"I don't got no worms! I'm drinking for two!" Pregnant and wasted and she's in jail right next to me.

Top of the morning gents,

Did I ever tell you boys that I fucking hate cops?

Despite working with you all, them fuckers always ruin a good thing.

I'm pretty competent at logistical illumination, botany genetics and growing a dern good strain of Cully bud. You know, the ghost bud that's strong enough to kill small children.

"Careful dude, it'll hurt ye, cousin hack-hack dude." (George, Cully, Marto or Denz).

I've also got way high degrees in cooking very, very quick chop-chop. My swimming references to our Hitler Youth in Snohomish County, Washington were synonymous with cooked brain cells soaked in speed. Or bubble gum cocaine. Take yer pick Scooter.

Which is what I always figured I'd get popped for: growing weed, choko cocaine Edmondo or homemade stovetop brand amphetamines. Bun always pegged me getting busted for dumping ak-aks on gooks, slopes and dinks with felonies.

Nup. Recently, I got a visit from the North Slope bacon bits and handed a search warrant for my computer thus fucking nicked me for cyber crimes.

Can you believe this shit? Cyber crimes! NOT dirty guns, cat piss meth and hot stadium lamps nor the hunnert varietal cuttings of SUPER friendly marijuana.

Here in Barrow I live in an upside down anti-clockwise world, that's fer sure. Fuck all. I piss off a few nigerian ice tards by draining their accounts, and a cop takes the computer in the living room. Fuck!

Here's the weirdest part. Dude man cop grabs the computer, shakes my hand and books. No drug dog, no search of my back rooms. No comments about the ion and ozone machines, industrial air handler, nor the small forest of apple and orange trees bun got crowding the fucking living room.

Dudes, I'm truly stunned and amazed. And my front yard is covered with a nice layer of potting soil that will make a drug dog shit green loafs and flip lesbian.

Don't get me wrong, I totally sterilized the hacienda. I also dumped all vulnerable cabbage dineros leaving just my Wells Fargo checking account with minimal bucks in it. Leftover unenjoyment shecklage.

I long ago got rid of my junk and bootleg guns but I forgot to toss the crystallized frosty old coffee makers under the sink. No shit, instead of Mr. Coffee brand coffee makers, we ought to call 'em Mr. Bathtub Crank Makers.

Hoohoo I'm funny. GCI been very very good to me.

So here I am chatting with you all with a antique system I cobbled together from a machine I used to manage water, lights, fans, ozone/ion machines and the Van/EE Norsk air handlers for two grow rooms: one 18/6 and one 12/12.

Imagine typing on a damp skunk soaked and rusty computer. Just using this grow room regulator computer system makes me feel baked dudes. If you read my shit too fast you might freeze up yer machine.

Ya see, plants listen to you through your light system. With 18 hours of light and 6 hours of dark ye grow stemmage and leafage. With 12 hours of light and 12 hours of dark ye grow blooms, blossoms and flowers. For you AK retards, buds.

Aside from the murders of our most feared great-fathers, imagine the felonies we've committed. Not just this year, but over our lifetimes.
Fuck! So much damage, so little time.

Must've been before the stroke. Or Kotzebue. Or prison. Those parts I remember. Just google our names, shit yer pants. I won't think or even remember some of the shit that sent ya'll to jail or hospital.

When bounty hunters, Troopers or old age, arrives you likely won't hear the bullet that has your name written all over it.

You boys be good, crime pays. So does cop werk.

Rumplestiltzskin Nigloo-Me

---

Washinton and Alaska drug users hospitalized after exposure to deworming medication in cocaine, crack.

By Lindsay Toler Seattle Times staff reporter

At least three local drug users were hospitalized this week with life-threatening illnesses after they were exposed to an animal-deworming medication used to dilute cocaine and crack.

One user required extensive surgery and another racked up more than $100,000 in medical bills, according to Public Health — Seattle & King County.

The department Thursday issued an alert aimed at drug-treatment facilities and users to warn about risks associated with the animal drug, called levamisole, which can wipe out white blood cells in humans.

Levamisole is an odorless, tasteless white powder that closely resembles cocaine. "You can't tell if the cocaine or crack is contaminated with levamisole by looking at it," said David Fleming, director of the public-health department. "Don't take a chance and risk your life."

Cocaine users who have consumed levamisole might exhibit serious health symptoms, such as high fever, chills, swollen glands and painful sores on the mouth and anus.

"The contaminant is creating an illness" that resembles rapidly progressive infections, said Bob Wood, AIDS-control officer with Public Health. "But this is not a condition that needs to result in death."

Users exhibiting symptoms should seek treatment at a hospital immediately, he said.

Medical staff at several local drug-treatment facilities said Thursday they had not yet heard about any levamisole cases but were no more concerned than they were about cocaine and crack use in general.

Over the past two years, similar cases have been reported in New Mexico, Pennsylvania and Great Britain, Wood said. The provinces of British Columbia and Alberta in Canada have seen nearly 40 cases — including one death — in the past few months, according to Ottawa Public Health.

Experts believe the levamisole is added in cocaine-producing countries, such as Colombia.

"I have no idea why they're adding it," said Wood, who also said the Drug Enforcement Administration has reported its use in drug-cutting over the past three or four years.

Properties of the drug have been "obscurely reported" in medical literature, Wood said, and its devastating effect on human white blood cells was only discovered last fall.

Experts are unsure why some cocaine and crack users exhibit extreme illness while others don't.

Nearly 200 people died from cocaine-related causes in King County in 2006 and 2007, according to Public Health's most current statistics.

"It's a good time to remind people that cocaine is a dangerous drug," said Wood. "Now, it's dangerous for another reason."

For more information, call the Alcohol and Drug Help Line at 206-722-3700.

Lindsay Toler: 206-464-2463 or ltoler@seattletimes.com


Copyright © 2009 The Seattle Times Company

---

You won't die in vain. Rest of us will see to that. God I need a smoke.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm stunned and amazed.

On an anti-tobacco poster at my village clinic they declared nicotine to be THE gateway drug that leads to better drugs like "weed, whites and wine" (Little Feat). What the fuck over?

Fuck it. I think I'll have another smoke. I been blaming Nebraska No-High and North Dakota Ditch Weed as the primary gateway cause of my extensive resume poisonous. And tasty.

Nup. It's that delicious brown rag tobacco that led us off the beaten path here to abuse Alaskan drugs neegroid and mexican. My bong is spic and span, um, pardon that racist anti-latino expression. I smoked all my resin, now I'm doing the Edmonds Boogie: smokin' male pods dudes.

Fuck dudes, I sure miss my cigarettes. Could use a fat grawler too. Yowza.

All my ranting and raving to get my wife to quit smoking busted my balls and scarred my cranium. To make matters worse I initiated stiff smoking policies that pissed off EVERYBODY. Especially native cunt smokers like Skeeter Jepson. That elephant uchuk scowled at me with much-ness uterus. Arlene Zagars and Lulu huffed and puffed blowing foamy bubbles out both sides of their taint and Ramona and Jack almost stormed out the party.

Oh, and Trudy just kept shooting ping pong balls at me.

I repeat: Tobacco junkies are such cunts. Shirley O'Niel coughed and sputtered, pissed and moaned, then looked at me angry and stepped out. In gale force windchills forty frozen balls below groin-warmth she dutifully held her wig tight and choked down a soggy hot box Marb.

Fuck you bitch, don't smoke anywhere near my goddamned kids: they're aborigines and monkey nugger see, monkey nugger do.

As heretofore indicated, I rather enjoy ragging on primitive humans engaging in the delicious abuse of tobacco and alcohol. It's a grave new world fer tall alcoholics like me, short ones like you too.

Look at me: addicted niggers are basically addicted to their own selfishness. The first step to sobriety is the realization that the universe don't revolve around my fucking vagina.

