of updating this blog. Instead of daily, weekly, or even bi-monthly, I only post about every three months or so. Then there's all the dead and dieing links that need editing, the rather mournful looking lay-out, and the mass of widgets and thingamabobs I felt the need to attach, in order to annoy my (mainly absent) readers.

The main reason though is simply this: I'm embarrassed. Having spent last Saturday night re-reading the last year or so's worth of entries, I cannot escape the conclusion that barring a few good rants and the occasional good idea, this page has been nothing but a continuous pity party of me.

I can defend the rants on issues political and social. After all the old blog contains “rant” in the title, but the endless carping about my job(s) past and present, and whining about my social life are just shameful. I mean really, does the internets really need more carping and self-aggrandizing drama? I think not.

So so long “Slouching”.

'Course, that being said, I'm still gonna blog. But if the market's already saturated with whining, carping, ranting, and personal minutia interesting only to the author and a few close friends, what should I write about?

I have an idea.

Actually, I have many ideas.

I've got ideas like British teens got spots, ideas like Icelanders got debts, I've got almost as many ideas as I've got urges to pun badly, and hit on inappropriate women when drunk. Problem is, I rarely if ever do anything about all these ideas.

So starting today, I'm renaming and revamping this whole thing. I'm reducing the rant and removing the whine.

Instead, when I get a good idea, like this, or this, I'm going to share it, be it a business idea, an invention, a work of fiction, a recipe, or something less tangible but none-the-less useful. Hopefully someone with the ability to actualize my passing fancies will stumble across this blog, take my idea, and run with it.

More power to 'em.

To get things started, I'd like to tackle an issue that's been floating around the webs and the op-ed columns of late, as the yearly thaw and slowly encroaching spring greets Reykjavik in a riot of wildflowe...er....litter.

I'm not sure how many Icelanders know this, but one of the less flattering stereotypes that we outlanders label y'all with is “litterbugs”. Seriously. The only place I've ever seen with more garbage on the streets, in the yards, tangled in the trees, etc, is Tijuana Mexico. No joke. I shit you not. I've been trying to figure out what could be done about this, as simply telling people to not throw their shit out the window doesn't seem to work.

I came up with two solutions. One is very much in keeping with my Anarchist ethos, the other not so much. Oddly, I like the other better at the mo', but I think that has more to do with the aforementioned rut of soul-killing negativity. Both solutions are aimed at killing, or at least maiming multiple fowl with a single projectile.

First off, do a little experiment with me. Take a nice long walk around Rvk. Notice all the litter. This shouldn't be hard, as much of it is brightly colored and dancing about on the winds. Take a closer look though, and you'll begin to notice an interesting thing: there are very few bottles or cans. Oh, there's juice boxes galore, wrappers from a fast food joints, whole bonus bags of junk, newspapers, candy wrappers, condoms, dead batteries ranging from AAA to car, but hardly a can or bottle to be found. Everyone knows why. It's simple. Bottles and cans are worth money. There is a silent, often embarrassed army of poor, or at least frugal people who spend their days and nights gathering up recyclables in order to pad out their poverty wages, unemployment benefits, retirement funds, etc.

So why not make the rest of the garbage valuable? Say that paper litter is worth 10ISK (the same price you get for a bottle or can) for every 500 grams picked up? Ditto with none-bottle plastic, broken glass, and other conceivably recyclable litter. Then say that every 500 grams of really nasty litter, like the condoms, the cigarette butts, the leaking batteries, half-empty containers of various toxic car-related liquids, etc pays a whopping 25ISK.

Suddenly Rvk becomes a lot cleaner. Suddenly a lot of people struggling to get by have a handy source of extra income, as do kids in search of pocket money. Suddenly this blight on Rvk's image is much reduced and the city gets better reviews in travel mags and more tourism as a result. Fewer tires and shoe-soles are punctured by broken glass and discarded nails and staples. People might actually start picking up litter year round, instead of waiting for the bored and unmotivated teens in Vinnuskóli to do it for them, and said teens might be a bit more motivated if they could cash in their trash at the end of the summer for a bonus.

The best bit of it is, all this comes from just paying a small amount for collected trash. It doesn't even require people to stop throwing shit out their windows, or force poor oppressed teens to walk all the way to the garbage can. Instead, the litterbugs of Rvk can go about their slovenly ways convinced of their virtuous generosity towards those less fortunate than themselves.

Everybody wins! Nobody suffers!

Which dovetails nicely into the second option, which is all about making people suffer.

In order not to muddy the issue, I'm going to put aside most of my Anarchist tendencies for this one.

