Viking Grab Ass

Back when I was still in school, my chemistry teacher used to tell us to stop playing so much grab ass. I was usually asleep during these alleged bouts of grab ass, so I’m not totally sure how out of control the grab ass actually got, but we were told to stop it very, very often. You see, lots of times the gnarly, old chemistry teacher would go into the backroom so that he could write chemical equations in peace and quiet (or whatever the hell it is that chemistry teachers do when they’re alone), and my classmates naturally interpreted this as a sign that the time had come to get loud and start grabbing ass again. But the noise bothered Teach and so sometimes he would come back to the classroom and yell at us. And, I have to admit, I occasionally appreciated his disciplinary actions because there were instances in which the grab ass decibel level would disturb my slumber and I hated being woken from napping in class almost as much as I hated being in class in the first place.

Anyway, all this got me to thinking: if I could grab any modern Viking’s ass, whose would it be? A vastly multifaceted proposition, no doubt, but I managed to narrow it down to two crucial considerations:

1) It shouldn’t be a Viking dude’s ass.

And

2) The ass should be super fine.

By process of elimination, this means that I would most enjoy grabbing Ingrid Törnblom‘s ass, since she’s an incredibly hot Viking chick.* Unfortunately, she would most likely kill me if I ever tried such a thing without proper invitation, and I’m pretty sure I won’t ever receive proper invitation since she didn’t seem to like me very much when I interviewed her.

That’s where someone who isn’t pathetic comes in, such as Norwegian whaler-turned-Viking, Trond “Troll-Breath” Trondsen. As an actual Viking, he is a lot better than me and would thus be able to grab Ingrid’s ass without invitation and live to tell the tale.

For starters, he wouldn’t hyperventilate when reaching out to squeeze her cushion, which would make him harder to spot during the approach. He’d just be hanging out there beside her, camouflaged in his chain mail and helmet, not making a sound. He’d wait till she came to a particularly attention-demanding portion of her cell phone call before sneaking his hand within grabbing distance.

Next would come the actual grab, but he wouldn’t just give it a light pat and turn and run away like I would, if I could even get that far (which I couldn’t). No, he’d latch onto the thing and massage it for a good five seconds or longer. Shock and rage would initially course through Ingrid’s body, forcing her to break off her conversation mid-sentence. She’d turn to look at the armored individual who had just invaded her personal safety circle and that rage would transform into lust, because it is my belief that Trond has that kind of effect on women. Unfortunately, that magical moment would be brief, and rage would almost immediately reclaim its special status as top emotion. Trond would simply smile in polite acknowledgment and continue administering the massage, because once he sets his mind on doing something, he doesn’t half-ass it.

If it were me, my head would fly off my neck right about now, straight towards an elderly person who would crumble under the sheer force of the impact and not be able to get back up again. Needless to say, copious amounts of blood would spurt everywhere, including in Ingrid’s general direction, rendering a gruesome yet sexy, wet t-shirt effect for the enjoyment of all onlookers.

Trond, in all his selfishness, wouldn’t create a top-notch spectacle full of gore and titillation for passersby like I would. Certainly, Ingrid would still hack at him with her broadsword, but the shock and decreased maneuverability from having a foreign hand suddenly appear and caress her rear would cause the blow she had intended to give him to be of less-than-earth-shattering proportions. Trond would disengage from the entanglement, give her one last squeeze, and slip away before she could finish uttering the words of a holmgång challenge, disappearing into the crowd, a hunted man for the rest of his days.

 

*I’d be happy substituting another attractive Honviking in her place, but I never had the chance to meet any of the others, so I’m not sure who else has a super fine ass. I like to play things safe.

Heraldry

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