Figure that? Like my pie hole, I gotta quit shoving everything I see past my cervix.

Adiiga, whoring and snoring, merry welfare and happy foodstamps, our children will behave exactly like us. God save their poor souls. Alas. We will all expire in the identical manner as our parents.

Sgt. Waller will die in his boots ducking bullets, thrashing his monkey children or stressing Noatak moronisms in some shit ass village airport. Squish may likely die laughing underneath a very large woman. Or truck.

Heart attacks are sweet. And really fucking quick. One reader code named Kudra already has a brain shrunken to half his youth evolving from 3 pounds towards a 1 pound universe.

Our dude Agent Octuck will croak right beside Marto International without a liver nor children. Just down the hall from me, you'll find a string of dying cops all hooked up to an airplane sized blood scrubber.

Wake up fucks: boozing, smoking and scrawging sick pussy is not an old man's vice. Us old dudes will invariably be busy tending after our native wives running 'round collecting rotting pieces and foul smelling parts along the forgetful roadway to Dementiaville.

I'll deteriorate onward losing my best parts and pieces whilst blind and pissing out of a shredded stump of truncated meat. Yup. Sugar in the blood slices and dices better'n a Ronco Gook Saw and if you lift the veil of Reaper Dude you'll see a syringe filled with insulin and air bubbles.

Despite eating the blandest of grubbage and walking my fucking dick off, my A1C has crept back above 7, so fuck it: I'm marching back to the Rec Center to throw chronic weights around cuz growing old ain't fer pussies.

Me and my dad, and my best bro Tokyo will be missing all you darker white people way upstairs in Valhalla. Heaven is the last bastion of ethnocentrism fer tall alcoholics. Mine don't even allow little sober people let alone monkey fuckers with badges.

God bless us all. Our tombstones will detail specific organ failure with inevitable outcomes: Death. Fucking life is terminal and 'nobody gets outa here alive' (J. Morrison-Doors).

Reviewing all our blessed padres, most you bastards will turn blue and start cooling right after third watch. Pick yer poison then pick which organ. Pancreas, liver, heart or digestion: all looking grim at present.

Our lung opacity due to tars and resins ain't funny. Just wait until some punk ass niff scrapes my gob hole and smokes that sludge. Dead. Fucking dead. Char bong resin that kills brain cells, small children and smelly minority white folks in the bush.

Yer wives will seem unaffected. Old native bitches can talk fer fucking hours about all their dead husbands and related rapists of OUR kids. Yada Yada ahkaa bitch. Child porno is comedy fer yer ugly nugger wives at the Kotzebue Senior Center.

Oh sure. We think we're special and think we'll die a really old corpse but looking fine with our drink on, our smoke on and our dick hard. Try again dildo.

They no longer make porno movies starring fat fucks and wheeze bags that've shit out children. That was back in the 70's when skinny people only dreamed of horning on yard wide vulva and gumby sized grandma biscuits and gravy.

I can't force y'all to live healthier and quit the same vices I fucking chow daily but those of us that still drink, smoke, chew, toke and stress about stupid Alaskan family rape issues know my words are iron.

I can't walk past a tavern or bar in Nome, Fairbanks nor Moscow. I also can't walk past a cannibis coffee shop in downtown Helsinki nor Tallin. So I won't tell any of you blessed coppers and soldiers to cease smoking fine, drinking a'plenty nor breaking all the fine china bones inside FAS retard pre-adolescent pussy.

I'm just commenting with great speculation how we will all pass on.

I might be wrong. But I doubt it.

Man up niggers. Higbitch died years ago and is merely haunting us healthy mortals trying in vain to get our attention and not appear so inneffectual. Nush will croak on top of a cross-eyed native woman he's related to and Eunice will survive us all publishing insulting memoirs of all us fuck ass stinky brown bitch humpers disdainful. Eunice was polite when he was younger. Guess again, now his adult prose are powerfully strident and embarrassingly honest. His stories and tales should rightfully paint us all as a bunch of retarded goat fuckers.

I'm gonna roll up a fatty: coffee and bong hits dudes while I prep a funeral for yer author on drugs and all his cop buddies. Knowing we will die and soon makes us the luckiest fuckers alive. Ye can't fix stupid and I wouldn't trade you graying gunslingers for the world.

Smoke 'em if ye got 'em. The world will be far less beautiful without you graying gunslingers in it.

Have a drink on me.


Karl.

---

Secondhand smoke may double likelihood of depression

By Marilyn Elias, USA TODAY

Secondhand smoke not only can irritate your lungs, it also apparently can blacken your mood as well, a large study reports today.

Non-smokers exposed to cigarette smoke at home or work are more than twice as likely as those not exposed to have major depression, according to a report at the American Psychosomatic Society meeting in Chicago.

It's believed to be the first U.S. study tying secondhand smoke to depression; another in Japan came up with a similar conclusion.

Unlike the Japanese research, this study confirmed exposure to smoke by measuring cotinine — a chemical that occurs in blood after breathing in smoke. There were cotinine levels for more than 3,000 non-smoking adults in a federal health study. An additional 92,000 non-smokers only reported if they lived with or worked around smokers. Everyone also filled out questionnaires on symptoms of depression.

Whether secondhand smoke was verified by the blood, those exposed to smoke were far more likely to have symptoms of serious depression, says study leader Frank Bandiera, a public health researcher at the University of Miami School of Medicine. Even working where smoking was allowed in public places more than doubled the risk of depression, he says.

There's strong evidence that smokers have higher rates of depression than non-smokers, but studies conflict on whether the smoking came first or vice versa, Bandiera says. Animal and human studies do show that smokers have more dopamine in their brains, which he says has been tied to anxiety and depression. So secondhand smoke might have the same effect on non-smokers.

Secondhand smoke also has been found to raise the risk for heart disease and lung cancer. Another new study not reported at the meeting found that inhaling other people's cigarette smoke could increase the risk of memory problems and dementia after age 50, say researchers at the University of Cambridge. Their research was published last month in the British Medical Journal.

BETTER LIFE: Secondhand smoke may increase risk of cognitive impairment 44%

About 4 out of 10 U.S. adults are covered by state or local laws against smoking in bars, restaurants and workplaces; 7 out of 10 are protected in at least one of these arenas, says Patrick Reynolds, president of the Foundation for a Smokefree America, an advocacy group.

Concern about health effects is accelerating, he adds. "There's been a tidal wave of state laws against smoking in bars and restaurants just in the last six years." Twenty-four states don't allow such smoking; 22 have passed their laws since 2003, he says.

---

Smokers' Homes More Likely to House Hungry Kids

By Ed Edelson HealthDay Reporter

(HealthDay News) -- Children who live with adult smokers are more likely to be underfed and undernourished, a new study finds.

The same is true for adult members of smoking households, but children feel the impact the most, said study author Dr. Michael Weitzman, chairman of pediatrics at New York University School of Medicine.

"We know that there are long-term consequences of food insecurity for children. They are more likely to do poorly in school, to have iron deficiency and anemia, and to have behavioral and social problems," Weitzman said.

"Food insecurity" is a concept that was developed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture in the 1990s to study malnutrition in developed countries such as the United States. "It is a standardized scale measuring how many times a household cannot give children the food they want, how many meals they skip, how often they go to bed hungry," Weitzman said.

Looking at data on 8,817 households gathered in national surveys by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Weitzman and his colleagues found that 15 percent of adults and 11 percent of children reported food insecurity within the past year, with 6 percent of adults and 1 percent of children experiencing severe food insecurity. This meant they went to bed hungry, because there wasn't enough food in the house.

