Stormland Page #2

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Are you kidding?

Have you got everything?

Down with your trousers.

- What?

Get undressed.

- What?

Down with your trousers.

- No.

Are you a coward?

Come on, cowboy.

That's a helicopter.

- What?

Behind us.

- A helicopter?

Isn't it Tony Group

or something?

It's all right.

I've f***ed him.

Bend over like you're

looking for something.

Looking for something?

- Yes.

F*** you.

That was great.

Why are you so pissed off?

Well, now you're pregnant.

That would be great.

I've always dreamt

of being a single mother.

You're kidding.

- No.

Give you a ride home?

- No, I'll just walk.

Thanks for the f***.

See you.

Thanks for the show.

Welcome to the

Dagga Friendship Society.

You'll be invited to

our yearly feast.

It will be held in

the Riding Hall.

At least I don't have

to pay for a f***.

You broke my

girl's leg, you bastard.

I thought you had

all gone bankrupt.

No, we're not all losers.

We don't all live

with our mothers.

The country is being

sold for peanuts.

Know what I'm thinking of doing?

- What?

Opening a Disneyland

in Thingvellir.

And you know what?

- What?

I can.

Have you gone crazy?

What's wrong with you?

What do you mean?

- What do I mean?

My mom "watered the

trees with Coke"?

Have you gone nuts?

Take it down right away.

You can't blog like

this about my family.

Having just slept with me.

It's disgusting.

I wrote this before

we f***ed.

After your dad fired me.

What's the problem?

What's the problem?

Please.

Find another way to get revenge.

Come on.

It was just a joke.

No, a joke is funny.

This is just mean

and nothing else.

Nobody reads it.

Why do you blog if you

think no one reads it?

This could end up

in the papers.

It's just a metaphor.

- Metaphor my ass.

What's that?

A metaphor?

- Yes.

A simile.

When things get a different

meaning from before.

For example,

a table leg.

Table leg? And what does

the word "fat" then mean here?

You can interpret it

as you like.

You can't do this to us.

I can't change it.

I'm not for sale.

Not for money or tears.

Maybe I'll metaphor

a description

of what it's like to

sleep with you.

On Skagafjrdur.com.

What?

And describe in detail

how you do it.

You're trying to

censor my blog.

Am I not a free man?

In a free land on a free Internet?

I'll look at it.

- You'd better.

Do we have to

work in this rain?

Of course not.

Are you mental, Aron Freyr?

Grandpa always said

it was no use raking wet hay.

Your granddad was

a nutter

and never in the youth program.

He was just a lazy farmer.

Do you think Grettir

thought about the rain

when he swam to Drangey?

- Grettir who?

You're from here, Brimar Sr

and you don't know Grettir?

Get out.

Work.

Green with yellow bulbs

and multitudes of wild roses

the land bows down

to a still water.

And swimming swans

drunk with kisses

dip their heads in

holy water.

Oh, B?var.

Did you come to visit me?

Or Lra?

Just to work in the garden,

remember?

I need a garden hose.

Isn't it raining?

- Not anymore.

Well.

What are you doing here?

Watering the garden.

- Why are you in here then?

Why aren't you out in

the garden?

I was just...

I was going to connect

the hose in the laundry.

It's good I bumped

into you.

I want to dedicate a

poem I wrote to you.

Get the f*** out.

What?

- Get the f*** out.

Bddi.

- F*** off.

You're crazy.

You going to the concert?

- What?

In Tallinn.

The f***ing good times

are tempting.

But after the mega party

you end up spewing

in an abortion

wishing you'd never

been born.

Stuck in this f***ing

hellhole. Forever.

He's crazy.

Am I only a semen provider?

Is that a problem?

Do you want anything more?

Yes, why not?

You're not father material.

Not the type.

Spend all your days

grumbling on the net.

I'm writing.

I'm a poet.

Writing, grumbling.

It doesn't matter when

you have to change diapers

or pay the bills.

So you don't want my help.

The role of father wouldn't

be your strongest suit.

You're a great guy.

But not quite in

touch with reality.

And I don't need assistance.

Well Dagga, congratulations

on your child.

It was the year 1022.

Grettir smundarson swam

from Drangey to Reykjanes

after the sun set.

He came to a farm

and lay in its hot spring

as he was quite cold.

He baked there

the whole night

and then went in.

It's beautiful, kids.

To understand Grettir's Saga

you must be bitten by the cold.

Then jump in the hot pool after.

You boys first.

"What doesn't kill you

makes you stronger"

Nietzsche said.

Get in.

Okay.

- Come on.

F***, it's cold!

I once went much deeper.

- Really?

I can't now.

I've got glasses.

Glasses?

If you want to

impress the girls

you have to show them

you're a real man.

Show them why your name

is Brimar Saer.

What are you doing?

Are you crazy?

What are you doing?

What's wrong with you?

Are you nuts?

Are you crazy?

What's wrong with you?

I'll tell dad.

You'll be exiled

from the family.

I don't care if you

f***ed Dagga.

A youth was in danger

near Grettir's pool

at four this afternoon.

Witnesses say the

youth program leader

B?var Steingrmsson was

showing the boy

how Grettir the Strong swam

from Drangey to the mainland.

These pictures show the

severity of B?var 's methods.

B?var lost his teaching job

after his student

broke a leg

on a field trip to Drangey

last spring.

We couldn't get hold of

B?var today.

The boy has pneumonia.

You almost drowned him.

He won't be able to

go to the Funfest.

Maybe he will

slim down then.

Hey, mate.

Open the door,

you bastard.

Open the door.

Has he read

the book yet?

Is he dyslexic or what?

You don't have to change

one letter in this book.

It's not a bloody

crime novel, you know.

It's a self-help book

for life itself.

You have to profit

no matter what?

It is quite clear.

It has to be published

before Christmas.

Yes, do that.

What? Oh, hi.

You deliver mail today?

What? No.

I have to go.

Hello there.

Did we get mail?

- It's December 26th.

I met the postman,

Lra Maria.

Yes, exactly.

The mail came.

Joke.

Hey, I've had a crazy idea.

Well?

- I was thinking.

We should do a

film about this place.

This town.

A movie?

- Feature film.

You'll write the script.

You're great at that stuff.

And I'll do the rest.

We'll do something that matters.

And make some money.

Maybe once

the book's published.

Wasn't it supposed to come out

before Christmas?

My f***ing publisher

only understands low culture.

He lives on crime novels

the bastard.

He knows what he's doing.

The money has to

come from somewhere.

If you can't profit

from low culture

how will you finance

the high culture?

Put on some pants.

What, does this make

you uncomfortable?

I'm hungry.

- Do I threaten you?

Always hungry.

Silla at the fish factory

is going to be a grandmother.

Dagga, she's expecting a child.

They're not celebrating the

paternity.

That's a load of crap.

I'm the father.

Really?

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