The Danish tongue is a lingo of porridge, a hot potato in the mouth, drenched in bitterness from defeats galore. The seas themselves froze to allow us to invade your islands by foot after stomping around like ravenous wolves in Poland. Swedish steel bites true. Proud rebel nation stands tall. No more sneaky bloodbaths with the heads of our high nobility rolling on the streets in Stockholm.
Yellow-blue is the best cross flag, our dear brother folk. You came up with the prototype, we perfected the concept. Swedish peasants have always been a true free estate, unlike their cowed Danish serf counterparts.
You have neither elk, nor car industry, nor mountains. Who sports the world record of inventions per capita? Who build tanks, warplanes and rocket launchers? Your country is built on sand, fed on pølse and drunk on beer. You fear German might. We crush it consistently underfoot. Parents in central Europe scared their children to behave, lest the Swede come and take them, well into the 20th century.
And yes, we do have a martial world record to maintain, @Bloodbeard. It takes two to tango after all. Let us dance once again, fell Denmark! :26:
It is time to finish the conquest of your miniscule southron spits of land. :16:
Good to see the fine dwarven tradition of grudge-keeping over several centuries being still honoured in the North! :16:
Indeed, I remember an old German nursery rhyme that goes back to the Thirty Years War. Its first two lines are Bet’ Kindlein bet’, morgen kommt der Schwed! (“Pray, children, pray, tomorrow the Swede will come!”) But it’s no longer in active use, I only know it as a curiosity - years ago a buddy and I used to have it as a running gag while playing Mount and Blade: With Fire and Sword :01: But, yeah, @Admiral. The Holy Roman Empire remembers. :03:
It warms my heart to hear that, @Antenor. It has always been a cherished conviction of mine that the Germanies’ sole historical purpose is to be a stomping ground and plundering field for Swedish armies. Everything else are mere footnotes. :14:
A few years ago I did a stint in Iceland working as a dog sledding musher (my “big life adventure” as it were) - one of the guys there was a Danish dude training for Sirius and man it sounds so badass. He was telling me he’d tried once before, but didn’t get through, so was doing more work with dogs to get the experience up, having previously done it in Canada. Absolute mad man, but I take my hat off to anyone who has the will to do that.
Your poem immediately reminded me of this song, or rather the lyrics. They are an adaptation of a poem found in Egil’s Saga, which is a very recommendable read (by the way, the notes in my copy state that in the sagas “Sweden often features as the home of troublemakers of almost superhuman strength” - seems like you always had a special reputation among other Scandinavians )
I love the Scandinavian love/hate grudges, true to Dwarven inspired heritage of mutual distrust, spitting upon achievements of their hated kin and stories of heroic deeds against the depravity of their cousins.
As an outsider who has visited Denmark and Sweden (roughly 38 years ago), I must say that my impression was that the Swedes are the vanilla dwarfs (goody two shoes), the Danes are the Chaos Dwarfs (they’re a bit rough around the edges) and Faroe island the LoA (for obvious reasons).
As for which Scandinavian dwarven riff raff is superior…I offer the theory that Ikea shelving, cases and tables serve as mere humble display space for the imminent Denmark invention, Lego.
these are the opinions of an old grumpy Hobgoblin, and in no way are meant to belittle you Scandinavian savages.
@Bloodbeard & @Fuggit_Khan : Two days ago, my brother and I tried out surströmming for the first, last and only time in our lives.
We opened the can outdoors, but I wanted to make a small hole in to smell the raw stench before continuing opening the can in a bucket ofwater. As the can opener penetrated the can, a tight spray of rotten fish liquid shot out in an arc, hitting one of our mother’s cats. She ran off in shock and began licking herself furiously, but was otherwise fine.
We might have gotten a bad sample, because the stench did not live up to the expectation, and the fish almost looked fresh and not as greyish rotten as we’ve seen before. Yet the taste was strong! We sat outside, and each put a piece of fermented herring on a sandwich with all the traditional stuff you eat with it, and took a bite. Me brother ran into the kitchen and spat it out in the wastebin (which had to thrown out immediately), while I jumped out on the edge of a farmer’s field and spat it out in the grass.
It was utterly horrible! We have no idea how people can eat something that tastes so badly.
I am personally convinced that some madmen around here originally discovered the flavour of surströmming in times of starvation and poor harvests, akin to how the French discovered snails and froglegs, and the Chinese a plethora of strange dishes. There was no redeeming quality to the taste.