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Norwegians...we rule...literally.

  The Norwegian Ghost Edward de Vere, William Shakespeare, and the Greatest Cover-Up in Literary History Peter Thoegersen The question of Shakespeare’s authorship has been debated for over a century, and it has largely been debated badly — framed as a snobbish dispute between those who want Shakespeare to be an aristocrat and those who insist on the democratic romance of the Stratford glover’s son. Both camps miss the deeper argument. The case for Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, as the true author of the works attributed to William Shakespeare does not rest on snobbery. It rests on three interlocking claims, each independently compelling, and together very nearly conclusive. I. The Blood: From Vear, Vestfold to the Plays of England Begin where the story begins — not in Elizabethan London, not in Normandy, but in Norway. The de Vere family did not simply emerge from the Norman aristocracy. Their genealogical records trace their origins to Vear, Vestfold — the heartland o...
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Janteloven I

 Ikke gjør det. "Han har en stor en i magen!" Du skal ikke tro at du er noe... "Are YOU some kind of ASSHOLE?" Oh my god... who do I think I am? I, I, I can't do this.  Du skal ikke innbille deg at du er bedre enn oss If I do this, I better be fuckin better than everyone else, or I'll be so embarrassed...what will people say?  I must practice, train, exercise all day, all night, every goddamned day, and never stop until I'm better than them. All of them. Ever. Ever to have existed.  Du skal ikke tro at du er mer enn oss. Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into? I'm so deeply ashamed and humiliated. ... Wait...I actually AM better than them... fuck... svarte faen...I must hide.  What if they get mad at me for being better than them????? OH FUCK!!! HJELP. HJELPE MEG.  Du skal ikke tro at du kan lære oss noe What if I am better than them, but I have to prove that I'm better, but I can't? What if I fail and flounder right when I'm on stage?...
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Old Poem in New Form.

  snobbly dripped [opacity]( https://www.google.com/search?ved=1t:260882&q=define+opacity+in+art&bbid=6583375685412722040&bpid=4180776410529487607 ): [tenuous]( https://www.google.com/search?ved=1t:260882&q=define+tenuous&bbid=6583375685412722040&bpid=4180776410529487607 ), [languorously drenched]( https://www.google.com/search?ved=1t:260882&q=define+languorously+drenched&bbid=6583375685412722040&bpid=4180776410529487607 ), equipped with [kalinite]( https://www.google.com/search?ved=1t:260882&q=kalinite+mineral&bbid=6583375685412722040&bpid=4180776410529487607 ).
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A partially rhymed Complaint

 Waking up is painful; it hurts to be alive. I feel like Prometheus chained to a rock with Eagles picking out my liver with  Knife and fork. And The way  Sisyphus eternally rolls the boulder up a hill... forever and ever and ever. My life has come to a standstill It hurts to be alive.  Unseen. Unnoticed. Dislocated  Unalive. Wasted air breathe I, as it prolongs my stupid life Breathing to no avail, I still stand still stand I create things no one sees, hears, or reads. I swim in barren seas. I wish I were as Proteus so I could change form and swim to Jupiter to live in clouds of colored freeze free of death, disease, and villainy.  Where no fascist dictators try to kill me.  Waking up is painful; it hurts to be alive.  When all we do is shuck and jive As Americans, who never received a classical education Can't speak or read Latin nor Greek. Can't think critically and then vote against our own interests We oppress the meek Without the guts of Io, ...
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Mewology 101.

 Mewology thwarts the patriarchal slashings of freedom Dicktaters impose on their own people due to their impotence. The all-powerful force of mew pervades the universe and multiverses Penetrating love and cuteness into all dark corners Blisteringly bright, crystalline, shiny, conscious living light-filled force of unbridled love Exploding and exposing dark decay of ugliness and greed, power, hate, and corruption of the soul Giant multiversal space vaginas gobble and eat the poison of man and his tiny little soft dick.  The giant eternal soft lips of the vulva opening and transforming all the dark little clods of filth and garbage into eternal love energy that all cats play with in their giant cuteness. Lions, tigers, leopards, house lions, and bobcats Caracals, lynx, jaguars, pumae, all ferociously licking, biting, eating, digesting, and shitting out the hairballs of patriarchal ego and hate.  TrumpHegseth gets transformed into the cat vagina love mechanism and is rectif...
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a free verse poem written in agony.

 The man with four dicks and eight balls...had many problems. They were all different sizes, shapes, and colors. One of them had ED. (Educational Deficit) One of the four scroti had three balls, so the total was actually 9-Ball. But the second to the left scrotum had one ball, so it was actually 8 balls. The penii argued and fought constantly. The big black one told the other penii to rest up. The little yellow one shrank in fear. But it knew calculus. They were going to see about a woman with four pussies. She had four different sizes, colors, and labiae. They had found each other on Plenty of Carp, an online dating app.  They were hoping his rocks would fit in her "holes," pun intentional. Yes yes.  Now, the question everyone asks is: who does the thinking? Are there five brains for both man and woman? Five brains storming up thoughts unconjurable by a single brain is obvious.  Therefore, the four mini-brains of the genitals combined with the one larger brain would...
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Iambic Trocheeic Tetrameter on Lyfe.

 Shingley bangly doodly bow; Hierarchical schmandrake down below. Morphogenic nuages are all pissed off; More akin to jacking off, slough! Slake dragons two are in Budapest; more in line with all the rest. transcendental harmony bee forever and all, for all I can see, Jangly, mangly, orderly soul; Come hither to me, you withal, hindered hindsight valley impress Local guy sees him in a new dress. Instantiated hippos clearly defy the most inundated mechanical sigh, snobbily dripped, I do impart And fly high, the sun I mean to exfart, motion galloning two-fisted lye; brine fish-eyed fool and pie in the sky, corn-starched workhorse fly, gadfly, be Look here, sinner, I am worthy of thee Inasmuch as I can know whose fork is this eating and masticating pork worms in bliss. forever mistaking his children for rent; Never forget the life you have spent.
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