The voice of the unborn child . . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

21 days: “Hi. I’m three weeks old…the size of the nail on your thumb.”
“I’m a surprise . . . my mom doesn’t know about me yet. She’s expecting her period next week, but I know it will not come….because I’m here ..(he he) I hope she will like my surprise”

50 days: “Ohh, my mom still don’t know about me, but I have grown. I already look like a human being….almost …. At least you can see what will become my arms and legs. I’m going to be perfect…and I have the genes to become a famous musician.”

80 days: “ I’m a human now….outside…with everything perfect created. I'm a boy . . . Do you like to have a boy mom? I only have to stay here, inside my mom’s body, until my internal organs is developed enough to work by itself. I have to put on weight…that’s it. I’m the size of your thumb. Small, but strong.”

81 days: “I heard mom tell dad that she would go to the doctor today. That means, she will be sure that I’m here….Ohhh, I’m so excited….I hope she will be happy, because I’m so happy that she is my mom.”

Later the same day: “ I heard the doctor said: ’congratulation Mrs. Hanna. You are expecting a healthy and strong child.’ . . .
But. . . what is happening??? I heard my mom say: ’I don’t want it.’
You don’t want me, mom???”

90 days: “Mom, I heard you told dad that you want to make abortion . . . what is that, mom. Is it something which will make me strong??”

100 days: “Mom, do you know what? Now I can hear clearly all the sounds, both inside you body and outside. I can separate your voice from dads and others. I love the sound of your heart, mom …. And I can feel . . . pain, fear, happiness, sorrow. When you feel fear, I feel fear too and this morning you bumped into the table so it pushed you stomach, and I felt pain.”

110 days: “ Today you shall go to the doctor again. Mom, before you go . . . it’s something I want to tell you. When I grow up, I’m going to become a famous and rich musician and I’m going to play for royalties and have big concerts all over the world. Then I will buy you the house you want so much.”

Later the same day: “ ohhh mom, what are you saying?? I heard you tell the doctor that you didn’t want this child . . . Is it me you really mean, mom? You really don’t want me?”

The doctor: “Well, Mrs. Hanna. I want to tell you the procedure . . . either we use an instrument like a knife. We cut the fetus into pieces and take out the body-parts . . . or we use an instrument which literally blows the fetus into pieces, afterwards we suck out what is left of the fetus with a kind of vacuum-cleaner.”

Mrs. Hanna: “I don’t care what way, only get it out”

“Ohhh, what is going on?? Mom shall into the hospital after 4 days . . . “

114 days: “ I feel so uncomfortable. It feel as if mom is not sure of what she wants to do. Someone told her to take a shower . . . maybe that will freshen her up.”

The doctor: “ Mrs. Hanna, you can still change your mind. Only tell me to stop and no harm will be done.”

“ Mom, can I tell you something? I know that . . . if you let me live, you will be so happy for me later, when I’m about 17 years old…because the . . e . .ee . . EE . . EE…………… “

*
*
*

“Mrs. Hanna. Are you awake . . . it’s over. Take a rest for a couple of hours and you can go home.”

Connection across the world. . .

People have told me, " Don't take the internet seriously. They have told me, "Those peoplearen't REAL. They have told me a lot about the internet.
I have heard story after story of heartache.I have witnessed pain, sorrow and intense love.I have seen peoples hearts printed out for the world to see, in hopes it will touch someone.
One of the most important things I have seen though, I'm not sure I could put into words. It's a connection. It's hard to imagine unless you've been there. When people get together, over the miles... state to state and country to country, and they connect. really connect ! ! It is amazing. Absolutely amazing.
I'm not talking about the "man to woman" connection. I'm talking about the "friend to friend." I'm talking about some people you have met, that instantly you knew were going to be important in your life.
The ones you laugh with, kid with, cry with, hurt for when they are hurting. They make you worry. They make you crazy! The ones who touch you deep inside when they are not there anymore, and make you wish they were.
If you have ever experienced that type of connection with someone you have never met face to face... you have indeed been blessed. I know, without a doubt, that I have!

The guardian of ants. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I was about 7 years old and as usually I run out in the forest to search for the beauty of the nature. I have always been fascinated by the nature and all it can provide of flowers, berries, mushrooms, nuts, roots which tasted like liquorices . . . .
I was on my way home again, when I heard some boys’ jollity shouting.
I decided to sneak at them . . .
I laid down on the ground and crawled closer and closer to them to have a peek.
I hid behind a bush and peeked carefully through.
They played “Cowboy and Red Indian.”
They had made a fire-place and some of them was dressed up as Red Indian and were dancing around a tree. Some were sitting in a circle and “smoked” peace-pipe.

Suddenly an arrow came through the air, landing right in front of my face.
I turned slowly around . . . there he was . . .The chief of the Red Indians.
He was standing with his arms across over his chest, looking at me . . .
“Ugh” he said : “I’m the guardian of ants.”
“ I am sure you have been laying an ant to death. Stand up, so I can have a look!” he commanded
I stood up and he started to search the ground for any harmed ant . . . and of course he found a small ant.
He picked it up . . . looked at it and said: “It’s half dead, you have to make first-aid at it to rescue it . . . or you will die.”
He gave me the ant . . . carefully, I tried to give mouth to mouth to the ant to prevent it from dieing.
Have you ever tried to give first-aid to an ant? That’s not easy . . . and of course . . .I didn’t succeed.
So, he brought me to the tree and tied me to the tree and gagged me.
They all gathered around the tree and started to dance around me, patting their mouth as they “sung”.
The play went on for a while as I was still tied to the tree.
Little by little, I felt as if they disappeared . . . “had they gone home and forgotten me” I was thinking.
Yes, they had . . .
Hour after hour passed, but no one came to release me. I could feel the ants started to crawl up my legs, but couldn’t do anything about it.
I tried to loosen the rope I was tied with, but it was tied rather hard.
It started to get dark . . .
I could hear that it was still some people in the forest, so I tried to shout through the gag.
But it only sounded like; “hubb, buhh, uuh, mmmfnnn”
No one heard me.
It started to get dark, and I seriously started to get afraid I had to spend the night there tied and gagged to the tree.
At certain point I could hear a couple passing quite close to where I was and I gave my best “shot” and shouted so loud I could through the gag.
I could hear the woman stop and say to her husband: “Did you hear that?”
They stopped and listened. I tried again the best I could: “Mmfffnnn, ahhh, “
The man said: “Stay here . . . I will go and see what it is.”
I could see him coming slowly over the edge of the hill, hiding behind a tree.
When he saw me, he shouted out: “Ohhh, my God . . . it’s a child. Tied and gagged to the tree.”
He came fast up to me and untied me, as he at the same time asked me; who had done this to me . . . had a crime been taking place?
I told him the truth, that we had played cowboy and Red Indian, but they all had gone home and forgotten me at the tree.
I run home, but later that evening, my father came to me and asked why I was so late home?
I asked why?
He told me that it had just been a message in the news, that a small girl was found tied and gagged to a tree close to where we lived and that the parents of the child had to call the police, to ensure that nothing criminal had taken place.
Well knowing that I was a girl of adventure, he suspected it was about me at the same moment the news was told.
Happily, this time when he called the police, he could ensure them that nothing criminal had taken place.

