The Story of Thor and Skrymir (Kai's version)

One day, Thor, Sif, Tyr and Loki were having an argument about who the mightiest of them all was. It is worth noting that the gods were all fairly drunk at this point, and that we're talking about huge Viking gods, not the pitiful Marvel adaptations who are little more than aliens. Anyway, the argument got rather heated, as the mead continued to flow long after the other gods all went to bed for the night.

Each of the gods claimed that they were the mightiest, and if the stories are to be believed, only Thor could really  back that claim up, but still the arguments were presented.

Finally, Loki convinced the others that if they really wanted to test their might, they should all go to the coldest place that they could find and perform various feats of amazingness, and since Joutenheim was off limits, they went to Midgard, to the Arctic Circle.

So off they went in Thor's chariot (which as you know is pulled by two male goats and is not the most glamourous thing there is to travel around in.) In retrospect, Thor realized that it was a good thing that his father was asleep because Odin doesn't approve of drunk driving. (Let this be a lesson to all of you, there's no excuse for drunk driving and Odin will punish you if you do it.)

With a less than elegant landing in a snowdrift, the gods disembark from Thor's chariot and they all begin building snow forts because there's nothing else to do in the North Pole.

Sif's snow fort was a multiple roomed castle, complete with a sauna.

Thor build a squat longhall with a burning fire in the center of the room.

Tyr said fuck that and built a modest igloo but tamed a pair of polar bears to guard his new house.

Loki just sat and watched his friends build their snow creations with a smirk on his face. When the others were finished their creations, Loki stood slowly, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He transformed himself into a giant, a giant even more giant than regular giants because he was Loki and his ego demanded it. With a laugh, he began kicking apart the snow forts that his friends had built. Tyr's polar bears tried to stop him but he picked them up and tossed them over the arctic tundra and they didn't come back.

"Loki!" Thor cried. "You douchebag!" (Douchebag is an ancient Norse word that is, of course, translated to mean 'he who is a bag of douches.) "Now we are cold, and drunk and have no place to sleep. Also, my goats have been eaten by those polar bears you threw and we're stuck here until we're sober."

"No! You foolish Thunder-bitch!" Loki replied. "While it is true that we are trapped here until morning, I have proven once again that you are all silly and that I am the mightiest."

Tyr scratched his head with his one good hand. "How's that?" He slurred drunkenly, more than a little choked up about the loss of his polar bears.

"Well, as you know, I'm not a simple Aesir like you. In my blood runs the tolerance to freezing cold because I'm awesome and part giant." Loki explained impatiently. "And so I can withstand even the coldest temperatures in all the Nine Realms."

"We're still stuck, Loki." Sif said grumpily. "You moron."

Loki simply laughed. "My point, dear sister-in-law, is that I can sit here all night and not complain, but you all will freeze and die and I've half a mind to let you."

"I"m telling Father." Thor said pompously.

"Tattle-tale." Loki snapped. With a dramatic sigh, he took off one of his gloves and dropped it to the ground. "I was going to give you my vest, but you're all so ungrateful that you can sleep in my glove and just deal with it." He folded his arms over his chest and spent the rest of the night sulking.

Thor and Sif and Tyr, however, all climbed inside the glove and had the best sleep of their lives snuggled in the fingers of Loki's glove.

None of them would admit to Loki being the mightiest, though.

The End.

Kai likes to make things up, and this is her version of why Thor and his friends would have slept in Giant-Loki's glove. 

Send Kai your feedback, she loves it. 

A moment of Randomness...

I was in a bad mood and decided to vent the angry with a silly.

So I wrote a song.

I also have a habit of intentionally derailing Internet arguments by instigating Nazis, (not sure how that works,) or by arguing religion as an Asgardian Worshiper. Whatever. Enjoy. Or not. I don't much care, I am insane right now.

I present, the Nazi Song - sung in the key of Llama:

Here's a Nazi, there's a Nazi,
And a fucking lot of Nazis.
Happy Nazi, Grammar Nazi,
Nazi, Nazi, Duck.

I used to be a Nazi,
In Auschwitz I would play,
Until the Allied Forces showed up and saved the day.

Did you ever see a Nazi?
Touch a Nazi? On a Nazi?
Half a Nazi, Femi-Nazi,
Nazi, Nazi, Duck.

Why I hate Children

WARNING: This is a rant. I am pretty mad right now. I am planning to cuss in this one. You've been warned.

All right, so it's not really children that I hate. I can deal with them in small amounts, and usually the children I (am forced to) socialize with are relatively well-behaved.

It's the PARENTS who I wish to destroy in all forms of violent and gratuitous manners.

I went to see Brave tonight with my sister. (She is my youngest sister and is 15.) What a great movie! It would have been more than great but we decided to go on a Tuesday night. At 7:15. AND THE THEATRE WAS FILLED WITH CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 5.