Work-crews, orange-clad, armed with rakes and pick-me-ups and plastic bags are common sight along the road-sides in the US, UK, hell just about anywhere else in the world. These crews are primarily made up of people working off community service sentences for non-violent crimes. As part of their sentence, they spend their weekends (if they have a job) or a couple weeks serving the society whose rules they've broken.

If you take those rules as a given, and that some people have the power to enforce said rules while others don't as a given, this is all well and good. Pretty fair even.

I've never seen a crew like this in Iceland. Not in all the 16 years I've lived here.

So, as there is currently a massive waiting list for vacancies in the Icelandic prison system, and as it doesn't take a heaping helping of logic to see that flat rate fines (such as those imposed by the Icelandic justice system) always favor the rich whilst unfairly burdening the poor, I propose that people found guilty of non-violent crimes (up to and including massive bankster-style financial shenanigans) be sentenced to community service, no exceptions, no getting out of it by paying a fine.

Picking up garbage and such.

In bright orange jumpsuits.

Where everyone can see them.

Shame is one hell of a deterrent.

I think the length of sentence should definitely fit the crime (as is by no means the case today, where a man who systematically abuses his step daughter for five years will likely get off with a few hundred-thousand ISK in fines and maybe 2 years jail time) so that if you are caught littering (I'm not even sure this is against the law here) you have to spend a weekend picking it up, whereas if your caught swindling billions out of the pockets of the public, you should spend a couple years or so serving them.

Unlike the previous solution this one is not a win-win for everyone involved. Its also a much more complicated plan to put into action. First, you'd have to change the laws and the sentencing structure, and while changing the law is as easy as an act of parliament (lol) , changing the sentencing structure has proven to be nigh-impossible in the Icelandic courts. I mean, how are you going to get the judge to sentence a petty thief to a week of wet and windy outside labor, when you can't get them to sentence a rapist to more than two years (with weekend furloughs of course)?

Still, it would be worth it to see Jon Asgeir and company hunched over in the wind-driven rain alongside Miklubraut picking up used condoms....

Tarred and Feathered....

Just to be clear, this is a critical little rant. I know. I’m not attempting to say that anywhere else is any better or worse, I’m not saying that what I’m ranting about applies equally to all Icelanders and residents of Iceland, and I know full well that it doesn’t apply at all to some of them. That said, the more I’ve pondered, the more I begin to see certain patterns, and those patterns call out for attention. Hell, considering I've lived more of my adult life on the Lava Lump than many of my Lava Lumpian friends, many of these criticisms apply to me as well. So blast me if you want. Tell me “Iceland love it or leave it” (I do and I am), get in my face, but at least think about your responses before going all “best í heimi!” on my ass.

Everything I Needed to Know About Iceland I Learned in Grunnskoli.

#1. Cry “Einelti”!

It works like this: Anytime you get caught or called out for doing something wrong, hurting another kid, employee, fellow citizen, spitting on people, stealing, vandalizing, using ethic/homophobic/sexual slurs, telling lies, running a massive Ponsi-scheme and bankrupting the entire country, using your company credit card for a million or so’s worth of lapdances, whatever, immediately complain that you are the victim of einelti. It’s not your fault; everyone is out to get you.

#2. Actions have no consequences!

Following from rule number one, no one is ever to be held accountable for their actions by any meaningful means, as to do so would be to leggja einhver í einelti, and that is bad. Therefore no one can be sent home for bad behavior (they have a right to stay, no matter how often they attack other children and staff, no matter how much damage they do to the building, no matter how often they run away, or run off with their investors money, or call the police from the cell phone mommy and daddy gave them that they are not allowed to bring to school to make false reports) nor can they be given a time-out (this is “emotionally scarring”), sent outside (it makes outside play into a punishment), denied access to toys or activities (einelti einelti einelti!) or any other direct consequence. Likewise, it is totally unfair to call their parents, who are very busy making money and shouldn’t be bothered with mean bullies who want to tattle on children. Any attempt by other children to shun a child who consistently makes life miserable for them is totally unacceptable. Bullies have the right to disrupt, annoy and destroy at will, and if otherwise well-behaved children try to exclude them, then the bully is the victim.

#3. Bad behavior is sooooo cute!

In order to avoid dealing with the consequences of #1 and #2, it is very important to make such behavior an acceptable, even cherished part of childhood. “Ah, will you look and little Nonni, he’s hurling wooden blocks at everyone in the room because other children crying is funny, ahhh how cute!” “The cutest thing happened today! Jón defrauded a bunch of investors and used their money to buy his own private plane!” “Little Didda just called me a stupid helvítis leiðinlegur fokking homma pólverja!* And spit on me! Kids say the darnedest things!”

