The Ghost at Tower Bridge (A True Story)

1.
I was just in London for the weekend.

As most sane people, I like the city immensely. London is full of fun and excitement - for instance, there are so many ways you can get run over in England. The British cars come at you from unexpected angles. It's part of that London experience: when are you going to get mowed down - and by what? The first time I was in London I was hit by a double decker; the next time by a milkman. Yes, London is great fun and the British hospitals are cheery places - I usually bring a date.

London is also a city full of ghosts.

No, I'm not talking about Tony Blair. He is gone. I'm talking about real ghosts in real apartments. You don't even need to stay at a castle or an old inn. You can find many in the posh Tower Bridge district.

I should know because I visited my friend Ruthie who has psychic abilities. Let me give you an example of her amazing gift: The first time she saw me she knew I was an asshole. That was in Koh Samui six years ago at a health spa. We both got dengue - at a health spa! And lost seven kilo. You could say that we bonded over our diarrhea.

But back to the ghost: There's a dead guy in Ruthie's apartment and he sucks the air of the place.

He's not a scary ghost, mind you. He doesn't tackle you rugby style or make you trip over stools; he just stares at you from his corner - you feel that some one is watching you; it's a bit like being in Syria.

"What am I going to do with Presence?" Ruthie asks me one evening. That's her name for the ghost. Not Jerkface, but Presence.

I find that endearing. But I guess you should be nice to your ghost. There's no reason to make him angry; the ghost might get a heart attack and die.

Ruthie has tried to get rid of him for a long time. She has tried Buddhist rituals and Japanese chants. She even reads him Norwegian poetry, but good old Presence just stays around sucking the energy out of the apartment. She can't write in her own place, it makes her tired staying there for more than a night.

"What do you think Presence wants?" I ask Ruthie who is a lawyer who has gone to Psychic School, "your legal advice?"

Ruthie sighs. She's tired of him but a bit fascinated as well. It's probably the fascination that keeps him there.

But ghosts don't belong on earth. They should go back to their ghost towns and rest.

Isn't that part of the curriculum at Psychic School - along with channeling God and deceased poodles?


2.
The last day I'm in the apartment Presence fucks with the internet. Ruthie can't get online. But funnily enough, I can.

"It's because of my un-psychic ability," I tell her. However, it's not true because I suddenly catch a glimpse of the ghost and sense him, too. Presence has come back. He wasn't here when I arrived. Maybe he went to Wimbledon to watch some tennis?

"Please stay here with Ruthie," I tell the ghost, "don't stalk me; my girlfriend won't like you."

But when I get back to my apartment in Copenhagen I actually see some one next to me when I work at my computer. I won't name the porn site I'm on, but let me put it this way: That ghost is a bit of a pervert.

But how an alien like him got through Danish immigrations I'll never know.



This British woman has obviously seen a ghost at the fruit stand. Or is it just the obscene prices she reacts to?

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My Morality Lesson: Don't Write About Dildos, Write About Crown Prince Frederik

I don't get it.

A few days ago I wrote a blog in support of Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark. Why did I do that, you may ask? The answer is simple, I'm a compassionate person who wants to help people who get criticized - you may call me the Mother Teresa of Blogging.

In my piece I explained to the world that Frederik is not a degenerate, he is not lazy, and his wife Crown Princess Mary is cute.

I'm happy I did that because ever since I've been flooded with comments from RoyalDish, a website that has turned its hatred of royalty into an art form. These wonderful but slightly deranged people have told me scary stories of Mary's sordid past in Australia; how she's a Prada loving gold digger who's only after one thing ... more Prada.

Let me clarify one thing: I like Mary but I don't know her personally. I shook her hand on Amalienborg castle once, but that doesn't mean I can look into what some might call her Prada craving soul. But I do have a feeling that Frederik and Mary actually love each other, which, of course, would be very un-Royal.

As everybody knows, marrying for love is not only disgusting, it's unhealthy. Royal marriages have always been political. A Crown Princess has two obligations: to look good on coins and supply the coming King with circumsiced boys ... that's it.

But I guess Freddie and Mary are good for at least one more thing: They attract a lot of readers to my blog.

You see, it's only two weeks ago I started to learn how to get Danish Accent out in the world. I did that by following the advice of Portland's leading web guru, Mediachick. She said ... and I quote her:

"Peter, ít's extremely important that you use the word DILDO in your blog titles. Even if you write about your own boring novels, you should use the word DILDO as often as you can. If you don't, you'll never get any readers."