The study found that 23 percent of households with children had at least one smoker, with the incidence higher -- 32 percent -- in low-income households. In those households with a smoker, 17 percent of children were food insecure, compared to 8.7 percent of those children in nonsmoking households. Severe food insecurity was reported for 3.2 percent of children in smoking households, compared to 0.9 percent of those living in households with no smokers.

Because families with at least one smoker spend an estimated 2 percent to 20 percent of their income on tobacco, it's quite likely that smokers' habits drain the money needed to provide adequate food, according to background information with the study.

Parents feel the food pinch themselves, Weitzman said. "They cut back on feeding themselves before they cut back on the children's food," he said. "And parents tend to feed the youngest children better."

The findings were published in the November issue of theArchives of Pediatric & Adolescent Medicine.

The problem is likely to grow worse, given the current condition of the economy, Weitzman said. "If the economic downturn persists, both food insecurity and adults smoking are likely to increase," he said, because smoking "is one of the hardest addictions to give up."

One sure way to reduce smoking -- raising the taxes on cigarettes -- has its own dangers, because it's likely to cut even more into the family food budget, Weitzman said.

Two other strategies should be considered, said John F. Banzhaf III, executive director and chief counsel of Action on Smoking and Health, a Washington, D.C.-based advocacy organization.

"The first would be to persuade or even require physicians to report, as the law already requires in suspected child abuse, instances where parents smoke at home in the presence of children, especially children who already have asthma, sinusitis or other conditions which make them especially sensitive and susceptible," Banzhaf said.

A more aggressive tactic would be to take steps against doctors who do not warn people about the dangers of smoking or provide effective smoking cessation treatment, he said. "One journal article has even gone so far as to suggest that the best, and perhaps the only, way to motivate most of them would be to begin bringing malpractice actions where medical problems results," he added.

I've been sleepless in Seattle, but never homeless. I'm so Washington.

Top of the morning gents,

Since we's nothing but homo-sapien motherfuckers, it's pert near impossible to possess nor exercise any objectivity discussing pussy.

Yup. I said it. Pussy.

Must be a fucking million different configurations, shapes, designs and sizes in the world's vaginal populations. Now add this notion: a girl's cooter actually changes in appearance. Whilst under tremendous stress.

We all spent our whole life swimming fer Edmonds Hitler Youth swim teams. We seen tiny red twin ear shaped vaginas and even evil dried looking wild kingdom showering vaginals.

Way back when I was 8 or 9 years old, I seen the world's largest vagina on a girl a few years older'n me. No shit, that big mounded hair lip and monster clef palate was one giant hatchery and XXXL fur lined catchers mitt. Chick was born fer porn, her four finger salmon cruncher was bigger'n yer ex-wives.

Dudes, kid got mammoth uch.

Swimming at the YMCA we watched old ladies shower too, but that scared us. Old age and babies makes monsters I wish I never spied. Kinda like our naked mothers-in-law, serious roach infested grilled cheese action fer snacking. Centuries separate tasty trim from wretched and horrible. Be real scared.

Another point ummm, how shall I say: the complex airborne volatility agaynst me olfactory detectors of aromatic cooter based particles. Whiff, sniff, quaff, gack, skank. I'm referring to the incredible uniqueness yet multitudinous pussy odors that both gag my nose and eyes and mouth water.

I seent and snift some doozies too. I seen swollen downward pointed 'gook-eye' and fat lippy wounds that never heal. I even seen a pussy spasm and clench like a punched blinking eye. If suck hard enough, ye can cave in a girls head then snap the vacuum hydro shok. Fucking kills 'em.

We seen alien expanding snatcher biscuit and even seen sea anenomae looking wave fluctations pelvic, that is, if ye bastards ever licked blond pussy in sauna.

Enough chatter about pussy. Hearing so much about the world's plethora of dicks and cocks, we are now free to dissect the other half: cunts. Bitches don't think that it's fair to pick scabs and sniff pussy whilst poking fun at our dicks. Even Steven nigger uch. Opra and Tyra cackle at penis jokes like old Eskimo nuggers, so fuck it: I'm cackling evil at cunts, clootches, stink pots and rot wafters.

Life IS fair though. Old age (35 and up) dries pussy and softens yer dicks from 40 and up. We're all living proof that Time is always first in line fer fucking congenital diseases and age related risk factors.

Risk factors for fucking dying on yer feet and in uniform with Viagra in yer system and stale silk on yer dicks. Silk is available in the vagina section at AC and soothes dry cracked lips, heals wind burns and softens labia cement discharge.

Environmental, dietary, lifestyle are risk factors. So is career choice, but they're all way in the back of the line behind age and time.

Us fuckers are so old. Which one of us shooters croaks next eh bart?

I'll keep Commander Craig in crime novels, spy thrillers, surplus espionage equipment and lost revolvers. I'll jingle the Chief with updates and sit-reps on my narc jobs, you coppers keep an eye on each other.

Someone will be watching over all us rogue bastards off the rez and God willing all of us shall stay far away from the Washington: the only fuckhole sicker'n Alaska.

Read this article and you'll figure me out.

---

Man charged with rape of homeless women

A 51-year-old man who is alleged to have violently raped two homeless women and beaten one of them senseless was charged Friday with rape and attempted rape.

By Christine Clarridge Seattle Times staff reporter

A 51-year-old man who is alleged to have violently raped two homeless women and beaten one of them senseless was charged Friday with rape and attempted rape.

Reginald Karl Breaux, who has no known local address and goes by the name "Tex," is being held on $500,000 bail in King County Jail.

According to Seattle police and King County prosecutors, Breaux attacked the first woman on June 8 while she was panhandling near Airport Way South and South Spokane Street.

Breaux allegedly told the victim he had no place to stay and she offered to lend him a spare tent and sleeping bag, according to charging documents filed in King County Superior Court.

On the way to her campsite, police and prosecutors say, Breaux slammed the woman to the ground and sexually assaulted her.

The victim told police Breaux bit her during the attack and she feared for her life.

A second woman was attacked by Breaux two days later, charging documents say, near the intersection of Third Avenue South and South Hanford Street.

The attack was interrupted, court documents say, by a man who drove by and saw in his rearview mirror a man he later identified as Breaux hitting a woman repeatedly in the face and head.

The witness turned his car around and confronted Breaux, according to court documents.

The witness told police the woman said "please help me" to him after Breaux fled, but medics found her unresponsive when they arrived, police said.

According to charging documents, DNA taken from the first victim was matched to Breaux and the witness to the second attack was able to identify him from a photo montage.

Breaux, who has a criminal history that includes robbery, burglary and domestic-violence assault, is scheduled to be arraigned Jan. 29.

Christine Clarridge: 206-464-8983 or cclarridge@seattletimes.com

Originally published Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 12:00 AM

Copyright © 2009 The Seattle Times Company

My beloved smokers, drinkers and chewers. Visit yer dentist this decade.

Yo dudes,

Guess what? I'm breaking my shackles of village poverty by going ghetto mod. I'm fucking going to the dentist. Again.

Yup. For the FOURTH time this month too. Fuck!

I'm getting the white man treatments: 40 year cleaning and 1,000 mile tune-up, plus paying serious dinero to have ALL my silver fillings replaced with pearly white bondo. My metal shite is now all beauty pageant and movie star gorgeous. I look simply marvelous.

All ye fuckoffs have decent dental insurance at the most and BIA scab mouth insurance at the least, so go to the dentist.

Men are so kewl. To a point: when we gotta sit and wait, read faggot fashion magazines and listen to the squealing air valves, passive turbines and intense tooth abrasion sound effects in a dentist office. Shit tightens my bottom and penis quicker'n a boot to the groin.

I ain't a pussy. At least MOST of the time.

Dentists, needles, shocks and drownings scare my shit pert near every time.

