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Posts tagged as “quails”

SVALBARD’S 10 STRANGEST STORIES OF 2018: Russians linked to polar bear porn video connected to Trump meltdown while Norway’s royal family gets trashed

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Read Time:16 Minute, 40 Second

Pretty much all of the news in Svalbard is strange compared to anywhere else.

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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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Fowl decision: Government rules Polar Permaculture must kill its 80 quails by Friday due to livestock ban, disease fears

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Read Time:3 Minute, 59 Second

“We must kill all of our quails by Friday the 13th, 2018.”

That blog post was written a day before what will be a very unlucky day indeed for 80 quail at Polar Permaculture that must be killed because the Norwegian Food Safety Authority has ruled the birds violate a ban on importing livestock in Svalbard and are a potential disease risk.

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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