Thomasaj.com

Yeah. My 360 died today. Fucking three red rings of total crapage.  Nice timing, shitwad.

Hey dudes!

That’s right. There’s a couple of signs which surely telegraphs that the friday has finally arrived.

1. The bird do some chirping, and the amount of “endelig fredag”-mails just pile up in your inbox.

2. The traffic reduces since people take the day off and do other things.

3. The Friday Post arrives on this very website.

AnD it’S FrIdAy-O-RaMa!@#!@#!@#!@#

fRiDaY-O-RaMA-o-RaMA-O-RaMa-O-RaMa!

OooOoO-RaMa!

And on a happier note, GTA IV is everything I expected then some more. It’s crazy fun. I can’t even start to describe how fun it is, because it just is. It may be the greatest game the world has ever seen. The physics, the graphics… the general feel of the game. Been playing for a solid bunch of hours now and I’m barely picking at the scabs which are experiences and fun-filled adventures. So I’m guessing there’s a lot more in stock, and I just can’t wait!

Not much happening, I’ma get my hair cut this helg. I’ma cut it, I’m a trim it, and I’ma cut it some more!

I’m sorry for the lack of updates lately. I’m sorry for not fixing my Friends Page like I’ve promised to some of you. I’m sorry for being distant at times. I’m sorry that my man-boobs are causing you pain

On a more cheerful note, I like how thing’s are going now a-days. It feels like things are going to work out nicely. It’s all I could’ve asked for.

The pakis are running over the grous. The rain is streaming down. Mexican melodies playing on the radio. There’s food. Being prepared. Upstairs. I do not know which kind of food. The smell of peppers circulating outside my doorway. A little hedgedog crosses the road. “Heh, a hedgedog” I notice (out loud). But no one can hear me. No one.. can hears me!

I’m looking out in the horisonts while I think “Father, it’s friday. It’s friday and I don’t have any good stories for the friday corner.” I softly lurk my Bjørn Borg underwear whilst I feel my left testicular is laying all wrong. “God damn Bjørn Borg. Don’t you have any balls!” I shout. “Don’t you have any balls!” is repeated. He obviously doesn’t. Why do you need balls when you’re the worlds greatest tennis star? Except tennis-balls. Why do you need OTHER types of balls! Volleyballs! Basketballs! Footballs (soccerballs). They have no value for a tennisstar.

I really don’t have anything to tell!

Yes. I saw three persons in the open dealing behind Oslo City today. It was right a view.

Here. Take a soft-ice.

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Pakistanarene løper over grusen. Regnet strømer loddrett ned. Meksikanska melodier på radioen. Det lagas mat oppe. Uvisst kvisleis mat. Eg kjenn duften av krydder sirkulere uttafor inngongen. Et lite pinnsvin løper over veien. “Heh, et pinnsvin” bemerkar eg. Men ingen høyrar meg. Ingen høyrar meg.

Eg kikar ut i horisonten mens eg tenk “Fader. Det er jo fredag. Det er fredag og eg har ingen bra historier til fredagshjørnet.” Eg lirkar forsiktig på Bjørn Borg-undertøyet menns eg kjen at venstre testikkel ikkje lig bekvemt. “Pokkers Bjørn Borg. Har du ikkje ballar” roper eg. “Har du ikkje ballar!!” gjentakes. Han har visst ikkje ballar. For kva skal man med ballar når man er væras største tennisstjerne? Bortsett fra tennis-ballar. Kva skal man med ANDRE typer ballar? Volleyballar? Basketballar? Fotballar? Dem har rett og slet ingen verdi for ei tennisstjerne.

Eg har virkelig ingenting å fortelje!

Jo. Eg så tre personar stå åpenlyst og deala bak Oslo City idåg. Det var et riktig syn.

Her. Ta ein soft-is.

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