I'm totally kewl at the chiropractor, the massage therapist, any village native clinic, remote prison book-in and even sitting in court lying under oath. But, I puss out walking upon property shingled DDS. I can smell yer green shit all the way up here in Barrow, so even you graying gunslingers seem perty dern scared shitless just thinking about oral hygiene and dental health.

What makes matter so much worse?

We all smoke, drink and chew goddamn tobacco. And pot.

Data supports correllary notions linking rotten gob holes and nasty butt breath with heart failure, pancreatic atrophy and catastrophic immune deficiencies. In other words, heart attacks, diabetes and a cunt face only AIDS bitches could love.

I smelt all yer breaths. In the squadroom, central dispatch and over drinks weighing up coke. I could smell Mashburn's breath whilst cutting down a hanger. He likely smelt mine too: over a dead body. Our pie holes guarantee stereotypical humor that us niggers never die, we just smell that way.

After a cigarette and coffee our breath smells identical to the squadroom toilet after Captain Wallace grunts birth to 11 pound Selawik-mute loafs.

New idea, novel concept. *This year: y'all go to the dentist and get the complete $1,000 crust scrape and cranial stinkhole cleanout and polish. I did.

Let yer insurance cover the scabs, but drop some big dick dinero for all the rest. Co-pay and deductibles ain't fer niggers, just us Nazi natives and frost bit motherfuckers.

My mouth is now so sweet, women all over the reservation are sticking their tongues in my mouth.

Their lips too.


Karluk.

2009 brings good cheer and bad motherfuckers. Fuck all, God loves ye.

Top of the morning gents,

Hope you all paid yer respects and visited yer dead souls, descendants and croak bitches. Tis the season assholes. Get fucked up, visit tombstones.

Then piss on 'em.

No shit, no kidding. Halloween Death ritualistic alcoholism and the Noel cryogenic drinking season is so kewl. It's my period, I'm gonna cry if I want to. Or flick dead blood in yer face.

Point of fact, my menstruation can be concealed within hangovers and ill temper mistaken for genetic crankiness. Finns rag, Finns drink. Figure that?

Okay, any ragged point in time when I'm bleeding like a stuck pig or cut cop and judging by the size of our turds, a gook gotta think we use thick padded paint rollers fer fucking tampons.

Periodistic sadism me fellow Suomens. Fuck all. Male brutality and menstruation are a bit pagan and we have only one race of shit heads to blame.

Yer white nigger Euro trash parents.

Yup. Yer motherfucking WHITE alien Norse parents inserted their horrid pre-Christian torture parties into OUR modern and Native American customs heretofore justifying the raping and killing of little darky fucking aboriginies.

I'm happier'n a pig in the FAZ zone nana neeegro. Rockaholic fucking niff is me and up here I seasonally embrace serial killers, drunks and drug addicts. Merry fucking Christmas to all and to all wiggers a good fight.

Us non-natives from the big OTZ know what's real. Real dumb. Like Bull and June...Hensley/Nelson. Makes me shit bitter puke to think yer nigger kids go to a schrool named after that Nelson uch-cunt and a playfield named after fat nigger Bull. They ain't rotting in Hell, they're far too full of preservatives and liquor. They're in a constant state of flare-up. Buckwheats dudes.

Back to the holidays and our feigned sobriety.

I'm aging super fast and outpacing my native readers by a hunnert years yet I still wish fer great pumpkins.

My half-nugger gruntchidren pray crazy wishing for a morbidly obese alcoholic dressed in blood red to sneak into my home, peek in on our newborns and toddlers leaving generational curses of dental carries, diabetes and liver disease. All my gruntkids are PONTIACS and believe a good Santa is dressed in blood.

Here in Alaska we've got generations of nigerian expectations: sponging fucking handouts and free money outa my fucking wallet. Fuck 'em, ain't no cure for poverty. My Santa spits on the poor, the dark and miserable, swaps their land and languages fer booze, then rapes them.

Fuck! Now that's Swedish Christmas! So wash my fucking balls and set the slaves on cruise-control.

Never thought we could blame them fucking fair skinned Norwegians and blue-eyed sick fuck Finns for ALL of the raping of the world's shortest and darkest bitches, thus leaving scores of retard mixed bleed alcoholics for you coppers to beat on.

Just don't react to your mysterious rage and unexplainable anger. I know. I'm there dude. I'm cranky, pissy and bitchy as all get-out. Fer Fucksake.

I mean Christ's sake.

Later bitches, keep an eye on your lousy tempers.


Karluk Puk Nigluk

From a distance, y'all look really fucking good. Plus, I can't smell ye.

Top of the morning gents,

I sure miss fucking with you guys. This is as good as it gets eh bart?

Male bonding is for faggots, strong drink and smoke is fer sick men with more gonad fluids than brains.

Reading preposterous prose from yer buddy. Dummer fuck is me. Even Donald Heupel and Skeeter called me dummy.

I like my nicknames. I look yours more.

Fuck ya'll, I'm so far out of reach even you sub arctic barley corn fuckers won't fly by night and drink with me some mean town blues. God loves ye. I'm fucking trying. Barrow is merely the furthest a moron can flee from smart people and not have to use toilet paper after my Eskimo kisses.

My big nose is the second best seat in the house, yet rubbing another broad's nose make sense. That is, if any of ya'll ever smelled rotting Inupiaq gob. I once breathed in Clifford Melton's evaporating saliva and carry discharge, tasted like rotten butt. Almost like post mortem San Francisco butt cake or Hammer Time frozen porch Olanna tossed salad.

My grotesque gallows humor is all yer fucking fault. Looking at all you killers I'm the one that's best frozen in time north of 70 lat.

From afar I don't have to worry if ye survive car accidents, shootouts or drinking fights. Nicer that way. You boys are fucking high risk and bad bets.

Hey. Even Erlich made fun of me for hooking up with a native. Him and David Craig right then and there henceforth started calling me "Squaw Boy."

Gotta like witty dickheads like that.

I chided Blackbird with a slick swap out for the term "nigger lover" with slang from the Killing Fields of the Pacific Northwest. Neegrophiliac: based on our aboriginal urges to pork dead bitches.

I'm in agreement with Billy Howarth, get in a quicky before she gets cold. Dumb Billy shredded that ass too. Whilst Darlene Snyder or your nugger wife chops up the dead cunt's face with scissors: now that visual image that'll help ye git a nut.

Wake up shit heads, We'll even fuck frozen ones, as long as they're fine. Recalling that whole Olanna/Howarth dead bitch rape sesh, did that bitch have an open coffin or did they just use Fort Yukon coffins: garbage bags and honey buckets?

Poor shit. May she rest in pieces. Unwanted children lead unwanted lives. Just like y'all. We raised shitty kids that even us bastards can't stand the company of. I treat my goats better'n me fucking reservation childrens. Probably explains why this crew of graying gunslingers got so many stray litter bastards all over hell and back. Hatch 'em and book.

Look at us. We all got dirty bastard offspring shits living the good life: ghetto mod.

If we were more broadminded and enlightened about pussy, there'd be far fewer fucking offspring of ours wondering why they got such big dicks and failing pancreas. Poor kids, nothing but a lifetime ahead filled with busted knuckles, bad hearing and million of his own half-European offspring.

Every time ye cum a load and drive it home, yer gramps and great gramps are grinnin' shitty and tuggin' on evil donkey meat. They went through all the same child support issues as all of us.

Just they kilt the cunt instead.

Happy Holidays gents. Bigger noses and more boners. Nice thought eh bart?

You can include yer wives next year.

Karl.

PS. Words from my brother in-law. "The best thing about rain in San Francisco: no seagulls and no niggers" (Robert Tikik).

AIDS started circulating in Western Alaska before the turn of the century. Like 1989.

Top of the morning gents,

The fact that ain't none of us niggers dun croaked from AIDS is a goddamned miracle.

Just too weird.

