Rothfuss, humor og name of the wind på norsk

Patrick Rothfuss

Det kommer kanskje ikke som noe stort sjokk at en av mine favorittforfattere for tiden er Patrick Rothfuss. Jeg kom nylig over en "artikkel" han skrev i studentavisen sin, og brøt sammen i latter. Denne ordkunstneren fortjener virkelig å spres, noe som gjør at jeg med glede kan meddele at Bazar forlag har kjøpt rettighetene til hans debutbok "name of the wind". Bok nummer to "wise man´s fear" har allerede kommet ut på engelsk, og er vel så bra om ikke bedre enn første boka (noe jeg så på som nesten umulig). Det er ikke kommet noen dato på når første bok på norsk kommer, men jeg skal se om jeg ikke kan holde dere oppdatert.

Her er forøvrig artikkelen jeg nevnte, kos deg.

Dear Pat,

I live in the dorms and I want to have a pet. But they say the only pets we can have are fish, and fish suck. You can't play or cuddle with a fish. I don't want a dog or anything, just like a hamster. What's the difference really? They both live in an aquarium, right?

Pretty Emotional Toward Mammal Embargoes.

Well PETME, when I lived in the dorms, I too felt the desire for something mammalian to cuddle. However, since I horrify most women, I decided to buy an animal that was required to love me or face starvation. A pet, in other words.

So I bought two guinea pigs and an aquarium. I called them Mr. Fluffins and Squeaky Pete. They were teddy bear shorthairs. Cute as buttons.

How did I deal with the dorm rule against pets? Simple. I ignored it. This worked for about two months until my RA saw them. He told me I'd have to get rid of them. I agreed.

Then I got back to ignoring the rule. This worked pretty well for another month until he saw them again.

HIM: You said you were going to get rid of those.
ME: Get rid of what?
HIM: (Pointing) Those.
ME: I got rid of the old ones. Those are new ones.
HIM: You can't have any pets but fish!
ME: They aren't pets. They're food. I'm fattening them up.
HIM: Listen, there are rules!
ME: According to Thoreau's concept of civil disobedience, it is every citizen's duty to oppose unjust laws.
HIM: I'm getting the Hall Director, you hippie freak.
Ten minutes later...
Hall Director: (firmly) You can't have pets in the dorms. It says right in the handbook.
ME: Except fish.
HIM: Right, except fish.
ME: (Pointing) These are fish.
HIM: Those are guinea pigs.
ME: Prove it.
HIM: [He leaves and comes back with a dictionary.] Here, "Fish: An aquatic animal."
ME: They're aquatic.
HIM: Prove it.

So I leave and come back carrying my neighbor's 10 gallon aquarium. It's full of water, plastic plants, and several confused neon tetras named after the various stooges.

Now at this point you should know something. Squeaky Pete was everything you could want in a guinea pig: loving, cuddly, playful. Mr. Fluffins, however, was standoffish. He would occasionally give me this snobby look, as if he didn't approve of my lifestyle choices.

A few days ago, he and I had a talk about how he might more willingly embrace the roll of loving pet. At the end of the talk I thought we were in agreement, but when I picked him up afterwards he made wee on my hand.

So with my hall director standing there, I picked up Mr. Fluffins, dusted the cedar chips off, and dropped him in the aquarium. He squeaked a little, then started to swim.

Then the director said, "Aquatic means they live under water. Swimming around doesn't count."

So, turning to look my hall director in the eye, I took Mr. Fluffins in a firm grip and pushed him underwater.

"Sweet mother of fuck!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you my fish," I said calmly, still looking him in the eye. Mr. Fluffins and the stooges started some improv comedy that lasted for ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. I didn't look away from the hall director. His eyes were huge, he was sweating. I didn't blink.

"Fine! It's a fish!" he said.

I pulled Mr. Fluffins out of the tank, squeezed him out, and wrapped him a towel. Then I put him on my roommate's bed, just in case he decided to puke.

After that, PETME, the hall director never gave me any hassle.

Best of all, Mr. Fluffins became the perfect pet... for three weeks. Then he tried to shiv me in my sleep. After that we had another talk, during which he made wee on my hand again. So I killed him, ate him, and made his skin into a little hat that I still wear to this day.

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Beware the mallet of loving correction