Today is Sunday, the 20th of May 2018. Pentecost Sunday. And I am wondering is the holy spirit a holy ghost?
My name is Bromford. I am a god. I am the Northern god of Thunder. I am the Northern god of Thunder and Lightning.
My sister broke my hammer the other day. My wonderful wiggling warhammer.
But back to my sister. She is a queen. She is the queen of hell. She is the queen of hell and death. But she is also a queen of elves but I broke up with her. I broke up with her after she destroyed our home planet Ansgar. I broke up with her after she destroyed our home planet Ansgar and my hammer as I might have mentioned before.
So I had to start searching for a new home. I had to start searching for a new home and I had to go to the planet of Nidavellir.
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'What are you writing there, old man?'
The llama is wearing glasses for some dubious reasons and watching me over the frames while lying in its hammock.
'Nothing!'
I keep on typing.
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So I had to go to the planet of Nidavellir with a killer racoon fish disguised as a rabbit to visit Ülf the giant-king of dwarves who promised to forge me a better battle axe than Gimli's, the son's of a member of someone's company to find a dragon's treasure.
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'Remember, old man', the llama says. 'You tend to use long and complicated sentences after you have noticed that you tend to repeating yourself.'
Damn it, I think, the animal's right.
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Ülf is Eitri who is Tyrion, the imp of Kings Landing and Winterfell and the Wall and all around Easteros.
Dragon's treasure? My precious…
But I'll better go now because I feel a huge bolt of lightning rising my gullet like a giant belch…
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The llama has left the hammock and tries to read my screen now.
'Who did you say is Tyrion Lannister?' I ask and close the laptop.
'You are wierd, old man. Really very wierd.'
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