Come on fuckers, wake the fuck up. We can confirm that some of our ex-wives and ex-girlfriends are sick and tired of being sick with AIDS. My speculation is that some of our current wives ain't so healthy neither. Think how many mutant mongoloids trek this Earth looking fer their paps. Namely you sport fuckers.

I'm betting NONE of us have ever worn a condom. I don't even know how to or want to. On you big dicked motherfuckers they'd look like silly little Santa hats. No worries mates. Lots of sick baby tards, but no HIV diagnosis.

Know why? I do. All yer gramps is norse trash. We're all descendants of Bubonic Plague survivors which gives us an advantage with an immunity to another disease that thankfully only kills faggots, IV drug users and ethnic minorities.

Survival of the fittest bitches. All of us has fucked HIV dark pussy maybe even married an AIDS carrier, but fuck, we'll never know. We are truly sick fucks: albeit tall immune alcoholics and mighty healthy ice nigger shooters.

Think about the pussy we done defrosted and seasoned...then left to rot.

Some of us haven't fucked Gumby's whiff-o-licious sister, some of us have porked Francis Whalen or sick Tish, whilst the rest of us all banged all sorts of loose garbage bagggers from upriver or yonder trailer parks along I-5.

Leopard can't change its spots, Eskimos can't wash away blisters and sores and you half trash Euros got high water marks on yer dirty dicks with crunchy Indun fried bread pustule glaze on yer heavy goands.

If ye all were non-Nordic fuck offs, you'd be sucking dirt in burial plots right next to lots of really nice men that prefer White Zinfandel. And IV drug using minority boys with punked out exhaust pipes.

Nice to have roots way up in northern Europe ah hetero barts?

Here's something rather personal. Since working narc duty with Helsingfors Polise Authority and getting in a bit of trouble with the Estonian Passport Kontrol, my detention and punishments still plague me. Literally.

It's the life of a confidential informant. Otherwise known as the amateur criminal that takes pay from professional police. Contract dumbass, expatriot syndrome, have gun will travel. I never learn.

Whilst working on the Capones I sold thousands of hits of LSD and maintained a rather handsome marijuana grow op in a little house on Caribou Street that me and Marto painted.

Whilst werk with Mat-Su Narcs I grew chronic and mailed liquor to the villages.

On the Logan mish here in Barrow, I got nailed for attempted importation on a common carrier: legal speak for intercepting mucho cases of liquor. Which is ironic because as my booze was getting bagged and tagged and while Fairbanks Airport Piglets and Statewide DEA bacon bits were issuing me an arrest warrant, I was flying over the Brooks Range in Logan's own airplane PACKED with bud, booze and speed.

See the dichotomous dilemma yer author on drugs plays within?

I get sick on all my drug jobs, but since my release from jail and flying back to America I carried a low grade persistent virus in me just like a squirrel carries rabies yet suffers no infection nor symptoms.

No shit, from the shittiest shit holes in Central Europe, Russia and Scandinavia to the shittiest shit holes in remote Alaska. Wake up fucks. Didn't ye ever wonder why I've been writing about new scars and apparently weekly visits to the Galena, Kotzebue and Barrow native clinics?

My med stats are public: 6'3" sober, 5'0" when baked, BP 112/68, Cholesterol is 150, A1C 6.5 but my temperature is ALWAYS slightly elevated and my lymphs flex and spooge like my dick. Not good. Besides a progressive familial failure of the pancreas to medicate later in life, I'm having a bitch of a time shaking a bastard version of pertussis or bubonic some shit that thrives in fecus and Finns.

Get this. I was JUST at the fucking clinic last Wedesday and was given 5 needles to suck on: 2 shots in each shoulder and a TB fluid bubble in me forearm. We're talking pain magnums in me arms. For days afterward I couldn't sleep on either side fer shit. Fuck my arms hurt. I snivelled like a bitch, but not loud enough to awake the Eskimo crime partner. She fucking hates men that whine and quickly adds injury to insult with much aboriginal severity.

Old man Doc Solenberger advised me not to mention the fact that he's treating numerous cases of Bubonic black death here in Barrow, much less, not to mention the prospect that I fucking brought it here to the native population. We're so white.

Perty kewl eh? Waves of death in my wake but I made it.

Despite my formerly nicotine stained fingers and currently resined lungs due to being a chain marijuana smoker, I think that last round of immunizations and antibiotics did the trick. I'm all better now.

Damn nice to get over that plague thing eh?

Just remember, all my prose are fiction. None of you fuckers ever existed aside from my pre-stroke nightmares of living with filthy natives and criminals, cops and jailers. Ya see, it was all just a bad dream. I've never worked with bunches of cops nor troopers: drug dealers neither. So fuck ya'll.

I can say whatever I want. You're not real. I'm still telling yer wives to leave their teeth at the door, let the dogs clean 'em.

Karluk Puq Niglooo-me.

---

Study traces AIDS virus origin to 100 years ago
By MALCOLM RITTER – 1 hour ago

NEW YORK (AP) — The AIDS virus has been circulating among people for about 100 years, decades longer than scientists had thought, a new study suggests. Genetic analysis pushes the estimated origin of HIV back to between 1884 and 1924, with a more focused estimate at 1908.

Previously, scientists had estimated the origin at around 1930. AIDS wasn't recognized formally until 1981 when it got the attention of public health officials in the United States.

The new result is "not a monumental shift, but it means the virus was circulating under our radar even longer than we knew," says Michael Worobey of the University of Arizona, an author of the new work.

The results appear in Thursday's issue of the journal Nature. Researchers note that the newly calculated dates fall during the rise of cities in Africa, and they suggest urban development may have promoted HIV's initial establishment and early spread.

Scientists say HIV descended from a chimpanzee virus that jumped to humans in Africa, probably when people butchered chimps. Many individuals were probably infected that way, but so few other people caught the virus that it failed to get a lasting foothold, researchers say.

But the growth of African cities may have changed that by putting lots of people close together and promoting prostitution, Worobey suggested. "Cities are kind of ideal for a virus like HIV," providing more chances for infected people to pass the virus to others, he said.

Perhaps a person infected with the AIDS virus in a rural area went to what is now Kinshasa, Congo, "and now you've got the spark arriving in the tinderbox," Worobey said.

Key to the new work was the discovery of an HIV sample that had been taken from a woman in Kinshasa in 1960. It was only the second such sample to be found from before 1976; the other was from 1959, also from Kinshasa.

Researchers took advantage of the fact that HIV mutates rapidly. So two strains from a common ancestor quickly become less and less alike in their genetic material over time. That allows scientists to "run the clock backward" by calculating how long it would take for various strains to become as different as they are observed to be. That would indicate when they both sprang from their most recent common ancestor.

The new work used genetic data from the two old HIV samples plus more than 100 modern samples to create a family tree going back to these samples' last common ancestor. Researchers got various answers under various approaches for when that ancestor virus appeared, but the 1884-to-1924 bracket is probably the most reliable, Worobey said.

The new work is "clearly an improvement" over the previous estimate of around 1930, said Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases in Bethesda, Md. His institute helped pay for the work.

Fauci described the advance as "a fine-tuning."

Experts say it's no surprise that HIV circulated in humans for about 70 years before being recognized. An infection usually takes years to produce obvious symptoms, a lag that can mask the role of the virus, and it would have infected relatively few Africans early in its spread, they said.

On the Net:
Nature: http://www.nature.com/nature

---

HIV Outbreak Began Decades Earlier Than Thought

Wednesday, October 1, 2008; 12:00 AM

WEDNESDAY, Oct. 1 (HealthDay News) -- The most pervasive global strain of HIV began spreading in humans around 1900 in sub-Saharan Africa, a new study claims.