The life after Thanks Giving. . .

Take a beer . . . . Take a budweiser . . . . before you hit Christmas . . .

The store that sells husbands. . .

A store that sells husbands has just opened in Dallas, TX , where women may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates.

*

"You may visit the store ONLY ONCE! There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch. You may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!"

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband . . . On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

Floor 1 - These men have jobs.

The second floor sign reads:

Floor 2 - These men have jobs and love kids.

(click on the pic)

The third floor sign reads:

Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love kids, and are extremely good looking.

"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

*

She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads:

Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework.

"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!"

*

Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads:

Floor 5 -

These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads:

*

Floor 6 -

You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.

Thank you for shopping with us.


~*~

And life goes on . . .

We even claims that the world is better and the changes are to the positive and everything is to the best for humanity.
And the most important thing now-a-day is to use billions of Dollars to send a guy up in the universe, so he can play golf and kick the ball so it circulates around the word. (and he even did it with one hand . . . Geezzz, that was important.)
Hurray for the humanity!!!

Don't go Turkey. Have a vegetarian Thanks Giving. . .

God gave us more than Turkey and Ham to be thankful for.
Why not have a vegetarian Thanks Giving . . .

Starter:

Blue cheese mousse.

8 oz cream cheese

7 oz soft blue cheese

1 cup plain yoghurt

11/2 tbspn finely chopped mint

Blend cheese, yoghurt & mint in a blender until smooth. Move to a bowl and season to taste with
salt & pepper

1/4 cup very hot water (not boiling)

1 1/2 tbspn gelantine

Pour hot water into a jug and sprinkle with gelantine. Beat briskly until gelantine is dissolved. Add to cheese-mixture.

1 1/2 cup cream ~ wip until firm (not stiff) and fold into cheese-mixture. Adjust seasoning if necessary. Spoon into a ring mould (8in) Cover & chill for about 6 hours. Invert onto a serving plate & garnish center with cherry-tomatoes, curled succhini & black olives.


Main course:

Stuffed vegetables.

Slim brown & white eggplant (smal), succhini, bell-pepper.

Core the eggplant & succhini, turning the vegetables gently & carefully in the palm of your hand while with a slim knife or corer you move into the center of the vegetable. Start from the center and movve out toward the edge of the vegetable. Immerse immediately in cold water until needed.

stuffing:

1 cup rice (boiled)

1 onion (grated)

2 carrots (peeled & grated)

3 tomatoes (grated)

1 garlic (crushed)

2 ts. salt, 1 ts. pepper, 1 ts. cinnamon, 1ts. mint, parsley, dill

Mix together and stuff the vegetables.

To boil:

1 kg tomatoes blended with 10 cloves garlic & 1 tablespoon celery. Place in bottom of a pot & arrange the stuffed vegetables over mixture with top up. (standing so the stuffing doesn't run out.) Cook over moderate flame for abt. 30 - 40 minutes.

Serve with french fries, tomato-sauce & green salad

Dessert:

Pashka.

1/2 cup glacé pineapple (chopped)

1-2 cup glasé ginger (chopped)

1-3 cup mixed peel

1-4 cup sultanas

2 tbspn rum

Mix the above and let rest for 2 hours

100 gram butter (softened)

1/2 cup caster sugar

2 egg-yolks

Beat butter with sugar until light and creamy. Add yolks one at the time then add . . .

1/2 cup silvered almonds

2 teaspoon grated lemon rind

2 teaspoon grated orange rind

2 tbspn lemon juice

Move to a bigger bowl and fold in . . .

750 gram fresh ricotta cheese (sieved)

1/2 cup sour cream and the fruit mixture.

Press into a mould linned with a cloth (muslin) or foil. Cover top with plastic and place in the fridge until stiff. (over night) Turn out and decorate with almonds and glacéd apricots

HAPPY THANKS GIVING TO ALL MY FRIENDS

What is the truth. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I hear it often: “It can’t be, cos it is no such ting.”
For those of you who have read my blogs and my book . . . To experience life is to live life, not only pass by the days.
All of us have to find our way to be able to continue the life, days, minutes . . . . for me . . . seconds.
When I travel around, I first read about the peculiarity, history etc. of the place or country I go to. You never experience anything by travel charter-tours after my opinion.
The blogs about Romania are actually true. http://kirsten-namskaus-blogg.blogspot.com/2006/10/where-lord-dracula-haunts-forests-by.html
It’s a part of the Castle’s tourist-image and you will never find or come to this castle by a tour-group.
I had a conversation with the manager later, and he told me that they “looked through” their visitors before they decided if they should go through with the Dracula act. (That actually is done by professional actors.) The whole castle is built to hold a spooky atmosphere with clocks that peal, moaning sounds and screams, shadows, and the scene in the basement.
They don’t always show the coffin in the basement, if the guests seam not to be able to take it. He told me . . . that if it was not for the fact that I ask for it, they would not have shown the scene that time, because of “Barbie-doll”. She was actually not strong enough to take it.

The visit at the “Witch” Madam Viorica, is also true. http://kirsten-namskaus-blogg.blogspot.com/2006/10/where-blue-bells-peal-by-kirsten-nour.html
Madam herself is dead now, but her daughter is still there and I still have her address. She is said to be like as good as her mother.
Don’t ask me how it can be that I didn’t burn when I was in the fire.
But later it has brought me to think about the 1700 when they burned “witches” to death. If they really were witches, they would have used the riddle which kept the fire away from them.
In the history, one can read about some that this actually happened with . . . The fire didn’t burn them . . . later they were the one who was lifted to become a “Saint” . . .
So it gives me some thoughts . . .
But you are allowed to believe whatever you want . . . What you believe does not change the truth.
If it was not true . . . then . . . it at least was a good story . . . . Right??
I'm adding an answer which came from "NanoGirl"

NanoGi... Offline
tomato-juice anyone? i'm from Romania :D and i can tell you that at one of the transylvanian castles (not Bran, the acknowledged castle of Vlad Tepes) they actually put up jokes like this. i mean they take visitors into a basement to see a coffin and then a guy jumps out, lights are off, and everybody runs their lungs out of there. it's not very pleasant :D but very entertaining story! i've put a link to ur blog in my blast. me proud.