Who the ever-lovin' fuck takes their toddlers out to a movie at 7 on a Tuesday night?

Obviously every douchebaggy parent in the city.

I was perfectly willing to accept the fact that there were children in the theatre. I wasn't sure what to expect from another Disney-Pixar movie (except that it was guaranteed that I would cry at least once during the movie.) I certainly didn't expect there to be as many families with young children there as there were! A family with two very young children (I'm guessing that they were both under 4 years old and the younger of the two was 18 months) sat in front of us.

I didn't swear about that fact, the baby was really adorable.

Until about 30 minutes into the movie when this kid wouldn't stop fussing and crying.

Now, this is a 2-parent family. Mom and Dad were both sitting there, with both kids and one of them was screaming and crying. Well, Mom was an obese woman and she didn't do a damn thing. She didn't get off her fat ass and take care of this crying kid. No, instead, she loudly told her (husband?) to take the kid out of the theatre after he had been crying for TEN FUCKING MINUTES.

Ten minutes?? Really? You couldn't get off your ass to take your screaming kid out of the theatre so that you didn't disturb anyone else? And then you make your male-thing take the screaming child outside? You lazy bitch.

Here's the kicker to this story: THE DAD COMES BACK ABOUT 10 MINUTES LATER AND SAYS THAT HE CAN'T CALM THE KID DOWN!!

So now we're treated to the Dad loudly insisting that the kid won't calm down, the kid is STILL FUCKING CRYING and I can't hear the whispers of the Scottish characters on the screen because of the bullshit caterwauling this damn kid is making.

I don't go out a lot. I don't have a huge budget for going out and I usually spend what little extra money I have on books or sometimes on meals out with friends or on beer. When I DO get to go out, it's a huge deal and a real treat for me. So to have the first movie that I've seen in theatres since Toy Story 3 (we saw the Avengers in theares, but that was a birthday party, so I don't really count it as a movie night because we budgeted for my birthday party to be a movie and dinner) ruined by a screaming child does not sit well with me.

I was about to say something but the kid finally shut up, so I was relieved of that duty, thankfully.

But this same lazy bitch is such a terrible parent that when we were getting up to leave the theatre (well, when THEY were) she just stood there and yelled at her children until they listened to her. She didn't try to be polite, she didn't try to be a good parent. Hell, she wasn't even responsible. She just stood there yelling at her hyper, screaming toddlers as other people were trying to leave.

Fuck it, not my problem.

When the credits finished (because almost every movie has a little scene of awesome after the credits nowadays, and Brave was no exception) we got up and all had to go to the bathroom. So my sister and I head into the ladies room.

Lo and behold, there is a Cineplex staff member using the washroom. She obviously wasn't on a break as she was trying her damnedest to hustle out of the bathroom after washing her hands but no. Some dumb blonde bitch of a mother (wearing booty shorts and toting two children, again probably both under the age of 4) starts harassing this poor girl!

"Don't you clean these bathrooms? You should talk to your manager! These counters are all wet and small children get soaked when we have to wash their hands! I'm going to speak to your manager about this! Why can't you people wipe this up?"

Fuck's sake, you stupid blonde bimbo! Why don't YOU wipe the fucking water up if it's such a problem? Or, you know, if you were a better parent you would hold your kid up to the sink in a manner that wouldn't get them wet in the first place.

Most public washrooms that don't have doors (like at most malls here, and almost all the theatres) don't have paper towels anymore. Waste reduction and blah blah blah. So how the fuck do you expect anyone to wipe the counters every five fucking minutes?

And this poor girl was just trying to pee and wash her hands so that she could get back to work. There's no need for you to hassle her! Fuck.

I don't understand why these young mothers think that they are so entitled to whatever the fuck they want. Oh good for you, you had unprotected sex and now you have reproduced. Fuck you. Do you want a fucking cookie? ANYONE can have a goddamn child. It's not that difficult to procreate. Why the fuck are you so self-entitled? Why are you such a goddamn prick?

And why the fuck are you so inconsiderate towards everyone else around you?

Y'know what? Fuck it. I don't want to know.

What I WANT is for all of these self-entitled bitches to fuck right off and crawl back into whatever fucking suburb they crawled out of because frankly? I don't give a shit about you. I don't give a shit about your children. You're the inconsiderate bitch who is ruining my movie-date. You're the self-entitled prick who blames everything on everyone else.

You're not a special goddamn snowflake just 'cause you squeezed out another living being from between your flabby, self-righteous thighs. You haven't birthed the next King Arthur.

You're just another sad sack of a human being, a waste of skin filled with hot air and bullshit and honestly, you don't deserve to have these kids in public.

So kindly crawl back into your rich, white-privilege, suburb-friendly, penis envying, gas guzzling car and let me at least have my one night out to myself without wanting to set the zombie apocalypse loose on the cinema and then rampage and kill you first.

