Getting to Know Ingrid Törnblom

Usually when I think of the great Ingrid Törnblom, I start feeling randy. It’s easy to do because she is extremely fucking hot, but sometimes too much emphasis is placed on her incredibly fine body and alluring facial features. Because, besides being super fine, Ingrid Törnblom is also responsible for founding the Modern Viking Movement’s most illustrious war band, the Honvikings. She masterminded every aspect of the sisterhood’s operations, from recruitment and fundraising to commissioning their long ship and orchestrating the construction of their fortress, Honborg, which has since achieved a level of historical significance on par with that of Birka.

But I am not here to discuss the legacy of the Honvikings. You can read my book (if it ever gets published) if you want to know about that. Rather, my primary concern here is to discuss Törnblom up close and personal; to lay bare all the glitz that surrounds her and to expose her for who she really is underneath all that highly fetching clothing. After all, I had the rare opportunity to meet and interview her during the course of my research and I think that puts me in a relatively good position to pontificate.

The first thing you notice when you meet her in person is the level of awkwardness that she makes you feel. She’s a 10, hands down, and you know that whatever you are, it’s certainly only in the single digit range and therefore you just don’t quite measure up. The sweat beads begin to swell and you instinctively know this is going to be one of those social interactions that requires every ounce of your concentration just to keep your voice from quivering. It’s not the way you would prefer the conversation to go, but then again you can’t really control your own natural impulses, so it’s not up to you. You force out a single-worded greeting, hope that it sounded somewhat normal, and proceed to ignore what she says in return because you’re too busy worrying about your own inherent dorkiness.

Rather than ask, you gesture questioningly towards your tape recorder, since this is an interview after all, and when she indicates that she won’t mind you using it, you praise the heavens because you know there’s not a chance in hell you’re going to remember a damn thing she says. You look down at your notebook and start off with the questioning, but you don’t really pay any attention to her answers because you’re too busy depleting every ounce of your being in a focused effort to avoid staring at her breasts. Her words pass in one ear and out the other and you only manage to pick up the occasional word or phrase such as “booty” and “sex slaves” and then you fret over whether or not you even heard correctly or if it’s just all in your head because your head certainly isn’t in the conversation.

Your contributions to the conversation consist of such inquisitive statements as “Really?” and “Wow, that’s interesting” and you follow them up with the next question in line in your notebook. This pattern continues until you notice that you are coming towards the end of your prepared questions and you finally have something to worry about other than how noticeable your discomfort, both psychological and erectile, is. You drain yourself further as you struggle to concentrate on what she is saying and provide actual feedback in a pathetic attempt to relate her comments to your own personal history and life experience, frantically hoping that it gives her further conversational fodder. You have no idea what it is you just said, but she bites the bait and you feel somewhat relieved while you simultaneously realize that you will have to keep doing this until the interview reaches its end.

And when will the interview reach its end? That’s the million dollar question right there. On the one hand, you can’t wait for it to end because you’re on the brink of a complete and total spazz out, but on the other hand, you really do enjoy admiring her physical attributes (not to mention that you sort of care about making sure you get all that there is to get in terms of interview material).

But the matter becomes a moot point soon thereafter because she receives a cell phone call that is apparently way more important than you are. She turns her back to you and you quietly slink away, hoping that there’s enough material on the tape to not have to go through that ordeal again. But then you chide yourself because she is really, extremely hot after all, and who knows, maybe you could overcome yourself enough to get to know her better and have a shot, right? Haha. No.


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