What is interesting for me to notice these days is . . . (As always in my life) everything I say and do get used against me. So. . . because I am a good storyteller / Author, people don’t believe that what I tell is true.
As I say in my book “Tell me who I am” , you must have a someone who can confirm what you tell, then you are believed, even if that person don’t have a clue about what you are talking about. It is that person who is believed, not me!
I have education as an actor from the Royal Theater work-shop in Norway. In this education, you learn how to tell a story, sing, use you voice, express yourself through body-language. I took this education, not to become an actor, but to become a good teacher.

I remember a situation from a time when I was in a kibbutz in Israel. Under a discussion about materialism, I came to tell; that the most materialistic person I knew was my mom. She could never get enough, she even bought cutlery of golden. Immediately another girl from Norway interrupted and said: “That is totally nonsense. How can you get yourself to say anything like that? It doesn’t exist golden cutlery.”
I only looked at her without saying anything. What she believed would not change the truth anyway.
A few days later, she got a parcel from her mom which included some magazines. I borrowed one of them and inside I found an advertising of exactly the cutlery my mom had.
I showed it to her and she replied: “OK. So what?? I didn’t know that it existed golden cutlery.”
I replied to her: “Yes, you see. . . That’s it! ! ! That you don’t know, don’t mean it doesn’t exist. . . It only means that you don’t know.
I have also been in the situation, both with colleagues at school and even when I have been at the doctor, that other teachers or even the nurse or doctor suddenly are bursting out, saying: “You bring me to remember things I have not experienced!”
Then it is suddenly me who have to explain for them (even to the nurse or doctor)
“I can not bring you to remember anything that you have not experienced. I bring you to remember experiences in your life that you suppress, because it is too horrifying to live with, or because you can no comprehend the fact / act of it.”
It is amazing to notice how many it is who are of the opinion that; “what I don’t know or have experienced doesn’t exist or is not true.”

I can't hide my secrets neither. . .

Ohhh, what can I do???

Sex with the dead. . .

I read Hammer’s blog and come to think about an experience I had here I Egypt.
I should set up a course in massage and was looking for books in anatomy.
I search all the book-stores in Cairo without success of finding any book. Not even close. At the end I went to the University Hospital and asked a doctor where the medical students got their book from when they should study medicine.
I was told that they got them from a special book-store inside the hospital.
So, I went to that store . . . and I didn’t find any book in anatomy good enough to use.
Not one single book had a full-picture of a human being with muscles, blood-system, nerve-system, lymphatic system or skeleton.
Even the books we use in Europe in secondary school is better than these.
Well, I started a conversation with a medical student who also was there to buy books.
During the conversation he told me that instead of using books, they trained on dead people. They even used to go to graveyards to dig up dead people to use in the class.
More so, he told me that when they should learn about the woman’s body the whole class, who always was only men used to have sex with the dead before the lesson could begin.
I asked why they did so. He answered that it’s normal for a man to get aroused when he sees a naked woman, so to ride off the need of sex, they were in line to fuck the dead, in order to be able to concentrate in class.
I asked him: “But what if you suddenly see one you know on the table? Family-member or something? Have you ever experienced that?”
He answered: “Yes, once the woman was my new-dead aunt. But we respect members of the family, so we didn’t fuck her.”
I asked him: “But have you ever thought about this; The class after you didn’t know her, so they could fuck her . . . Yes?”
He got pail and almost fainted. He answered: “I have never thought about that.”
Then he continued, more to himself than to me: “Ohhh, aunt, I hope they didn’t abuse you.”
I asked: “do you use condom when you fuck the dead?”
“No” he said “It’s not necessary, because they are dead. They can’t get pregnant.”
I continued without respect: “And you also told me that your father was a doctor. How do you feel about the though that you father go and fuck the dead, during the day and then go home and fuck you mother?”

Now, he could not hold himself. He went to a bush nearby and puked.

But what trouble me the most, is that I know this is common. Not only in Egypt, but most places in the world. I have got the same confirmation in Norway, per example . . . .
And it’s not only dead they fuck. Haven’t we all heard the doctors talk about the sex-fantasies patients use to have in hospitals?
The last thing you think about when you are sick, is sex!!!
Unless you have been given a kind of drugs (not medication) which was meant to arouse you sexually.
But it is so easy to blame the medication and say it is a side-effect of the medication used.
That is a lie. Because medical students have told me the truth.
I personally know people who have been sex-abused in hospital.
My mother and my ex-husband are two of them.

To keep the secret a secret. . .

It's not always like as easy to hold a secret . . .

The foot-prints. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I know that some of you have read / heard this story before under "Author unknown". . .

I am the Author of this "story" which actually is a real dream I have had.

I told it the first time in 1991 in grade 8 in Pakistan International School in Egypt.

The lesson opened with that one of the girls started to cry and said that God didn't love her, since she was black and her family had to escape their country as refugees.

I looked at her, shocked by her words and reaction and said: "Nashma, God loves you. Either you are black or white, man or woman, young or old, sick or healthy, God loves you. . . "

It was then I desided to tell the following story. . . .

Many years ago . . .
My life was in a tumult and I tried to recover from the one trauma after the other. . . .
One night. . . . this dream came to me . . . .
I saw a long beach in front of me. Clean from the ocean’s flow and ebb during the night, without any sign of that anybody ever had been on that beach.
At one end of the beach, I saw an old man. . . . Whom I got absorbed by . . . got united with. . . until I became that old man . . .

I heard the voice of God say: “Start to walk the beach to the other side.”
I started to walk . . . and as I walked, my life passed review.
My childhood’s innocent, my youth revolutionary attitude, my young adult life as a parent and the days and years after. . .
Happy times, times of sorrow, traumatic times and times of fear and horror . . .

When I came to the other side, the voice of God said: “You can stop now, ‘The light of my heart’ . . . if you want to stop now, it’s OK . . . . but I would like you to continue for some more time. . . . Before you take any decision, I want you to turn around and take a look at the beach.”