The research, which is published in the current issue ofNature, found that HIV began spreading between 1884 and 1924, around the same time urban centers in west central Africa were established. This estimated time of origin is decades earlier than the previous estimate of 1930.

For the study, researchers analyzed tissue samples and uncovered the second-oldest genetic sequence of HIV-1 group M. They used this and other HIV-1 genetic sequences to construct a family tree of the origin of the viral strain and to estimate the time of origin of HIV-1 group M.

The researchers worked with a 1960 sample of HIV gene fragments from a wax-embedded lymph-node tissue biopsy from a woman in Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. This 1960 virus is the second-oldest known HIV-1 group M genetic sequence, with the oldest being a 1959 blood sample from a man also from Kinshasa.

"Previous work on HIV sequencing had been done on frozen samples, and there are only so many of those samples available," lead researcher Michael Worobey, an assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Arizona in Tucson, said in a university news release.

"From that point on, the next oldest sequences that anyone has recovered are from the late 1970s and 1980s, the era when we knew about AIDS. Now, for the first time, we have been able to compare two relatively ancient HIV strains. That helped us to calibrate how quickly the virus evolved and make some really robust inferences about when it crossed into humans, how quickly the epidemic grew from that time and what factors allowed the virus to enter and become a successful human pathogen," said Worobey.

Previous studies have shown that HIV spread from chimpanzees to humans in southeastern Cameroon.

Worobey said that the HIV epidemic that resulted from the turn-of-the-century spread correlates to the urbanization of colonial Africa, principally the present-day city of Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

The growth of cities and associated high-risk behaviors may have been a principal cause of the rapid spread of the virus.

Worobey is optimistic about the eventual extinction of the HIV virus.

"I think the picture that has emerged here, where changes the human population experienced may have opened the door to the spread of HIV, is a good reminder that we can make changes now that could help reverse the epidemic. If HIV has one weak spot, it is that it is a relatively poorly transmitted virus. From better testing and prevention, to wider use of the antiretroviral drug therapy, there are a number of ways to reduce transmission and force this virus back into extinction," he said.

Gun accidents. Hell, nobody's perfect: especially us ill tempered Arctic squaw boys.

Top of the morning gents,

I want ya'll to start yer week with yard wide smiles and yard long dicks. I'm gonna throw some pot head's brains into the blender, add bourbon and bongers. Now, wipe yer eyes and scrape crust and read onward Christian soldiers.


I'm laughing from memories my dear murderous motherfuckers. As stated before, cop kids are shit and so are drug dealer spawn, but damn: who are we to point our pock-marked dicks at others? Some of the dumb shit things we've all dun with our Dirty Harry nigger shooters clearly indicates we're no better'n stupid gits.

Hear ye. Cunt shite is us. And God's children. Sick as we is, truly bad playhouse is my childhood recollections.

Sorry for bringing up such a sensitive subject, but the sun finally set for 2 months and it's well below zero on my long walks to check mail, bank deposits and AC store fer grub, I again feel rehearsed bullets in me hurting hands, fists and feet. Looking at all you graying gunslingers, I see I ain't the only one with sore everything.

After that gun battle in front of the fucking Ivanoff house, John's hands probably hurt like hell but the bullets in the old jail ceiling light fixture, patrol car door or Colonel Waller's phantom explosion whilst carrying a pistol next door to the old Squadroom and Evidence hurt even worse.

I cackle evil majorly that a hot load +P+ 9mm barely missed BOTH of Brenda's giant dairy milker breasts and blew out the Erlich television. Come on, the Bull's Eyes on them big Cadillac caliber fun bags shoulda been easy targets.

John swears her ever expanding boobs had it coming. He's still pissed he missed, he thought they'd pop like water balloons and wash all blood evidence away with a hunnert gallons of milk. Someone oughta tell Brenda's humoungous jugular hooters to stop staring at my eyes. Her nipples are bigger than the heads of yer dicks. More productive too.

Stop that. That's gross.

I never thought to shoot a bitch's Alaskan sized Gazongas off. I just rip their lips off creatiung great cunt-whore-bitch drama. That is, if you've got a Noorvik or Edmonds sense of humor.

Fuck you. As I speak, my right ankle throbs from fuck head Pim's bad aim and my left neck hurts from a nasty fall onto a SUPO cop's rifle butt. Ye see, like me broski Marto International hath quoth: I don't know when to shut my fucking mouth. Yacking when I shoulda been more silent than my long burnt and buried crack whore parasitic Terracite girlfriends.

You fuckers are lucky Toby didn't dump a round through yer hand thus creating a metaphoric Jesus whistle. Tobus has a temper and friends and loved ones invariably get hurt. Or shot.

For the record, I'm the worst offender in this blame game of gun accidents. One time I shot out my own car window, then in a nervous twitch I almost shot my own foot blasting rocks on my partner's pants. "Kill yer partners Max. Give us channel 83" (Videodrome).

One stray bullet meant for my head screamed through a drug caked wall shattering Spanky's coffee pot and lodged in a bag of Arnie Girl's weavel infested flour. Another stray bullet missed Stephanie's smelliest bits, perforated the Apgar bucket shack wall and brought a shit eating grin upon Westlake and Blanchard's face.

Me, Ken and Kim's too. The bitch was begging for beat down and smoked brain mist out her pie hole. "I don't know, I was really drunk at the time" (Pink Floyd). Too bad we didn't accidentally shoot our dumber wives. That'd save me from breaking some hard ass news to y'all where ye got yer herpes from.

Yup. You boys dunked yer donkeys in Nurse Diesel and the Herp Queens' turd cutters. Merely because I did. Then moved to Kotzebue. Simple. Now you all got it too.

Ya see, the Kiana strain herpes is really HIV the started with my appetite for white trash Lynnwood girls. On dope. When I switched to reservation dark meat, you bush rat cops all started blowing boogers out yer dick hole.

Connect the dots there Mr. Sesame Street in the short bus, us invading white nigger Euro trash have convinced ye that the devil don't exist in our dicks. All of our fathers are European killers.

Like Smokey the Bear sayeth, "Only you can prevent forest fires and blistered dicks." And "Not all blisters are from Burns, 616." Some are from the misuse of tissue yonder Snohomish County. Like that?

Gun accidents don't simply happen to us all, they've followed us all the way from our country of origin, ye can't outrun stupid. WTF. Might as well go for a soda. And leave a hunnert dead retards in yer wake.

Remember, the sign Marto and Denz put up at the entrance of 7-Lakes: "Dead nigger drop off" (Quentin Tarantino-Pulp Fiction). My gramp's place North of Marysville is a great place to dispose of crack niggers that mistakenly believed we wouldn't disappear thieves caught forcibly entering our very own mortuary.

The bottom of ancient outhouses and amidst tall trees is also a great place to ditch accidentally shot dead junkie bitches. Have any of you guys seen Tish, Paula or Renee recently? I don't agree with OJ Simpson, but I understand.

The reason I don't fuck women my own age is cuz they look like my grandmother and continually order me around with, "Karl. Make tea!".

Don't let me pass out with the shop vac on my dick and don't take me too seriously.

I'm such a dickweed, goat milker on drugs too.

Karluk.

---

Two men are shot as gun is being cleaned

The Associated Press

Published: November 15th, 2008 04:52 AM
Last Modified: November 15th, 2008 04:43 AM

WASILLA -- Two Wasilla men are recovering from an accidental shooting that occurred while a gun was being cleaned.

Alaska State Troopers say 23-year-old Joshua Jones was cleaning his semiautomatic pistol Thursday evening when the weapon accidentally discharged.

Troopers say the bullet went through Jones' left hand and then struck 26-year-old Clayton Naczi in the thigh.

Both men were taken to Mat-Su Regional Medical Center. Troopers say the men are in stable condition.