Well, the expert was wrong. My dildo blog was beaten by my piece on Crown Prince Frederik and Mary from the House of Prada. So now I'm planning a long list of blogs about Royalty and sex toys, including pictures of a naked Prince Harry making out with Paris Hilton - while Queen Elizabeth is watching.

This will definitely make my blog world famous.

So maybe you finally understand why I'm a devoted Royalist?

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Why Isn't Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark a True Degenerate?

1.
This is a picture of the place where Danish Crown Prince Frederik lives.

We're very proud of him, even though he only works 81 days a year. He also has an adorable wife. Her name is Crown Princess Mary of Tasmania - an Australian island that's not exactly known as a breeding ground for Danish royalty.

I like Frederik, and I think it's unfair that he has taken so much flack. The Danes are upset that he makes 17 million kroner a year which, disgustingly, is the same as our best soccer players. We're also upset that he is "lazy" and that he flaunts his blue blood at a time when red is the only way to go.

You see, in Denmark we're all about equality, so if we have a Crown Prince who thinks he's more important than us, we want to set him straight. "Why do you need a private secretary when Mrs. Hansen doesn't?" we scream. "Don't you monarchs know how to type?"

As a country, we have a lot of problems. However, the most important isn't the economy or our growing racism, but what to do with the Royal family. Should we execute them in the name of democracy and elect an obese president? Or should we take pride in the fact that we're the oldest Kingdom in the world?

Since I always live in the past (you have to when you're Danish), I'm definitely a royalist. I want Denmark to keep Queen Margrethe and her Dachshund. And I want Frederik to become our most important King since Oluf Hunger.

That's why I think the discussion about modernizing the Royal Family is absurd. I mean, the Crown Prince is on Facebook, for Christ's sake, shouldn't that be modern enough for any one?

So the solution must be the opposite of modernization: We should bring back the good old days when Denmark mattered. First of all, Norway should be returned to us immediately (except for their national football team which sucks) - plus other old Danish countries like Sweden, Iceland, England, the Baltic States, and let's not forget the Virgin Islands.


2
I think Crown Prince Frederik will be happy when he reads this. I bet he's tired of representing Denmark in Uganda and Lithuania. It must be an awful job smiling to business leaders and pretending you want to hear about laxatives. You also have to sit through boring meetings with mayors and other Riff-Raff. No, let's face it, we don't need a Prince in Armani. We need an Absolute Monarch - a hard drinking degenerate who can kick some ass and lay down the law like the Vikings used to.

I mean, what's wrong with rape, pillage, and conquer? It has worked for us as a country before and it will work for us again.

So your Royal Highness Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark-Norway, Greenland, and Those Funny Caribbean Islands That America Stole ... as far as I'm concerned, you can be as lazy as you want as long as you give us back our national pride. Marrying a Tasmanian and getting two adorable kids just doesn't do the trick.


King Canute, the Danish king who conquered England. We want our English province back. Now!


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Dammit, I Missed The Naked Bike Ride in Portland (Sweaty Balls and All)

I'm still disappointed I didn't make it to The Naked Bike Ride Saturday night in Portland. All those bloated bellies and saggy balls flapping in the wind.

My Pale Girlfriend and I wanted to go, but as everybody knows it's hard work getting naked. First you have to take off your clothes, then you have to make sure that your genitals are behaving.

But if God has blessed you with a great body, you have a responsibility to flaunt it. I don't mean to brag but I'm a 53 year old with a body of a 52 year old. Hey, I belonged in that race. And I wasn't going to wear a sissy helmet or a g-string like all the Germans I know.

The ride is part of The World Naked Bike Ride, an annual occurrence in Portland, San Francisco, and several degenerate cities in Europe. I've heard they even have one at Guatanamo bay.

This year thousands of Portlanders biked through downtown to prove that riding naked is the thing to do when it's 56 degrees and your nipples are as hard as kidney stones.

But as I said we never made it. My Pale Girlfriend and I had just stripped naked when we found a mouse in the house. The mouse raced through the apartment and hid under the sofa. I tried to get it out with a broom. When that didn't work I went New Age on the rodent. "I see God in you, so get the fuck out of there before I call Rent-a-Cat."

And it's true. I don't want to kill any animal on earth; it's only people I want to terminate.

God, we did everything in our power to get rid of the mouse. First, we put on a noisy fan, then we ran around screaming like maniacs.

"No, we have to do something nastier than that," I said to my girlfriend and played some Country and Western music, but the mouse still stayed put. Later we found out that it had built a nest under one of the cushions. It was quite comfortable there. The mouse munched on our goat cheese - it even enjoyed watching Judge Judy.