I turned and looked at the beach . . . and started to cry violently.
In the sand on the beach, I could see all from the beginning . . . two pair of foot-prints.
My foot-prints and God’s foot-prints, side by side.
But also I could see that every time in my life, where life had been as toughest and hard to take . . . it was only one pair of foot-print in the sand.

I shouted to God: “Is this what you do to people? Every time life goes hard on us, you leave us . . . “

God put a calming hand on my shoulder and said: “ My dearest child. I never left you for a second. All from the beginning you can see two pair of foot-prints . . . but at the hardest time of your life, you can see only one pair of foot-prints . . . “
He continued: “That’s because, my dear . . . those times . . . . I was carrying you, because you could not walk by yourself. . . . It’s not your foot-prints . . . . It’s mine.”
K.N.

For the record. . .

Thank you Lexcen, for your review of my book.

http://gripes-of-wrath.blogspot.com/2006/11/tell-me-who-i-am-kirsten-nour-namskau.html
.
I can understand your wonderings and I have been prepared also for this kind of reactions. . . For several reasons.
1) People are not prepared to admit that it is something inhuman going on in the western world. In the name of democracy.
2) If someone has experiences of too violent kind, we have the habit to refuse to believe it and call it madness.
3) We had, all up to recently, had the habit to normalize everything on the supernatural or spiritual level to an extend so it is total unnatural.
4) Still today, it is easier to put a diagnose of any kind of mental disease on a person who has talents above the average, than to accept that it is “more between heaven and earth” than the scientists know.
I have all my life gone to regular yearly medical examination. If something was mentally wrong with me, I should have been told and got medication I could take by myself. It has never been questioned or mentioned and is not in my medical record that I am suffering of any mental disease of any kind.
I have never been in a mental hospital.
At any account, I find it totally unacceptable that people get medicated without their knowing, so long as the person officially is healthy.
Electro-chock, yes. . . Not as a treatment in hospital, but as torture. Electro-chock in my mouth, vagina, under my feet.
The brainwashing-program was done by light and sounds. I was fastened to a chair, they pinned my eyes open so I should not close them. On a screen in front of me it started to show colors and shapes which changed faster and faster while a headset whispered something in my ears, or different sounds appeared in my ears. They had told me to take attention and try to remember what was whispered in the background of the sounds. The brain-washing also happened through hypnosis.
In 1988 Kevin took me to a doctor , I still can contact if I want, whom I went to every week for one year in order for him to release all “damage” done to my brain concerning all the brain-washing. He was an acupuncturist who treated me with acupuncture, herbal medicine, ultra-waves and micro-waves.
So you see, I have at all time been in contact with authorities and medical services in my hope of getting help to come out of it. But it is like this . . . They know this is going on but what can they do? They are like as scared to be trapped into it as everybody else.
I have worked as security-guard and inside politic, which both require a “clean” medical record.
I have in my profession as teacher had the opportunity to have physiologists around.
In Denmark 1997 I had an experience as a teacher which made me to feel the need of talking with a professional. One I also could trust in would tell me, if it was anything mental wrong with me. (Read my bloggs “The silent scream. . . ”(September archive) & also (October archive)“Why is Sarah silent”)
After the experience with Sarah, I found myself in a situation, when the experience with Mathias happened that it became too much for me.
On my own account I contacted a psychiatrist, having in my mind, that after all the brainwashing and what else I have gone through, maybe could have affected my mind.
She told me: “Not on any account can I find that you are suffering from any mental disease, but I put a big question-mark with those who are around you. I can easy see that some of them would have gained having some therapy.”
That was the first time someone questioned those people.
At another account, earlier in life, also contacted a psychologist and my regular doctor (at the time when I was denied to give my children proper food.) Also then my doctor told me: “I wish I could tell you that your experiences in life is in the past and will never happen again, but I can not say that, because it has happened now in your adult life and most likely will happen again.”
The government was after me? Yes, and they still are. Even under the process of publishing this book I have been in danger. The book was also tried stopped being published.
Everything told in the book can easily be proofed / checked by authorities and I have witnesses to most of the situations. My body carries visible marks after torture and terror, both internal and external.
I still can contact both Hameda and Ashraf and other from the book.

In my next book I have some stories about some other people I helped escaping
Norway. Yes, escape . . . I am not the only one. . . But I am the only one who dear to speak up.
.
It is so much which can be said, but at one or another point I have to stop.
But if they file a case against me and I come to court, as I hope, then I will tell it all.

Why do some women want to use burka or hijab?

I have borrowed this from the blogg of “mechanical crowds” http://mechanicalcrowds.blogspot.com/

This woman gives the western world, by her story, the reason for why some women in the Arab world prefer to use Hijab, veil, burka … call it what you want, but they want to cover, so no one can see if the person under is a young beautiful darling or an old, dirty, tooth-less grandma.