---

-------------------------------------------------
Location: Wasilla
Case number: 08-94224
Type: Accidental Discharge of a Firearm

Text: On 11/13/2008, at approximately 1939 hours, Alaska State Troopers
responded to a victim with a gun shot wound to the leg on Bank Circle in
Wasilla. An investigation revealed that Joshua Jones, age 23 of Wasilla,
was field stripping his .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol when the
firearm accidentally discharged. The bullet penetrated Jones' left hand
and proceeded to strike Clayton Naczi, age 26, of Wasilla, in the thigh.
Both Jones and Naczi were transported by EMS to Mat Su Regional Medical
Center for treatment. Both subjects are in stable condition. Alcohol and
drugs are not considered to be factors in the incident. No foul play is
suspected. The incident is currently under investigation.

Author: KSB0
Received Friday, November 14, 2008 3:14 AM and posted Friday, November 14, 2008 3:06 AM

"Git yer bitch ass outa the car white boy." Sound familiar? It should, it's yer dad.

Top of the morning gents,

I fucking love Nebraska now.

No shit. I can dump any of my nugger spawn at any safe haven: no questions asked. Just ditch the little shit, walk over to Top of the Whale "for a beer, bong hit and blow job" (Callahan).

Think of it: one look at yer ugly fucking kids and you can now say, "Later nigger." "Yer shit is a goner."

Here's the coolest externality, I can snatch any of yer little reservation pork farts, drive to the Kotzebue K-Mart (city dump) and boot yer downer syndrome mongoloid offspring outa me kamoon and let 'em feed offa my pile o' dead dogs.

Dead dogs all ye shooters've blasted. Besides, dead muttnikipaq is better eating than the shit yer wife grunts on a platter. I walk by yer houses every night and gag up maggots. Dudes, even my Eskimo wife wouldn't eat the shit your inbred family chews toothlessly slow and hatching as watery turds.

My readers with bigger gonads are a cacklin' evil. I'll laugh with your wit but I won't fuck Steffany ApGag (apgar) with yer dick.

Yup. We is twisted. We're laughing at the musings of a sick man that likely has permanent drain bramage from strong drink and irreparable heart damage due to doing the fish. No I don't mean drowning, I mean horking down a plumer of smoke flavored cocaine and ghost bud.

Then doing the fish.

As in flailing wildly about like a gimper dude with a head shot.

Just kidding. Ain't none of us pulled a death bonger and cocoa puff awaking fully errect and welded inside a strange woman's large intestines.

"Touch me, I'm sick" (psycho metal native shred composed by Rick janitcheck and scott Wade 1991 kotz). Two boys that should've been aborted and tossed in the honey bucket to freeze.

Later shooters,

Kiaqpuq Nigloomi

PS. Friends don't let friends vote for Democraps. Investor class voters shoot minorities, not elect them.

---

2 children abandoned under Neb. safe-haven law

By MARGERY A. GIBBS / Associated Press Writer

Published: November 3rd, 2008 09:57 AM

OMAHA, Neb. - Two more teenagers have been abandoned at Nebraska hospitals under the state's much-criticized safe haven law, bringing the number of mostly older children dropped off to 26 since July, authorities said.

The teens, both 16, were left at separate hospitals, according to the state Department of Health and Human Services. One was a girl dropped early Monday at Midlands Hospital in Papillion and the other a boy abandoned at Children's Hospital in Omaha late Sunday.

Papillion police Lt. Chris Whitted said the girl and her mother had previously lived in Papillion, south of Omaha, before moving to Arizona. He said the mother didn't give a reason for dropping the girl off, but he added: "Obviously, there's concerns about being able to care for her daughter."

He said the girl "was unaware she was being dropped off" and has been placed in state custody.

Todd Landry, director of the state's Division of Children and Family Services for the department, said in a statement Monday that the girl had been a ward of the state of Nebraska from September 2007 to March. In March, a juvenile court judge dismissed the wardship based in part on the mother's desire to relocate to Arizona to be near extended family, Landry said.

The girl was a ward of the state of Arizona from August until sometime in October, Landry said. He said it's the Nebraska department's understanding that an Arizona court agreed to dismiss the case at the request of the mother, who sought to return to Nebraska to have more support from family and friends located here. Landry said he believes the mother and daughter returned to Nebraska just last week.

In the second case, Landry said the boy was left by his father just after midnight Monday. Neither Landry nor hospital officials offered additional details on that case.

Nebraska was the last state to enact a safe-haven law, which is intended to protect unwanted newborns from being abandoned. Some have interpreted the state's law to mean children as old as 18 can be abandoned because it uses the word "child" and doesn't include an age limit.

Health and Human Services officials, however, say they will not take in any children older than 17.

The Legislature plans to tackle the issue at a special session on Nov. 14. Speaker of the Legislature Mike Flood said he'll introduce a bill establishing a 3-day-old age limit.

Appa Kye I wanna mullik to the gun show. Didn't I see y'all there too?

Top of the morning gents,

God dammit. I sure remember my youth. Farms, hay hauls, million fucking animals, million poop plows, million more heads chopped off. Necessities to feed ugly kids: farm fresh blood buckets and decapitation based diets.

I also remember the 200 year anniversary of 1776 was fucking gnarley with all them gunshows, turkey shoots and state fairs booming with era reproduction muskets and ball and buck long rifles that really didn't have any rifling.

Driving across America and upwards into Canada to watch the 1976 Montreal Summer Olympics rallied like a motherfucker. Me and Cully stole a butt load of Canadian cigarettes and liquor. Plus a we fetched a veritable treasure trove of lifetime lengthening memories to draw upon in our time at the rest home.

We seen miles of delicious and gorgeous biscuit watching droves of spectacularly naked French/Canadian babes suntanning their big naked breasts and toasting their glazed honey dripping hives as far as the eye can sniff. Nothing but sunglasses and sweet seasonings for wardrobes: for miles.

Damn! For a boy to watch a hunnert busty babes apply sun lotion on each other's naked everything...is truly wonderful for the soul. And my salivary glands.

I acted all normal whilst I rapid flexed and ejaculated for a whole sunny afternoon. Ever leak jizz for hours? Yup. Me too. Some of your kids came from soaking a whole room with ball cheese, possibly even one of the kids ye spawned with yer present nugger wife. WTF MF. What happens in Selawik is forgotten with the last disappearing brain cells.

I ain't shitting, those memories of really pretty boobs and super delicious glue pots are what keep yer ugly wives raped and filled with cups of genetic ass paint.

In all my drinking vacations, rape escapes and gun runs around this shitty world, I grazed and fed on lots of steaming biscuit, but I never seen any participants in retro battle costumes and revolutionary war gear shoot themselves or each other: in the face.

Fuck it. The shit does happen.

At one of my dad's local gun clubs and watering holes a Japanese tourist pulled a Sarge Rat Fuck when his rented and truly shitty Desert Eagle 44 mag lept backward and bapped him on the brow. The brow bit wasn't nearly as bad as the headless gook standing behind him. Poor motherfucking nipper dude sucked air through his face hole and sneezed all his brains and muke out the back with a roar.

Poor Japper shooter dude awoke eyes blacker finding the back of his shirt and trousers covered with graphic artwork consisting of an organ donor and yard sale smelling like native food.

Many years ago me and Pim went to a lots of killer Marysville Gun Shows, sold ALL our shitty shiny guns, parts and pieces: even bought crap from other tables, wiped 'em down with oily rags, repriced them and made fucking bank. The word is arbitrage ye ignant gits.

If the weather was warm and sunny, the old guys held shooting contests out at the shooting range with various targets set at 25 yards all the way to 300 yards against a cliff.

One dude was shooting prone with some bolt action hypo rifle. He only shot once and lay still. The bolt of his gun somehow blew out the back of his rifle submerging flush with cheek, albeit with crevassed vaginal like injuries to his fucking head.