So My Pale Girlfriend and I missed The Naked Bike Ride. And I wanted to go so badly - not to show off my ten inches (I have a long collarbone), but to teach people how vulnerable cyclists are in traffic. You see, naked cyclists are killed every day. By truck drivers wearing too much clothes.

So it's high times that we take action. And Saturday millions of cyclists made the kind of political statement that can bring world leaders to their knees - at least if we hand them a pair of binoculars.


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Hey, You Won't Find Any Horny Cheerleaders with Vibrators on This Clean Blog

I'm from Denmark, but I never think of sex.

I want you to know that nothing is further from my mind than blow jobs. I actually don't know what a blow job is and if I did, I would be so disgusted. I've never visited a porn site in my life, and I don't sleep with my girlfriend. I'm saving myself for the right one, and she has to look like Mom.

All this is the Gospel Truth, may God and John Holmes be my witness. Last time sex crossed my mind was in 1982 when Nancy Reagan looked at Ronald with those wet cocker spaniel eyes. "God, Republicans are filthy," I told my girlfriend - my platonic girlfriend, that is.

But recently my interest in sex has increased. And it's all because of Google.

As my readers know, I'm learning how to get my blog out in the world. An expert spent a Sunday afternoon teaching me the ropes. Frankly, I didn't understand a word she said. She lost me the first time she said Windows. But I remember that at one point, she looked at me intensely and said, "I always get a lot of hits on my blog when I write about vibrators. Vibrators seems to have a lot of Google juice."

After that I couldn't sleep, because is it really necessary for a serious novelist to stoop to the level of lecherous librarians with vibrators? The answer, of course, is a resounding no.

I mean, I'd love to have thousands of blog readers every day, but I have no interest in horny cheerleaders looking for a rod - unless it's mine, of course. So I want to give you a guarantee: You'll never, ever find any filth on Danish Accent.

Why? Because I pride myself in being a Beacon of Light, the Fox News of Blogs, the Bill O' Riley of Righteous Behavior.

So for those of you perverts out there who have fantasies about donkeys, please go somewhere else. This is a clean blog - as clean as you can expect from a novelist who was conceived at an orgy in Legoland.


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It's Award Times: Winner of Best Booth at Book Expo America (Hey, It Was an Outrageous One, Too)

As the followers of this blog know, I visited Book Expo America last weekend.

It took place at the Jacob Javits Conference Center in New York - the kind of place that would be perfect if you brought your private jet and didn't know where to park it. Unfortunately, the Javits isn't an airport hangar, it's the home of North America's biggest book fair.

So how do you survive a room with thousands of booths, with literary blogger assassins, and neurotic novelists looking for people to harass - not to mention an Elvis impostor, a skinny girl in beige bikini, and two Scientologists trying to convince you that Ron L. Hubbard is God and Tom Cruise is the Holy Ghost.

Well, it ain't easy. But I survived, mainly because BEA09 (as we smart asses call it) is a lot of fun if you're schizophrenic. I also survived because I ran into some truly great people.

So ladies and gentlemen, it's awards time. I'm going to give a prize to the best booth at Book Expo America. And no, it ain't Simon & Schuster's, even though they had the kind of carpet my dog would love to take a dump in. It's not Penguin Books', either. Those booths were the kind of places you'd go if you felt like head butting your accountant.

No, the winner of The Danish Accent Award for Best and Most Outrageous Booth is: WINDY CITY PUBLISHERS, Chicago!!!!


Winner of Best Booth at BEA09, Windy Publishers. Oh, to drown in this sea of gorgeous women.


You've never heard of this fine publisher? Well, I hadn't, either. I've never even heard of Chicago, but this booth kicked serious ass if I may be so bold. I got acquainted with these gorgeous psychos Saturday afternoon. I was in a bad mood (which is rare for some one as shallow as me), but suddenly I was attacked by two beautiful women. They started off by passing out pens, golf balls, and garden gloves to get my attention. Then they got down to business, removing my clothes under the excuse that I should feel more "comfortable". More women joined in. Believe it or not, one of them was a mother of three. "I'm gonna scream if you stop," I shouted - it was certainly a full-service booth.

Seriously, I hung out there for half an hour, convincing all the women that they should buy The Tsar's Dwarf. To get rid of me they promised they would, but I don't even care if they lied. Windy Publishers made my day. You should buy their books. Or their book. They just started out, but they're going places if you ask me.


Runner up for Best Booth at BEA09: Yogananda, SRF publishers, and his soul mates.