I am from Zaqaziq, and until recently I thought that I was one of the few people who went through unusual personal experiences of sexual harassment, which I suffered from since I was little…. No, since I was very little.I will not forget the first time this happened when I was walking on the street on Eid as well. I was about 15 at the time. I was walking with my cousin, who is 3 years my elder, and with my aunt in the middle. A group of at least 15 young men blocked our way in a busy main road that was well lit. Suddenly they divided into 2 groups and approached us from the both sides. We found ourselves encircled in fury of holding, touching, groping, and probing accompanied by dirty words and vulgar language describing what each one of them was doing or wanted to do to us.I never forgot, and never will, my feelings at the time. It was the first time I was touched in those parts of my body, and the first time I heard the words that were spoken, which I never imagined would ever be said to me. The strange thing is that there were a lot of people on the street that saw the act but walked on minding their own business. What is this? Where is honor? Where is the Egyptian manliness, dignity, and altruism that we’ve been hearing about since the day we were born? My only experience of this is weak and superficial gentlemanliness that was mostly closer to flirting than anything else. So it wasn’t just for the sake of it, and it might have been all because I am not ugly. (is that a crime???)Anyways, I never thought I would ever see a day worse than this, or get harassed any more awful than this. After a short time, these harassments started repeating again: an animal on a bike would touch me from behind and sometimes the front as he quickly goes by, very dirty looks from shopkeepers, taxi drivers, and neighbors. Oh and what do you know about neighbors? I grew older and body changed, but I always thought that it was a good thing not something to be ashamed of ,or a source of harassment that my young mind and life-loving heart did not comprehend. I got scared of walking on the streets and started making rules on what I should and shouldn’t do to protect myself from their hungry eyes and hungry hands.No going out on the street with tight jeans or a shorter shirt. No going out at all in the streets where the youth hang out for hours, which are well known in my small town. No need to put make-up or do my hair or pay too much attention to my looks. Why would I do that and for whom? Even my girlfriends’ thoughts became dominated by the stinky, radical, male-inspired ideas of the necessity of covering (hijab) the woman because she is a source of temptation that must be hidden. Maybe that’s from what they experienced too and maybe it’s from their ignorance and stupidity. I hated their disapproving looks at me when I wore something elegant that suits my age, personality, and taste and maybe even drew attention moderately and with modesty (what’s wrong with that?). I hated their silly remarks as if I was wearing what the belly dancers wore and not a normal jeans and shirt.I changed the way I dress, and I neglected the way I look, yet I started to be experience a new type of harassment. What was strange was that some of it was worse than before, but I didn’t give up. I came up with a theory, which at the time I thought was brilliant. I lived in a small town that was surrounded by small villages. So I shouldn’t really take my liberty in wearing what I want as every place has it’s stature. I don’t even need to go on the street, as it’s no longer the place for people who want to maintain their self-respect. It’s enough that I used taxis to go to my friends’ houses or any other closed place. I hated the street, the people, and my looks, and I was on the verge of real depression until I decided to change my life and move to my uncle’s place in Cairo.Yes, Cairo is bigger and the peasants are less and the harassments are less. No, sorry, they’re different but not less. I won’t be touched in every street but I can buy a 150LE ticket for live western band, meaning the people are mostly well-off and educated, and still get harassed by large numbers as if there was an implied agreement between the youth to do so. I would feel a touch in a sensitive area and turn to that direction to shout and fight but find a very cool and innocent response from the man. All the men around him would have the same reaction as if I was crazy and nothing happened. And when I look ahead someone else would touche me and the same thing repeats over and over again. I change my spot but another animal or animals would harass me in the same way as if it’s a group sex party not a concert.Now I want a response to my question. What should I do? Should I not go out? Should I not go to live shows? Should I not walk on the street? Should I not swim when I go to Alexandria? What do I do? Hide? The stray dogs and cats walk go on the streets with no trouble! Are the women in Egypt now lower than cats and dogs?Forget that, someone tell me what happened to the people? Did religion and morals become just superficial facades that have no base, importance, or meaning? Do men in Egypt really believe that sexual harassment and rape are earned rights? And is this a retarded male ideology or sexual suppression, or anger or what exactly?Someone tell me, what happened to Egypt?


You can also read this blogg, if you have interest http://egylife.blogspot.com/

Help us to free Abdelkareem!!!

Abdelkareem Nabil Soliman is a 22-year-old Egyptian blogger who has been arrested by authorities in Alexandria, Egypt.
Abdelkareem first received international attention in early 2006 when he was kicked out of Al Azhar University for posts he wrote on his blog. During that first incident, he was detained by police but eventually released. Despite his first arrest, he has continued to speak his mind on women’s rights, religious freedom, and academic freedom.
On November 6, Abdelkareem was again interrogated over his blogposts. A human rights lawyer from the Arabic Network for Human Rights Information was present to represent Abdelkareem. But the police still decided to arrest him.
Click here -> Please sign the petition <- directed to the relevant Egyptian authorities to demand Abdelkareem’s immediate release.
A ! “FreeKareem.org ! site has been created to act as a central point to disperse information about Kareem’s case.
Thank you very much for supporting the freedom of speech in the Middle East.

The goblin of the barn. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

In Scandinavia we have a lot of different gnomes, goblins, pixies and troll. They are about 20 – 50 cm tall.
If you have a farm, you are sure to have a goblin in the barn. If you treat him well, he helps you to keep peace among your animals, but if he’s not happy . . . he will make problems and throw spell over the farm.
He doesn’t want to been seen, and one should not try to see him, because that implies for bad luck.
If he gets surprised by people, he very fast transforms himself to an animal . . . like a bird, squirrel, badger or rat.

I was about 8 years old when I was send to a farm at the countryside for a summer vacation.
We were 10 children at the same age. Spending our days enjoying the nature, good food, playing with the animals, ( horses, pigs, hen, dog and cat) and go to the forest and pick berries, flowers and mushrooms.

One evening after all children had vent to bed, I was still awake . . . listening to the sounds in the house. The grown-ups (a mother, a father and two daughters) had not went to bed yet, so I listened to soft music coming from the room below and their silent conversation.
Suddenly someone came rushing in the door and said with rather loud voice: “I saw the goblin. Ohh, my God. . . I saw the goblin . . . this means bad luck.”
‘Mother’ said: “Hush, don’t wake the children . . . well, we have to set out some good food for him tomorrow and hope that he didn’t see you.”

The next morning, I still remembered the conversation. During the breakfast, I didn’t say much . . . I was thinking about how or what could I do to be able to see the goblin because I wanted to see the goblin and that’s it.
I saw ‘mother’ had made porridge with good butter and cream.
She whispered something to her daughter, who took the bowl of porridge and went out . . .

After breakfast I was set to do some duties . . . but after duties I was heading for the barn. I went slowly and carefully into the barn.
There . . .right inside the barn, I saw the porridge-bowl . . . empty.
That means, the goblin had been there and eaten the porridge !!

A little further I saw the cat, licking its mouth and paws.
“Well,” I thought “That’s what cats are doing.”

I looked around to find a place I could sit down and wait for the goblin.
In a corner, I saw a stack of hay.
I went up to it and sat down, curled my feet up and closed my eyes half away, so the goblin should believe I was asleep.
I was sitting for hours . . . when the bell called for lunch, I didn’t attend. It would have disturbed the “spell” I was under.
When the bell called for dinner, I was still sitting at the stack of hay . . . when I suddenly heard something rattle in the center of the hay-stack.

“Of course” I was thinking “It lives right here inside the hay-stack.”
I was so excited, so I almost couldn’t breath.
I could hear him puzzle and tussle inside the hay-stack.
I waited and waited for him to come out . . . . but he didn’t come . . .
I started to get hungry and it started to get dark and ‘mother’ would soon call us in for supper and bed-time.
Time started to get short so I took a decision. . . .

In a sudden move . . . I took a grip on top of the hay-stack and lifted it up in a high speed . . . and just then . . . there . . .
I saw . . . I saw. . . a little bird. . . all black with a small red cap on his head.
When it saw me, it flew away with a scream . . .

