b3ta.com user King of Swandanavia
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Profile for King of Swandanavia:
Profile Info:

King Garry I of Swandanavia is 20 21 22 23 of your Earth years old. He has a manifesto on a great many things. Feel free to add and ask away on any subject. He will do his best to answer your queries in a mostly regal fashion.
He currently spends his time between London, and Swandanavia, also in London.
He is about to make a drastic life change and move to South Africa to be a consultant for a wine company. This is purely to improve the GDP of Swandanavia. This did not pan out.

He is currently unemployed and attempting to whore His writing skills(nominal) and will probably end up back behind a bar, much to His Royal Highness' dismay. His Highness still harbours ideals of writing for a living, but for now he works in a shitty kitchen in a pub. His predictions were half right, though plans for university are afoot. This also did not pan out.

He now works as a commis chef, and still occasionally scrawls something somewhere for someone.

Your gracious leader has been awarded one Flong by Sir Spenface. For those whom dont know, a Flong is:

Flong Fact 1: Flongs breed asexually. They ingest a combination of Doc leaves and Crispy Hedge porn.. These mix with fluids in the stomach to form an egg shell which the flong then discards. Then they split in half. This is a very infrequent event.

I was lucky enough to be bestowed with the first Flong in creation. And in return for this, I made Spenface a Knight of the Swandanavian Realm, and he shall be addressed as such from this day forth.

I was there. I'll never forget. Will you?

Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» Will you go out with me?

I am utterly crap at asking women out.
Have been ever since I was a mere Prince of Swandanavia.

My last girlfriend sort of just happened (both times we were together, I'm not sure anything was said, but the lengths of time were 7 and 10 months with a gap of 3 years or so.)

My current squeeze(©: any tabloid newspaper ever) is a delightful young girl named Emma. Just turned 19, and for whatever reason, thinks the world of me. I met her when I was drunk a, and she was sober, so she has seen Drunk Garry&trade and didnt mind. I spent all day today with her at a museum, vaguely wandering around and just talking with her.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm horrifically shy with the better half of the species, and I struggle to talk to girls for any prolonged length of time. Neither one of us was at a loss for something to talk about, and it was amazing.

None of the classic questions have been asked regarding a relationship, but its blossoming nicely, and I've never been happier. She's fairly posh (especially in comparison to my own scumbag upbringing) and I love the fact that she is more than willing to slum it at my level because (in her rough words, complete with added paraphrasing!) I make her smile and smiling makes her happy.

What more could I ask for?

King Garry I of Swandanavia may have found a Queen, and her name is Emma.
(Sun 31st Aug 2008, 0:34, More)

» The Weird Kid In Class

Disco Dave
When I were but a Prince to my throne, I was at school in London. Well, Morden to be exact.

I'd grown up with a chap named Jason White. Looked like a muppet, but not our story's hero today.

Now, all through middle school, and most of high school, there were rumours that the by Jason had brothers. that was fine, but no-one had ever seen them. Fine, they must be at another school somewhere else.

In our final year, we finally met Jason's brother David.

Slight story deviation, but ultimatley related, in our lunch halls(we had two, becuase we were a "new start" school or something) we had TVs which played TMF and other freeview channels.

One lunchtime, a few of us were eating inside out of the driving rain. So there we were, all camped out around this table, and we hear singing. Seniorita by Justin Timberlake, no less, and there is young David, giving it his heart and soul to the TV and dancing a fully choreographed dance routine to the tune. In the lunch hall. In front of about 300 mocking bastard children.

And then Jason gets up, trying to stop his brother. I'll never forget the words uttered by David at this point:
"But Jason, why do I have to stop? You showed me how to do it!" but with that I digress.

So we have young David, giving his full length JT moves(and doing a fine job of it), Jason clears off for a few days and we all forget the incedent.

During Jasons days off, David appears to be your bog standard hyperactive year 8. No dance routines to proudly display to an avid audience.

Upon Jason's well documented return, David starts dancing to all sorts of songs on the TV. This became an accepted part of the lunchtime viewing, but soon he was ignored and left to it. The poor sod had killed his obvious talents through over exposure.

So one day, he's giving it his all time 100% best performance(I presume, given that I'd stopped watching Disco Dave by now) he stops dead in the middle of a routine and falls to the floor.

Literally, just BANG! that was him. Lights out for the Dancing Boy. Unfortunatley for David, this is an old move, so it gets no attention. After about 5 minutes of ignorance, there are few glances, none of them concerned, so David throws a MASSIVE eppy. I've never seen one so big, or so violent. Punching walls, the floor, anyone within flailing distance.

He stops long enough to check his fists. Now bloodied and presumably rather painful. So he starts headbutting the vending machine. And I mean with some force. The whole hall is enthralled by this latest effort.

and then, as soon as he is sure he has evryones absolute attention, he starts dancing to whatever song was on then. As if nothing had happened, his hands pissing blood and looking fairly swollen, a large gash on his head, also leaking at a prodigal pace.

