Chapter One - About Police Inspector Bastian, Dirty Old Tobias, 
              Aunt Sophia and other wacky folk of Trømsamom Town


Trømsamom is a fucked up little town, but it lies so far away that almost nobody 
knows about it.  Just you and me and that girl I met at Roger's last weekend, 
her three underage friends that came back to our nachspiel, the other guys that 
live in her flat, their neighbours, and the men and women of the Norwegian Navy.  
And a very few others. 

Trømsamom is a rather remarkable town, as a lot happens there that would be 
considered illegal anywhere else.  For example, nøkken and hulder walk around 
naked in the streets, and even a troll or two comes ambling along - now and 
then.

Dirty Old Tobias with his long white beard lives in the tower, and the pork 
butcher and Puddleston the tram driver and Patterson the barber with his little 
"side business" that nobody is supposed to speak of - and Reamo and Tommy and 
Aunt Sophia and little orphan Camomilla.  As well as Police Inspector Bastian, 
the Superintendant, who talks big, but wouldn't have the balls to arrest a 
crackwhore in town square.  After a few pints, he musters up the courage to 
stumble on a short beat through the town, giving a friendly wave to the left and 
to the right to make sure that everyone is doing fine.

     Superintendant Bastian's song
     [to Torbjørn Egner's original tune]

     I am Superintendant Bastian, 
     and I am a manly stud
     When I fight for peace it always ends in blood.

     And I walk about and see that all
     Are happy and are free
     For no bad ass would dare to fuck with me.

     I have made up a law for Trømsamom
     And posted it around
     And in this law the following words are found:

     You shall not fuck with others
     You shall share your food and beer
     And if what you did's illegal, I didn't hear.

In the middle of Trømsamom Town stands a tall, well-fortified mansion that the 
townfolk call "The Love Shack."  This is Dirty Old Tobias' place.  He is the 
wisest - and some say the horniest - of all in the little town, which could be 
because he has such a long beard.

When he's not making sweet love, he keeps an eye on the weather (and women) in 
Trømsamom town.  With his long, phallic telescope, he sits high up in his tower, 
ogling out over the world.  And when he sees a storm approaching in the 
distance, he goes out onto the platform beside his bedroom and calls out across 
the town square, "Hey!  Here's the weather forecast for this afternoon: hot 
blondes in National Dress, and a torrential townpour of rain!"  Then away go the 
National Dresses, and out come boots and umbrellas, and when the rain comes 
nobody ends up soggy.

But even Tobias fucks up, because - after all - he's a little "busy" with the 
women-folk to know everything about the wind and the rain.  One day, as he sat 
up in his tower house peeping out, he saw heavy black clouds with sheets of rain 
below, far away in the west.  He hurried out onto the platform and sent out a 
gale warning: "Kafarshkan!  Here comes the rain!"

"O fuck O fuck" said the townfolk as they rushed home to fetch their umbrellas.

But the wind veered, and the clouds didn't come anywhere near Trømsamom.  People 
walked along holding their umbrellas and looking up at the sky.  "Didn't the old 
poonhound say something about rain?" they asked.  But the rain didn't come.  
Many of them got pissed off and complained, "That senile old fart has finally 
lost it.  God, do I feel like a boob."

But the next day, Dirty Old Tobias again spotted black, ominous clouds far off 
to the east heading straight for Trømsamom.  "Respect the clouds," he said to 
himself, and he hurried out of bed and onto his soapbox.  "Listen, people, I'm 
not shitting you!  It's about to piss rain again."

But Patterson the barber was living his life in an alcoholic haze, and Aunt 
Sophia and Hill the grocer and Mrs Silas and everyone else in town said, "Go 
back to your poon, you dirty old man!  You're talking out of your ass again."  
But you know where this is going - it did piss rain, and everyone got drenched.  
Aunt Sophia, the old maid who's always looking to make the right impression on 
an impressionable bachelor, got her knickers in a knot when her straw bonnet 
drooped down over her ears.  Everyone looked around in astonishment.  "Sweet 
fuck," they said, "who'd have thought the old man had a grain of sense left in 
him?  Boy, do we feel like boobs again."

Dirty Old Tobias has a young friend.  His name is Reamo.  Young Reamo and his 
dog Bobbo often spend time with Tobias up in the tower house watching porn and 
gazing through the telescope at the townsfolk.

"Can you see those two over there at Tunvegen?" said Tobias one dark evening.  
"They've been at it for six hours.  I wish I still had that sort of stamina."

"Gee, Tobias, I wish I could get as much action as you," said Reamo.

"You're almost certain to have more action than you can handle some day," noted 
Tobias.

"D'you think so?"

"Yes, I do.  And besides, if you ever get really stuck, I can just have you sent 
on an IAESTE exchange.  And when I get too old to sit here, you can take my 
place in the Love Shack as the horniest man in all of Trømsamom Town."

"I don't think I'll be able to," said Reamo.  "I haven't got a beard, or even 
pubes yet."

"All in good time," said Dirty Old Tobias.  "Your voice hasn't even cracked 
yet."

And he raised his telescope and looked out over the town while he sang his song 
about the weather.

     The Weather Song
     [to the tune of "We're All Different" by Jerome "Chef" McElroy]

     When it's close to harvest feast
     And the wind's blowin' in from the east
     and then the rain comes pourin' down
     Everywhere upon the town
     It doesn't mean I can't lay you down woman
     For loooove on soggy ground
     With my love deep inside you
     And no one else around

While Tobias sits in the Love Shack keeping an eye on things, life jogs happily 
along in Trømsamom Town.  People exchange friendly greetings with one another - 
"Nachspiel!" they cry, "Get your fresh, hot nachspiel!"  And in the middle of 
the street, trolls plod by with carts filled with beer for sale, now that the 
Ølutsalg no longer wields a monopoly on your vorspiel needs.

You won't find any motor cars in Trømsamom, but there is a tram, a single tram.  
It isn't big, and it doesn't go far.  But the townsfolk are fond of their tram 
and its alcoholic driver, and take a short ride on it every day - and often 
several times a day. 

"Take yer scheats!" slurs tram driver Puddleson, ringing the tram bell.  Then 
the passengers hold on for dear life, and off goes the tram!  And as the tram 
weaves back and forth down the street, everyone inside joins in Puddleson's 
favourite drinking song: 

  The Trømsamom Tram
  [to the tune of "Battle Hymn of the Republic" 
   (as in, "We are, we are...")]

  In the town of Trømsamom our life is free from care.
  We don't have cars 'cuz we're too drunk to take 'em anywhere.
  I'm the tram conductor on the line called number one,
  so hold on tight, and let's all see how fast this thing can run.

  We start off every quarter hour with a quart of beer.
  And by the bridge is where we stop, then race from there to here.
  And if your cat gets in my way, I'm sorry 'bout the mess,
  But, well none of this is half as fun when drinking half as less.

  The ticket for your journey here is absolutely free,
  and the passengers get shots of rum for breakfast and for tea,
  for Puddleson who drives the tram's a crazy drunken man,
  And he wants us all to drink like him but I don't think we can.

  We drive with music and with song although we don't go far,
  No wonder that with trams like this you don't dare take the car.
  And if the ride back home you make, there's still some beer to spare,
  So get your asses on the tram and let me take you there!