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Random weirdness for the week of May 10, 2016

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We’re embarrassed as hell about our screw up last week regarding the “white paper” (which we’re reminding you on the first three pages of this week’s print edition), but at least we’re not the clear Wankers of the Week for once. The two tourists in the picture above are in strong contention after being caught taking photos of one of the kindergartens while the kids were outside which, as we’re noted before (sometimes in big headlines), is definitely near the top of visitor behavior that induce fury in the locals. At least they didn’t try to feed the tykes like zoo animals (or, in once infamous case, pee on the fence they were standing against). So with cruise ship season approaching, here’s yet another reminder that (along with rifling through people’s cars, using cabin walls as toilet shelters, etc.) we’re actual people in an actual town, not some alien species to be probed (um…stay tuned for next week when we apologize to the aliens)…

As for actual journalism misfires, there’s this line buried deep in a boring article about The Way Things Ought To Be with air traffic management. The article talks about a Pole-to-Pole satellite/ground station system that will have a station in Svalbard because “it never receives rain, the only weather condition which can affect signal reception from the satellite,” according to the company that will operate the station. If it is indeed the company stating that we’re not feeling good about getting on a plane anytime soon.

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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