Runner up: SRF Publishers
I always need a dose of spirituality. So would you if you watch Judge Judy. Luckily for me, SRF Publishers had a booth that was dominated by the face of Yogananda, the Indian guru who introduced the West to Kriya Yoga and samosas. I adore Paramahansa Yogananda. He might be my favorite Indian guru, since he never dabbled in small boys as opposed to a lot of his competitors. If you don't know this Indian master, you should get hold of SRF's books. The most famous is the gorgeous Autobiography of a Yogi, a must for any one who is into spirituality. SRF has also reprinted a lot of Yogananda's wonderfully uplifting speeches.

I had a lengthy talk with Frank Marquette, a man who radiated the kind of serenity you'd expect from a cocaine addict. But Frank Marquette was not high at all, he was the real deal and I enjoyed talking to him immensely. He seemed like a man who lived his spiritual values. I would definitely buy a used guru from that man.


Jenn Northington, King's English Bookshop and me at the BEA09 in New York. It's Jenn on the left.

Honourable Mention: Jenn Northington from King's English Bookshop, Salt Lake City. Jenn Northington didn't have her own booth, she just had 8.244 meetings to go to. Still, she found time to introduce me to book sellers, event managers, and a Twitter party that took place in a night club where you couldn't hear a word any one said - the perfect venue for people who are forced to express themselves in 140 characters. Mrs. Northington was the one who told me that I should go to BEA, so I could meet the right people. Luckily for me, Jenn is a big fan of The Tsar's Dwarf and has sold an obscene amount of the book in the Mormon City. Dear God, let me meet more book sellers like her on my fall tour!

Yes, that's right. You should sign up for my fall tour, the third one I'll be going on. I'm loud, ridiculous, and known to stand on broken chairs. Nine states have survived me so far. If you want to be next, send an email to my publisher Kate Sage at Hawthorne Books, ksage@hawthornebooks.com or contact me (see upper left bar on this blog)

Support your small independent publishers. They do weird things like believing in Danish novelists of the tragicomic persuasion ...


Also read, Unpublished Writers, Please Don't Visit Book Expo America or You Just Might Get Shot at Dawn

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A Blogger Retard's Cry for Help (and a Bit of Cyber Love)

I'm proud to say that Obama showed up for my book signing at The Booksmith in San Francisco. That was great because no one else did.


I'm a blogger retard.

I know you're not supposed to use that word in politically correct America, but I've maintained Danish Accent for almost two years without knowing how to get it out in the world. How do you go about it? Do you write Oprah? Or do you stop random strangers in the street and drool on them?

Several times I've asked my pale girlfriend to help me, but she's only interested in my body. Then I've begged my students for help but they just want As.

Don't get me wrong. I'm deeply grateful for the people who visit my site. I've received beautiful comments from fans in Zimbabwe and Italy. I've even had meaningful banter with French writers and Vietnamese ex-cons.

But I'm technically challenged. Let me give you an example of my hardship: Right now I'm the proud owner of three computers but none of them work. One has a virus, the second refuses to go online, and the third gives me the finger. I feel like a Mormon fighting with his three wives.


So now, dear semi-follower, help me get this blog out to a bigger audience - an audience with the same poor taste as yours.

Right now a few Facebook friends follow me; some fans of my novels drop by quite often as well ... but the rest of the world is unaware of these scribblings. According to wiser people than me, you get more traffic when people sign up, so please go to the upper left sidebar on this page and push the Follow button or sign up for receiving my blog on email.

The last few days I've received a lot of advice on how to get more traffic on my blog. "Just write vibrator in your title," an expert told me, "then you get a lot of hits, especially in Great Britain." Since I've always dreamed of becoming a famous blogger in Ellsmere Port, expect a lot of vibrator blogs the next few months.

But there are still so many things I don't understand. Why do my counter only count half my hits? And why doesn't any one follow me in Bolivia? And most important, how do you get more google juice? I'd never heard that word before until a day ago. It made me roar with laughter, but then again Google is way too important to make fun of. Hey, I'm a Google disciple, blogspot.com is my altar, too, so let me have some more google juice, okay?

So ladies and gentlemen, let's become serious, help a small time novelist conquer the world. Or at least Beaverton. And shake your head at me the way you'd shake your head at a toddler who plays with himself.

That reminds me of something one of my ex-students, Natasha said the other day. I told her I was on my way to New York for Book Expo America, the biggest book fair in the US.

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, my publisher thinks it's a good idea ... and I also see it as an investment in my future."

Natasha looked at me. "But Peter, you're fifty. You don't have a future."

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If you're a newcomer to Danish Accent, this is my most read entry ever: Denmark for Dummies, A Superficial Guide to The Happiest Nation in the World.