I have always wondered since then . . . was it a bird . . . or was it a goblin, which had been able to transform itself into a bird in last second as I tore the top of the hay-stack off . . . but the transformation went so fast, so the cap on his head did not come with in the transformation???

Don't mess with a woman. . .

Have you ever had an accident with a woman ? . . . . . .

A woman and a man are involved in a car accident on a snowy, cold Monday morning; it's a bad one. Both of their cars are totally demolished but amazingly neither of them is hurt.
God works in Mysterious ways.
After they crawl out of their cars, the woman says, "So.... you're a man. That's interesting. I'm a woman. Wow, just look at our cars! There's nothing left, but we're unhurt. This must be a sign from God that we should meet and be friends and live together in peace for the rest of our days."
Flattered, the man replies, "Oh yes, I agree with you completely, this must be a sign from God!"
The woman continues, "And look at this, here's another miracle. My car is completely demolished but this bottle of wine didn't break. Surely God wants us to drink this wine and celebrate our good fortune." Then she hands the bottle to the man.
The man nods his head in agreement, opens it and drinks half the bottle and then hands it back to the woman. The woman takes the bottle and immediately puts the cap back on, and hands it back to the man. The man asks, "Aren't you having any?"
The woman replies, "No. I think I'll just wait for the police.... "

It's cold. . .

I read in the news-paper . . . last year was the coldest winter in Scandinavia in 37 years . . . .
I wonder how it will be this year.
In 1989 it came snow in Cairo. The people got scared to death. . . They believed "The Day Of Dudgement " had arrived. They didn't got to work or sent the children to school, because they were waiting for Allah to come and judge them to either Hell or Paradise.
As the snow melted, they believed that Allah had changed His mind and gave them a little more time. . . But this was a warning.
In the evening there was a TV-program telling them what this white stuff was . . .
Later years, it has come snow several places in middel east where it didn't use to come snow before.

As we are talking about "green-house effect", I sometimes wonder; What is actually happening? Does it become warmer or colder? To me it appear as if the summers get more and more hot as it also last longer and longer time, but the winters also get more and more cold, although the winters is of shorter and shorter time.

But why does it gets colder at winter-time if we expect "green-house effect"?

Brain-transplant . . .

In the hospital the relatives gathered in the waiting room, where their family member lay gravely ill. Finally, the doctor came in looking tired and sombre.
"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," he said as he surveyed the worried faces.
"The only hope left for your loved one at this time is a brain transplant. It's an experimental procedure, very risky but it is the only hope. Insurance will cover the procedure, but you will have to pay for the brain yourselves."
The family members sat silent as they absorbed the news. After a great length of time, someone asked,
"Well, how much does a brain cost?"
The doctor quickly responded, "$5,000 for a male brain, and $200 for a female brain."
The moment turned awkward. Men in the room tried not to smile, avoiding eye contact with the women, but some actually smirked.
A man unable to control his curiosity, blurted out the question everyone wanted to ask,
"Why is the male brain so much more?"
The doctor smiled at the childish innocence and explained to the entire group,
"It's just standard pricing procedure. We have to mark down the price of the female brains, because they've actually been used."

The birth of the moon. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

Kirsten and I went back to the place of “The Vikings” a couple of times more, but now we had found a much easier way to come there.
We dig the soil and searched all over to see if we could find more from ancient time.
One day, we had brought with us thermos and sandwiches, ready to stay for a long time . . . and so we did.
Actually, we were not aware of how long time we actually had been there, before I noticed a strange light around us.

I looked up and called Kirsten; “Kirsten, what kind of light is this in the sky?” I asked.
We took each-others hands and went attentive and slowly towards the edge of the mountain. There we had a view over the whole city and the fjord far away and the mountains even further away on the other side of the city.

There . . . we saw a strange light slowly coming up from the edge of the fjord.
I whispered to Kirsten: “What is it? Is it sunrise?”
Kirsten whispered: “ Well, it has already been a day, so it can’t be sunrise. Maybe it’s sunset?”
I replied: “But it’s not going down . . . it’s coming up.”

The light was incredible, intensive like sunlight.

There . . . we were standing like two silhouettes in the centre of the light, holding tight to each-others hands and felt that we got drawn, absorbed, swallowed by the light . . .
It become bigger and bigger, emerging slowly from the ocean behind the fjord.
A huge glowing ball of light came up from the ocean . . . bigger than we ever had seen neither the sun nor the moon.
At the end . . . the ball was a complete circle, huge as the horizon itself . . . only attached to the sea with a tiny string.
It was as if it shivered for a few second, before the string busted and the ball slowly started to glide up towards the sky.

We looked at each-other, amazed. .

We both knew that we had been witness to a secret of the nature.
We had witness the birth of the moon.

No one could ever tell me after this, what the moon was . . .
I knew, that every evening . . .”Mother Earth” gives birth to a new moon and as the morning comes, the moon fades away like the human dies.

I am sure . . . that every evening, one or another place on earth . . . if you are at the right place at the right time, one or another person may be so lucky to watch . . . . the birth of the moon.

