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Roasting Steffen at 35

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Still not finished, this text...

This speach is a so-called roast. A roast is somewhat similar to a negative toast and contains characteristics which are not meant to please all of the audience all of the time.

According to wikipedia a «roast is an event in which an individual is subject to publicly bearing insults, praise, outlandish true and untrue stories, and heartwarming tributes. It is seen as a great honor to be roasted». To spell it out to the less fortunate reader, this is meant to be humorous.

As a roast is of North American origin this one will be held in English only, also as a tribute to guests of non-Norwegian ethnicity. Chosing the form roast for this speach also points to his family background and upbringing. Steffen came from (at least) two families of strange breed.

Personally I've known him for some 35 years by now as this specimen was made by my eldest brother and a blonde gal during a gail at the North Sea in the fall of 1971. Steffen's father worked on a vessel and brought a neighbouring girl along for amusement when he was off duty.

Steffen was influenced by his father's fondness of color-full magazines with little text and a lot of pictures. Merely hours after his birth it was evident that he was a tit-man.

After some twenty years by his mama's boobs he finally proved himself to be open also to asses, working at a gay radio station. Growing his hair long he looked pretty much like a queer for years. But – alas – the interest in boobs again became evident as he again started dating girls, one after another they had larger and larger mammaries.

Steffen proved to be truely made by his parents; Trying to look into his face for signs of intelligente life was futile. For years his pronounciation and vocabulary was rudimentary. Pure gibberish came out of his mouth in between crying.

Another point of concern is his obvious bad taste in music. As I came back to Trondheim som nine months ago, after several years in exile, I attended a Norwegian nach-spiel held by Steffen and Sylvia. Steffen proceeded to play his all-time favourite music, which was some kind of kitsch-metal rock (a bit like Trass, but tighter). Personally I needed two months in the psyciatric ward to recover after discovering that my nephew had this horrible taste in music. I spent many hours wondering what could have caused this. It might be that blow to his head.

At an early age it was quite obvious that Steffen was not able to walk steadily. I took this as a sign of his weakness and as a responsible uncle I decided to undertake the task of trying out some of the dangers this young soul would encounter stumbling through life. There were, of course, other people who would try to educate and protect his poor soul in other areas of life. My speciality was to undergo a series of acid tests including most of the known drugs available on the market in his early days, so I later could inform and warn him of possible traps.

This task lasted for some years, as one has to take such quasi-scientific tasks quite seriously as to gain enough experience to be able to cover the whole area of drug-related questions.

I was quite dissapointed as Steffen some years later with a grin told me of glorious gifts experienced on acid. He had clearly seen the light and from peddling merchandise for rock bands, he ventured into controlling light systems. As several attending persons tonight know, acid is not the most reliable source of inspiration, and Steffen still has an unfortunate problem with synchronisation. This fact is strange though, 'cause as a drummer he is quite precise...

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