And then there is David. Dancing happily to the music(which by now, would be most accuratly described as "in his blood").

Tragically, I have no idea what happened to David, but I hope he's a dancer. Or something. He was some mover.

I have to apologise for length, but the songs were at least 3 minutes each.
(Tue 23rd Jan 2007, 23:37, More)

» My Greatest Regrets

Not so much a story, as a list.
Of my non-acheivments in my short 19 years.

(Not in any specific order)

1) I regret nicking that car as a yoof of 14.

2) I regret cocking about for my 2 GCSE years and not fulfilling my potential. Got 6 GCSEs in subjects I never wanted to take in the first place.

3) I regret the stupid amounts of "hard" drugs I took, as well as handing some over to a clear-veined, wide-eyed innocent chap.

4) I regret turning down the chances of success at nearly every turn due to a fear of failure.

5) Obligatory not having said yes to a girl, blah blah

6) I regret not having a better relationship with my mother. I've seen her once in 3 years and the last thing I said to her was "Fuck off out of my life and stay there" She lives in Spain, I live in Scotland.

7) I regret not having the CAHONIES to ask out this particular lovely lady who appaerntly has a thing for me. Again, this is an abject fear of failure on my part. Doesnt matter if she is a dead cert or not, I cant do it.

8) I regret not finishing college back down south in Kingston.

9) I regret not getting around to finishing off assorted musical projects, and the bad terms that I'm on with most of my former band-mates.

10) I regret nearly everything I do when I'm drunk. I'm a pain in the arse and twice as lippy as when I'm sober.

11) I regret the fact that I'm now in a dead end job with zero prospects and zero chance of promotion. I put this down to a lack of qualifications on my part.

I think thats it for now.

I wish for no sympathy, or nuffin. Just accept my length, no questions asked.
(Tue 10th Oct 2006, 4:50, More)

» Asking people out

I am utterly shit at asking folk out.
I've got no qualms with talking to the laydeez, and it turns out, I'm fairly charming for someone who has a face resembling a welly boot thats been left next to the fire for too long.

Over my not-so-illustrious career with the fairer sex, most of my relationships have just been fallen into. Back at school, word would get to me on the grapevine of such and such fancying me, giggle, so I'd send word back through a reliable source that it was reciprocated and so it would happen.

In 22 years I think I've only asked the question "Will you go out with me?" maybe twice. Mostly because I dont really like the phrase and think its interminably cheesey. Proper high school stuff.

That being said, the last time I said those words to a girl was a little over 15 months ago, on my 21st birthday and the response was positive. I'm still with the glorious Queen Emma, and if I'm lucky, I'll be with her for a long time to come.

Disclaimer: for charming, read: lucky.
(Sun 13th Dec 2009, 15:43, More)

» PE Lessons

Music and Sports.
For many many of my school years, I was "The Fat Kid". Suited me then, and even now I've lost a lot of the weight, I'm still quite portly. In short, I was built for comfort, not for speed.

End of year 9 and ShitBag Comprehensive School, and I'm invited to select my GCSE subjects. English Lit and Language, and Maths being compulsory. I pick Combined Sciences, Music, History, ICT and Design Tech.

Only I wasnt allowed to do music. A subject I'd excelled at to a reasonable level(read: I had dillusions of my own talent). I'd been playing guitar for a while by this point, and despite a better grasp of basic music structure than 90% of the mouth breathers I went to school with, I was forced to do PE instead.

Being the aforementioned friend of the pie, I was somewhat less than impressed with this, and used the theory classes as a doss/slight advantage into the biology section of science.

The practical classes, however, were a different kettle of fish entirely. In no way was I going to suffer the indignity of running around a part concrete, part bare-earth "playing field" for no man, woman nor beast.

In my younger days, I wasnt a terrible footballer. In my middle school, I'd made the right-back slot my own(looking back, that may be due to there being no decent left sided players in the borough) and as such, at high school I was almost always forced into standing on the far side of the pitch and glaring when the ball came near me.

I was even accidentally named on the starting 11 on one occasion, so I thought I'd make the effort, not let the side down, blah blah. Turned up and actually got stuck into this particular game. And then some utter gobshite slid in on me quite hard and wrenched a stud in behind my knee cap dislocating it rather severely, thus ending my glittering and illustrious sporting career at a tragically early age.

As a result of several weeks of crutches, there was no more PE practicals for 2 years, and a B in a subject I detested.

Also: My PE teachers were actually not too bad. Quite laid back. When I was at college, I used to see them in the pub a fair bit. I'm still on fairly good speaking terms with 3 of them now.

Also also, fuck PE, and all who sails in her :)

I still play music, and have been in several bands who have had very minor success on the local gig circuit. There is noise of getting some demos done in a proper studio for a change. Woo!
(Thu 19th Nov 2009, 18:33, More)
[read all their answers]