Walking on virgin soil. .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

It was two hour after school was finishing . . . homework was done. When the doorbell rang, I knew it was Kirsten.
I run out and we had a “meeting” . . . what should we do or where should we go today?
I whispered: “Virgin soil”
Kirsten replied: “Yes, virgin soil.”
We wanted to walk on “virgin Soil” . . . a place no one had ever put their foot before. We were not sure where we could find that kind of soil, but we where sure we had to walk for a long time, so it was only to start walking.
We walked streets up and streets down, crossed a field and back again, followed the bus-route for a while, climbed a fence, slide down a hill and came to some houses beneath a hill. (Read mountain)
We stopped and looked at the mountain, then looked at each other. Were we supposed to enter that steep mountain? Yes, we were . . . .
Along the mountain-wall was a crack going along in zig zag with small tufts of grass.
We started to climb the mountain.
We had not come far, before people started to come out on the balconies of the houses and shouted to us: “You must not climb the mountain. It’s too steep. You will fell down.”
One woman called to us: “It has never climbed anyone there before.”
That was exactly the words we wanted . . . we stopped and looked at each other.
Now we knew we were about to enter “virgin soil.“
We made it to the top and lay down and in a way rolled in over the edge, so we should not fell down again.
Well away from the edge, we stood up and brushed off our clothes, looked at each other and shook hands.
We looked around . . .sooo, this is how it looks like when no one have ever been there before?
Suddenly, Kirsten saw a mile-stone. We looked at each other . . .That means, this must have been a meeting-place at the time of the Vikings. Maybe the ocean even had gone all up to the top of the mountain at that time. . . You could never know . . .
Maybe we could find something very precious and seldom item from the time of the Vikings, if we searched the soil. . . like an archeologist.
We started to search the soil. . .Kirsten in one direction. . . I in another.
After some time, I called to Kirsten: “Have you found something?”
Kirsten answered: “Yes, have you?”
I called back: “Yes, let’s see what we have found.”
We had a meeting . . . we both were holding what we had found, hidden in closed hands.
I looked attentive at Kirsten and said: “Show me what you have found, Kirsten.”
She opened her hand slowly. . . and there. . . she showed me . . . one button and a rusty nail.
I was speechless. Think about it . . . the button had for sure been in the sweater of a famous warier. The button could be worth millions now . . . . (I had heard about that, how old things become very expensive.)
And the nail . . . maybe it had been in a Viking’s ship . . .
Kirsten looked at me and whispered: “Your turn. . . show me what you have found?”
I opened my hand like as slowly and showed her.
She gasped. In my hand was . . . a piece of red yarn and a stone with some lines.
Kirsten took carefully the piece of red yarn in her hand and said: “This is for sure from the same sweater as my button. This is maybe all which is left of the sweater”
She took the stone and looked at it . . . and said: “I wonder if this is a kind of runic script from the time of the Vikings. Maybe it’s a spell.”
Suddenly we heard something rustle in the bushes. We fast hid our treasures. Maybe it was a wolf???
We were stiff of fear for a second. . . then we run out of the place and discovered that we after all were not so far from home.
When I came home, I asked for my “secret box” which was at the top of the cupboard in the kitchen. My grandmother, who had staid with us for a while, took it down and asked what was inside?
She opened the box and there she saw all my treasures: two buttons in bright colors, a piece of glossy paper, some small stones in funny shapes and now also a piece of red yarn and a stone with “runic script”.
She called out to my father: “For God’s sake. . . if this girl continue like this, you will have a house full of trash.”
My father answered: “Well, don’t worry . . . When the box is full, we can discuss that matter. “

The innocent child. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

As children, we are all so wonderful innocent….we only don’t know about it before we got older.
I remember when I started school; I got a very special friend….
We both named Kirsten, both had dark hair and same size.
Every morning Kirsten came to my door so we could go to school together….No, we didn’t walk to school…. We were dancing our way to school, holding each-others hands. After school, we usually did things together to make our life exciting. Per example, we loved go on “natures discovery” to walk on “Virgin soil” or see “the birth of the moon”. From time to time, we staid overnight at each-others home. Then we slept in the same bed, she with the head the one way, and I with the head the other way….
First we made a hut under the cover and told spooky stories and used a torch to make it more effective. When we got scared enough, we started to tell jokes and laughed so her (or mine) parents came and told us to be quiet. We usually ended the evening tickling each-other under the feet until we fell asleep.
Today, we live on each side of the globe. From time to time I see her name or picture in the news-paper, since she is journalist. The contact is maybe lost, but then again…maybe not. At least, our excursions in the nature are still very vivid in my memories . . . .
I will let you in on a couple of our secrets in the next two blogs.

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The jewel of language

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By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I have lived in USA, New Zealand, been in close friendship with people from United Kingdom, travelled around the world using “English” as my language and even been an English teacher . . .
When I worked as an English teacher, I followed strictly the language used in the books at the place I was at the moment. (Whatever kind of English that was.)
When I am myself . . . I assume I am using a mix of all the kind of English existing.
Because English is not always English.
In the schools in Scandinavia they use Oxford English books, but it is seldom the teacher is native English speaking, so the accent is not always correct.
Other places in the world, they use local English books . . . also here in Egypt, and the quality of the books is extremely poor, some schools even make their own books. (What I call “pigeon-English” books.)
The English they speak in Canada, USA, Australia and New Zealand is different than the English in England, although it sounds the same for an untrained ear.
They can have the same words, but sometimes the word has different meaning, depending on where you are.
Per example: The word satisfaction in England ~ means a grate joy and pleasure . . . But in USA, the word is mostly used in connection with sexual excitement.
In UK. One can say: “He is gone.” (Meaning . . . he is not around.) In US. This sentence would mean that the man is dead.
I have two dictionaries on my PC . . . English UK. ~ and ~ English US.
Depending on which dictionary is in use, I get corrected differently . . .
Like per example: color / colour ~ favor / favour ~ endeavor / endeavour ~ ~ ~
Some places the most correct is to say: “ I shall go home.” Other places they say: “I will go home.” Again, other places the most correct is to say: “I have to go home.”
This has also something to do with dialects.
What is correct language? All the time people want to correct me and every time, I get more and more messed up, because they correct me into a local dialect.
That one is native speaking doesn’t always mean one is excellent in the language grammatically or orthographic.
I have worked with English teachers from UK. Who didn’t know how to inflect the word teach. (Teach ~ taught ~ taught) They said : “teach ~ teached ~ teached.”
In Scandinavia have met teachers who didn’t know how to inflect the word “to shine” in the Scandinavian language . . . Å skinne – skinner – skinte . . . They said : ” Å skinne – skant – skunne.”
Like as well did they not know if the word “boot” in Scandinavian language was støvel or stølve. (The correct is støvel.)
I know I am not perfect in the language. Some tell me I speak very good American language, some compliment me with very good English language, some say my language is not good enough.
I myself feel, as I am here in Egypt for several years now, my English goes to the worse by time, because one have to speak so people understand you, and in this country that means . . . “ I speak English the very best not. I come to work by lack. The shop is open up-side-down. “
Meaning: “My English is not very good. I like my job. The shop is open 24 hours.”
And . . . we say: “Happy New Year” the whole year.

Politic on earth. . .