*See rule #13

#4. Getting there first is all that matters!

Anytime there is a line, push, shove, kick, or randomly overtake at unsafe speeds your way to the front. Waiting your turn is for lúsers, besides, if you wait your turn other kids might get something before you do! That means they’ll be better than you for the entire time it takes you to get to the front of the line! Being first in line means you’re better than everyone behind you, and being better than everyone else is really important, I mean, how else are you going to get in Séð og heyrt, so make the most of it by doing whatever you can to prolong your time there. Change your mind, make the others wait while you run off to get something, and if someone else gets served while you’re no-longer in line, throw a fit. Only someone with no self-esteem would just move to the back of the line after leaving it…

#5. I think I’m awesome, therefore I am!

Because children have such fragile self-esteem, it is important to never ever criticize or correct them. Instead, consistently tell them that everything they do is awesome! Purposely loose any game you play with them, and then tell them how awesome they are. Compliment everything they do, even if it’s something rude, disrespectful, stupid, or harmful. This way they grow up convinced of their own talent and genius, even when they don’t have any. If worst comes to worst, remind them that at least they were born in Iceland, which automatically makes them better than everyone else. I mean, there’s only one Iceland, and it’s at the top of the map, totally looking down on all those útlendingar.

This is the real reason why Iceland is a haven of sorts for famous foreigners. It’s not that Icelanders don’t care that Holywood celebs are famous, its that to admit that they do would be to admit that someone is somehow more deserving of attention than themselves, and that simply cannot be. I mean, what’s a few Oscars compared to being born in Hólmavík?

Which leads us to…*

#6. If I lost its ‘cause you cheated!

I am awesome. I am the best soccer player ever, everything I do is gold, I am the smartest, coolest, toughest, most athletic, artistic, brilliant little baby Einstein around. I pull more business acumen out of my ass than Wall Street can scrape together in a century. I cannot loose. It is impossible. Therefore if I loose, you cheated, and because you cheated I can cry, scream, and beat the shit out of you and anyone who gets in my way. Nothing I do is my fault, unless it’s something cool, in which case it’s all me. Nobody helped. Totally my idea. Get the fuck out of my spotlight!

#7. It’s not cheating/bullying/stealing/etc when I do it!

If you want something, go for it! By any means necessary! That other kid looks like he’s going to score a goal against you? Punch him! That girl’s got cooler shoes than you? Steal ‘em! Your investment firm is failing and people are like, actually demanding to make money on their investments? Take the money and run! People are protesting against your corrupt and incompetent rule? Gas the fuckers! You are the most perfect, bestest little kid ever, therefore everything and anything you do is justified!

#8. A pinch of prevention is worth a pound of whining!

Nothing is more leiðinlegt than horrible grown-ups telling you you shouldn’t do something. Anytime anyone stops you from doing something totally cool and fun, like trying to jump from the roof of the school, or hanging over the edge of a banister to drop stones on the people below, or loaning yourself money from your own bank to buy shares in your own bank artificially inflating the stock price causing a major finacial collaspe, or running off of the playground into a busy street, or playing with matches in the basement, or bringing a knife to school, or trying to bash the other kids´ heads in with a jump-rope tied to a brick, or setting off homemade pipebombs on the playground or handing communal property like fisheries and banks over to cronies for political faovors, make sure to scream at them, insult them, wail like a banshee, and complain to your parents and the bosses about how grímmt og ótrúlega strangt said grownups are. Its your right to harm yourself and others, dammit!

#9. What´s mine is mine, what´s yours is mine!

Having more stuff than other kids makes you better than them. It doesn’t matter what stuff it is. Do anything in your power to get more stuff. Beg and whine. Steal and cheat. If worse comes to worse, beat up and take. It doesn´t matter if its total useless junk. If some kid finds an empty coke can on the play ground, you have to have two empty coke cans! Either that or destroy his coke can! If some other kid has a huge gas-guzzling Hummer, you need three! Otherwise they’re better than you! If you can´t afford lots of stuff, just make sure to never part with anything. Fill your closet, garage, storage container, summer house, etc with piles of things you have no use for. Under no circumstances should any of this be given to the needy. The needy only exist í útlendum, and anyone who says they’re needy is just a lúser trying to take advantage.

Likewise, anything held in common (or not clearly marked as belonging to someone) is totally worthless, until you either own it, or at least control access to it. If you´re really smart and want something held in common, like say a particular doll or maybe a healthcare system, then what you do is you pretend not to like it, say it sucks, maybe trash it a bit when no one is looking. Then when its worn out and forgotten, you can usually get ahold of it one way or another.