Shit, there's definitely a reason why I prefer books over movies.

Kai Kiriyama is a self-righteous bitch in her own right. While she doesn't have kids of her own, she's  taken her  younger siblings out to movies when they were kids and not a blessed one of them was misbehaved.

Also, she regrets nothing.

Email her at thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com if you wanna complain.
And follow her on Twitter: @thekiriyamaheir

She welcomes the backlash.

So, you live with a Writer...

"I wouldn’t want to live with a novelist. Writers are highly voyeuristic and indiscreet."

-PHILIP ROTH

 

 

I came across this gem of a quote earlier on Twitter. Timely as all get out, too, because I woke up with this blog post hammering away at my brain. It's quite funny, actually, to think about it. I have tons of writer friends, even two of my siblings write in varying degrees, and I am constantly meeting other writers, published, non-published, self-published etc. most of them online.  I'm sure this has been covered before, but it never hurts to write my own take on it, right?

To me, it seems like we all share a few common things. A love of creativity, a desire to tell stories, a NEED for escapism, to name a few. I have noticed that there are a few things that we all share above and beyond those basic things, and I had to examine it further.

Beyond having friends who I've noticed these common traits in, I live with a non-writer. If I'm gonna be honest, he's a non-reader as well, but only because he takes advantage of audio books instead of hard copies due to his job demands. I feel kind of bad for him, as not only does he have to deal with my neurotic crap, and my 'being a hormonal twenty-something female' crap, he also has to deal with living with a writer and all the baggage and insanity that comes with that. And let's not even get started on the get-togethers I sometimes attend (AND HOST) with other writers.

But all right, you've found a person you like. You might be in a serious relationship with them. Or maybe you're just roommates or best friends. No matter how you came to end up like this, you are now living with, or at the very least, socializing heavily with a writer. What do you need to know and what can you do about it?

1. Be prepared to be ignored for extended periods of time.
It's got nothing to do with you, specifically. Trust me on this. You're probably a great person, witty and intelligent and able to carry on conversations about all manner of topics, and that's great. But writers are elusive at the best and reclusive at the worst. When we get a thought into our brains, or we know there's a deadline, prepare yourself for lonely days in front of the TV eating microwavable meals for one. There's no stopping that flow of creativity, and usually it is better to create alone than while being distracted. Once the fever is gone, you'll be back in our good books. This also rings true for any friends or relatives who are involved int he writer's life. Don't be surprised if your writer friend disappears for weeks on end.

2. Reality is an unfortunate side effect of living that we don't particularly trust.
Remember when I mentioned escapism? Yeah, we're all prone to that. Things in real life tend not to fascinate us the way they fascinate you. It's either that or we see things differently. You might see a rock, we see a petrified dragon egg awaiting the blood sacrifice of a tyrant given by the third heir to the throne and we will run with it. Just let us have our way with things. Maybe come with us? You'll never know what it's like till you let us bring you.

3. Nothing is important besides the words and caffeine(/alcohol/nicotine etc.)
No seriously. You will have to remind us to eat, sleep, and probably be forced to take over the cooking and cleaning. If you have pets, ha, good luck. You'll have to walk Fido and feed Bubbles the Goldfish because when that fever gets hold of a writer, there's nothing more important than getting the words out. I have had food unexpectedly brought to me when I've been sequestered in my office for 8+ hours in a day and haven't eaten anything. It is always appreciated, and it's also really nice to know that someone cares enough to bring us food and make sure that we're not dead. My vice is caffeine, so wherever I set up my camp (sometimes I work in the kitchen) I am sure to have various caffeinated beverages on hand. Just be prepared to take in in stride and know that things will go back to 'normal' when the need to finish the writing subsides.

4. You will have to deal with either OCD levels of cleanliness or "Perpetual Bachelor" levels of messiness.
There's very little in between. I'm a neat freak, usually. Messes and clutter annoy me and I prefer to have a place for everything and everything in its place. Unfortunately, I live with kind of a slob, so there is a lot of head-butting about it. And if there's clutter in my office, there will be hell to pay.

5. Your day is nowhere near as exciting as whatever we're doing at the time.
Again, this isn't a personal thing, but having a conversation over dinner about how you had to do ten hours of bullshit data entry just isn't as appealing (or as amusing) to us writers as whatever novel we're reading or writing at the time. This is doubly true for writers who don't have to do much of anything else but write. And I apologize.

This is really just the tip of the iceberg, so feel free to add your own in the comments. These ones are really the big ones you would have to deal with if you were living with me.

Kai Kiriyama is available to chat on twitter @thekiriyamaheir or through email at thekiriyamaheir@gmail.com

Kai currently lives in Alberta and writes for Zombie Training Magazine.