I got carried away by Lexcen’s blogg Grips of wrath

It is interesting to notice, that these "dictators" use the finger of education, while most of the photos shown of "democrats" from the western world, show the sign of being a soldier of Satan. (pointer & little finger. . . Both Clinton & Bush have given this sign.)
Another thing is that I think the humanity forget to accept that a case can have more than one side. What is good for one part of the world is NOT necessary good for another. For some people "The paradise of God" will appear as the worse “HELL” in universe.
We have seen this for centuries now. The western world “comes to town” and decide that “if you don’t have it like me, “ then your country are undeveloped, under dictatorship or you are poor.
They went to Africa to teach them how to make BIG farming instead of small parcels, where each family cultivated what they needed. The result was poverty.
First, the soil is too poor for big farming.
Second, in big farming they cultivated only one kind of grains, instead of the usually several kinds at the same time with different strength. So when the one kind failed of drought, they were without food. (Usually, if one kind failed another kind survived and they had food after all. )
The western world went to Green-land and taught them how to build houses of wood!!! Instead if the usually igloos. Wood. . . A material they don’t even have and will start to rotten after max 2 years in snow and water, and the poverty starts. They had never been drinking alcohol. Now the alcoholism is a big problem. (after "democratic" word: "good for them" yes??)
They travel around to innocent places on earth and teach them to dress their way, drink alcohol, how to use a gun, how to use drugs, give them venereal diseases , start prostitution etc. Force on them their own religion as the only correct.
They claim to have “democracy” !?!?
What is “democracy”? (Read my book and you will see what kind of “democracy” we have in Scandinavia.)

In Islam, even Muhammed said: "I'm sorry to say but the people of my culture MUST be hold with a strict hand, because they don't know how to behave. Give them free hands and they will go out of control."

Now when Saddam Hussein will be hanged, who is then responsible for all those who had been killed after the revolution up to date? Who shall be hanged for those deaths, rapes, violations, criminal acts, abuse, thefts and the destruction of the country as whole?? Or is that OK, because this crimes were done by the hands of “democratic” people and they must be allowed to do what they want!!! Correct?

So now, you omniscient western world...Take what is coming to you. You have dressed you own bed.

The price of beauty. .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

Eva was in 3rd primary and came from a wealthy family. Her father was director in a big company and her mother was known for her outstanding beauty first of all, in addition to her participating in community work.
Eva herself used to be a polite and clever girl . . . . She used to come to school in a car with driver witch also collected her after school-time. Everybody knew, that she had a governess at home, helping her with the home-work and looked forward to that she always was neat and clean.
But regardless so much wealth and success . . . Lately, slowly her behavior changed.
At first no one really made any noticed of it. But as time passed, she changed more and more. She started to become impolite to the teachers, to that extend so her parents was called in to a meeting.
Her father came alone and listened to the teachers complain. He promised that he would correct Eva.
More and more often, Eva came to school with her school-bag full of sweets; she shared with the other children. Often did she come to school with expensive jewelry she also easy gave away to other children . . . . but she didn’t look happy. She didn’t laugh or play with the other children.

People started to look at her as an ungrateful, spoiled child.

One day she showed up at school with a new necklace of real pearls.
She fast got surrounded by the other children who wanted to look at the necklace and envied her.
This day, Eva behaved so badly so the teacher at the end gave her a hard correction, telling her to stand in the corner.
As she was standing in the corner, she suddenly tore of her necklace off and threw it on the floor so all the pearls were running around.
She started to cry very hard and shouted to the teacher: “It doesn’t matter if you put me in the corner. It doesn’t matter if my dad buys me all the sweets in the world or give me expensive jewelry. I don’t want it. . . I want my mom, but nothing can bring my mom back.”

After this outburst the teacher calmed her down and asked what she meant.

Then Eva told her, that her mother, few months ago, had discovered a fat-cyst in her forehead. It was not big and not dangerous and hardly anyone noticed it if they didn’t know it was there.
But her mom knew it was there and felt it disturbed her beauty, so she wanted to go to hospital to remove it.
That kind of operation didn’t use to be anything to worry about. The doctor had said; it was like removing the appendix.
But under the operation, something had after all got wrong. Something very serious had happened and her mother had got sever brain-damaged.
Her mother was transferred to a mental hospital, where she never had a chance to leave again.
She had asked her father if she could visit her mom, but her father had said; “It was best if she didn’t, because her mom had changed so much. Neither would she remember Eva and Eva would not recognize her mom since the beauty had left her. Her father rather wanted her to remember her mom with the beauty she had before she went to the hospital.”

Eva continued crying as she shouted with bitter voice: “Why did she have to do that operation? She was beautiful enough. Nothing could make her more beautiful. She didn’t have to . . . . “

Balls in the air . . .

Geezz . . . I have problems with the internet . . . . or is it my computer only???
All the time for two days now, I could not post anything, I could almost not read any bloggs or comment any bloggs.
All the time I got the message "the page can not be displayed" or "can not find server" or "error".
Is it only me or do you also have problems these days?
Is it maybe too many "balls " in the air,(people on the net) so that the satelites are not able to support everybody???
Yesterday, I tried for 8 hours to post something without success.
So I try this now and see if it goes through. If it does, then I will post something later today.

Useless information . . .

Did you know that . . .



If you were screaming in 8 years 7 months and 6 days, you would have produced enough energy to make a cup of coffee . .

(hardly worth to try)



If you continually fart for 6 years and 9 months, you would have produced enough gas to make an atom bomb . .

(now, it starts to sound like something)



Your heart produce such a big pressure when it pumps you blood, so it would spatter 914,40 cm?

(Oh, my God)



A pig’s orgasm lasts for 30 minutes . .

(In my next life, I want to be a pig)



A cockroach can live 9 days without its head before it dies. . .

(scaring)



(I have still not recovered from the info. Abt. the pig)



If you nock your head towards the wall, you are using 150 calories pr. hour

(Don’t try that at home . . . at work maybe . . . )



The male of a millipede can not mate so long as the head is connected to the body. The female takes the initiative to sex by tearing the head off.

(Hello, dear I’m home. What fu….)





A flee can jump 350 time its body-length. That’s equal if a human jump the length of a football arena.

(30 minutes… Lucky pig. Can you imagine?)





Butterflies taste with their feet. . .

(What about the bluebottle?)



The strongest muscle in you body is the tongue . .

( Hmmmmmmmmmmm)



Right-handed people lives 9 years longer than left-handed . .

(Very good.)





The elephants are the only animals that can not jump. . .

(Well, that’s OK )



Some lions mate 50 times a day. . .

(I will still be a pig in my next life - Quality before quantity)





A cat’s urine gives light under “black” light . .

(Who wants to know that?)



An emus’ eye is bigger than it’s brain . .

(I know people with the same problem ….)



The sea-stars don’t have any brain . . .

(I know people like that too. . . .)



(30 min. . . . WOW)



Polar-bears are left-handed . . .

(If the change, they will live longer.)



Human and dolphins are the only one having sex for the joy of it …..

(What about the pig ? ???)


(K.N.)