#10. If its not competitive, its not worth doing!

Winning is everything. Why the heck would anyone do anything unless they can brag about it, or look down on all the lúsers? Make life a game! But, you know, a real game, one where some people (Me! Me! Me!) are singled out as winners, and most are loosers. Make sure there is some sort of prize on offer as well. There´s no point to playing if there isn´t a prize at the end. Also, make sure that you only take part in games you know you´ll win. Loose once and you’re always a looser. The only exception is if your competeing against útlendingar, in which case coming in second or third is better than winning, because a) everyone knows that they form gangs that stick together and support each other no matter how much better you are, and b) if you won you’d have to host, and “hosting” is just another word for “spending time and resources on stuff for other people”. Only real lúsers do that!

#11. Being outside sucks!

Nature is boring, outside sucks. Even if the weather is good. I mean, kom onn maður, its free for fuck´s sake! Everyone knows that anything free isn´t worth anything! It´s totally more fun to play football inside, and its not like the playground has a Playstation. The only good reason to be outside is if you’re using some sort of wheeled vehicle, zipping around for no other good reason than to zip around. Alone. So you can be sure that you are in charge. If you have to go outside, make sure to dress as inappriately as possible for the weather. Fashion trumps survival after all. Blue is the new fake tan! Also, as an adendum, trees suck! Their only purpose is to get in our way. This is why you should rip the limbs off of them whenever possible. Also, that way you have a stick, and other kids don´t, making you both cooler, and better able to enforce your will than the other kids. Plus, its okay to destroy trees. Nobody owns them.

#12. Cleaning up is someone else’s job!

There are two kinds of people in the world. Cool, hip, powerful, rich people who make messes, and poor, lame, disenfranchised, people who clean up. Because no one wants to be part of the latter group, no one should ever be forced to clean up thier own mess. Not making a mess in the first place is also unacceptable. I mean, talk about torture, you expect me to carry this can/bottle/bag/wrapper/cigarette butt/pile of spent fireworks all the way to the next trash can!?!? If the visual evidence on my consumption isn’t there for all to see, how will people know how much cool stuff I consume? Also, copious amounts of litter and tagging on every concieveable surface is cool, it makes Reykjavik look like some tuffarahverfi í útlendum. Not that anyone is more tuf than Icelanders.

#13. If you don’t have anything nice to say, say it in útlensku!

If you feel the need to say something unfortunate, say it in útlensku. After all, all Icelanders speak fluent útlensku, unlike útlendingar who are genetically incapable of learning the Language of Awesome. Hell, they even need Icelanders’ help with their own language! If you say it in útlensku then you’re free and clear. Calling a teacher a helvitis aumingi will get you in trouble, but shouting “Fuck you you fucking donkey-sucking gaybag cunt!”* will garner you compliments on your fluent use of útlensku! Likewise, informing someone that ‘We will not pay” is not the same thing as telling someone “Við borgum ekki”, it’s all a misunderstanding based on foreigners not understanding their own language.

*Actual quote. From a seven-year-old. I shit you not!

#14. Heima er bezt!

Just as what one says to outlanders and what one says to Icelanders bares no comparison, what one does in Iceland and what one does in Útland are two totally different things. Being drunk for days on end is ok in Ibiza, just like spending millions on lap-dances is fine in Zurich. Just like its OK to behave badly at someone else's house, as long as mommy and daddy aren't there. That being said, one shouldn’t ever be punished for anything done away from home, because they are mean there. Icelanders who do bad things away from home should be brought back, given a hug and some hot chocolate and sent to bed. Úlendingar who do bad things in Iceland should be sent home to be raped and beaten in prisons that are far too mean for Icelanders.

#15. Moderation is for lúsers!

If something is worth doing, its worth overdoing. TV is good, TV with ten thousand channels is better, especially if you have your own computer to chat on while you watch and a ceiling high-pile of video games to play when there's nothing on TV. If a tan is good, being orange year-round is all kinds of awesome. If being in shape is good, working out seven days a week and starving yourself is the only way to go! If having enough is good, having too much is better! If football is fun, don’t do anything else, or talk about anything else, or care about anything else!

There are of course exceptions. For instance, you shouldn’t have candy at school, or drink during the work week. Not one bite! Not one beer! That sort of thing is reserved for weekends, when you can go to the sjoppa and buy a bag of candy the size of your head so that momma og pabbi can sleep off the previous night’s binge drinking.