One of Pim's ugly buddies came over and said he seen smoke blast from both ends of his rifle blackening the operator's face. Pim volunteered that the old dude must've loaded his rifle cartriges with pistol powder. Whatever, that's a neato story for a 17 year old goat milker and felon.

After a dump run, mutt shoot and puppy pop, my uniform was covered with Mack blasted dog hair and 12 gauge guts and poop. Lt. Eunice wrinkled his chew lip, then advised me, "Shoot son." "Ya'll best tell yer wife to douche a'fore she fucks ye."

I now forward this 19 year old advice to you lads. You boys be safe and treat yer guns like they were yer dicks. Forget that advice, the rusting, pocking and fouling are EXACTLY like yer dicks.

At any time during this lecture did you disengage those images of big breasted fully naked French pastries just basting away in the sun?

Cheers mates. Here's to fine peach flavored hair pie, big dairy caliber breasts and why we fuck with that look on our faces like we're a thousand miles away...Yup, we're back on that beach lined with rows of perfumed lippy and sun roasted giant milkers.

Fuck y'all are so cursed with lethal levels heterosexuality. God bless us all sayeth tiny Tim.

Back to gun safety ye sick twisted yet blessed milker dudes. I found a story that proves the rarity of these such shoot yer self gun accidents.

Stop playing with yer dicks and hurry home. Yer wives need some serious fuckng now don't they? Seal oil only tastes like black girl pussy, so make her come twice afore she even sees yer dick.

Just remember the beach...

---

Location: Nome area

Case number: 08-89205

Type: Death Investigation

Text: On 10/26/08 at about 0053 hours, Nome AST received a report of a
shooting in one of the villages in the Nome area. The victim, a
juvenile male, was declared deceased at 0030 hours. The State Medical
Examiner was notified and the next of kin was present at the scene.
Investigation is on-going and weather conditions have hampered response
efforts.

Author: AMS1
Received Monday, October 27, 2008 12:27 PM and posted Monday, October 27, 2008 12:11 PM

---
http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2008/10/police_identify_6.ht
ml

Monday, 11:58 AM The Boston Globe

Police identify boy, 8, killed by Uzi at sportsmen's club
October 27, 2008 11:58 AM Email| Comments (0)| Text size – + By David Abel and Andrew Ryan, Globe Staff, and Matthew P. Collette, Globe Correspondent

The 8-year-old boy who apparently shot himself in the head with an Uzi at a "Machine Gun Shoot" in Westfield was identified today by police as Christopher Bizilj of Ashford, Conn.

Bizilj attended the firearms expo Sunday with his father at the Westfield Sportsman’s Club and apparently accidentally shot himself. He was firing a 9-mm Micro UZI machine gun, a fully automatic weapon, said Westfield Police Lieutenant Hipolito Nuñez.

Police are investigating whether the sportsman’s club and the group running the event were licensed. “We haven’t confirmed whether either have been licensed,” Nuñez said.

The Westfield Sportsman's Club boasted in an advertisement for the event posted on its website that the $5 entry fee was waived for children under age 16 and there was "no age limit or licenses required to shoot machine guns."

"It’s all legal & fun," the advertisement says. "You will be accompanied to the firing line with a Certified Instructor to guide you. But You Are In Control – "FULL AUTO ROCK & ROLL."

Shooting targets for the event included vehicles, pumpkins, and "other fun stuff we can’t print here," according to the advertisement.

Bizilj was firing the weapon at an outside firing range and was wounded once in the head when the recoil forced the gun to rotate upward and backward, Nuñez said. The boy was taken to Baystate Medical Center in Springfield. He was pronounced dead at the hospital with one gunshot wound to the head. No one else was injured.

State law requires anyone under age 18 to have parental consent and a licensed instructor to fire an automatic weapon. Otherwise, there’s no minimum age to fire such a gun, Nuñez said.

Bizilj's father was on the scene. “My understanding is his father gave him permission to fire the weapon,” Nuñez said.

But he added: “We do not know at this time the full facts of this incident, and it's being investigated.”

The event at the club was organized by C.O.P. Firearms & Training, an Amherst company that, according to its website, organizes machine gun shoots throughout New England. Officials from that group also could not be reached.

Holy Fuck Batman. How many of us could be indicted for torture and abuse?

Top of the morning gents,

Count yer blessings dudes. How many punks, sluts and Inufucks have we reminded they don't deserve constitutional rights and deprived them of intact hymen, rectums and scroat bags? This war on drugs is fucking awesome and presidents from both colors back the mission to put darker folks behind bars.

All the years at the old jail in Kotzebue, DEA, ABADE and AST and all the years of drinking with violent and abusive cops, jailers, troopers and narcs: and ain't none of us been indicted for bashing the living shit outa subhuman fucking chimpacaque ice monkeys. That fucking deserved it.

No shit Sherlock. Some of the trauma I seen on Mike Lie, that Burns coon uchuck, and even the sick Indun that hung round Randy Kem's sister took a damn good beat down and tune up.

Nowadays, you cops've become lame as shit pussies with yer tasers, pecker mace and wimpy automatics, I miss watching you guys put up yer dukes, hands, fists and feet and bust up a kiana coon like Kotzebue cord wood. I'm gettin' hard nipples and drippy dick just remeniscing how fucking fast all ye git busy on a body.

When some bag of mashed up assholes smelling just like Art Kagoona loogied in Garoutte's face I almost had a heart attack. Poor fucker was inches from blunt force bottom and penis but Gumby and Eunice worked tag team and yanked, flipped and floor mopped that Deering baby gomer all the way to the drunk tank, sleeping all night cuffed and fucked and broke as shit teeth and gravel bag nuts.

If ye want to cackle evil, just replay the video of Officer K6 brutally macking that half primate's fucking face into the booking room desktop.

The loud boom from the booking room gave a serious boner.

I think it was Tykee Lloyd Hall or some shit, or was it that sick bitch Troy Hall? Maybe Mark Bird's bitch boy that sat on Tubby Goodwin's poopstick then gagged down his ball drainage? Fuck all them punks bleed in my memory together. Must be my alcoholism or Alzeimers. Or Shannon Pavle ran me over too. WTF.

I still git wood replaying Virgin 'processing' that drunk brown RussellCunt that pert near out run him. Yup. A drunk bitch mongoloid on a wheeler almost ditched one of KPD's best, racing in hopped up Caprice Classic. A Chevy Caprice patrol car we bought with the drug seizure monies we snagged from Ken Hall and Chris Ciringione. Real priceless cunts paying for OUR new patrol cars...sweet! Take pile o' cash from drug dealers, buy more tools: fill the jail with MORE nativity shite.

Speaking of asset seizures and drug forfeitures: Rick and Bonny Carlson lost their house, boats, sno-gos, vehicles AND drugs due to 'ongoing criminal drug traffic' activity, Fast Eddie Larson lost all his delivery cars, bank accounts and boxes of blow that I was trusted to buy with trooper dollars.

Logan and Sauve lost firearms totalling over 100 irons, bank accounts and stash cash, plus their new trucks, houses, snowmachines and airplanes.

Oh, and the case me and Nush worked has been reopened: Paliwoda and his GHB date rape crap we bought a thousand doses of. Paliwoda jumped bail and has now been arrested in Denver. My concern is damaging testimony over the number of purchases, amounts and side deal money. Narcs aren't paid for their honesty and integrity.

My date rape drug stash was tested all over Res. Life and MBS complex.

Ain't it good to see Alaska is still the land of the vicious, home of nasty, and one fine place for heavily armed European serial rapists and killers? We is AK rapers #1 breeding Alaska upwards thus creating an army of tall half monkey alcoholics.

Wake up fucks. There's only 40 something readers to this am cop/talk posting: yet pert near a thousand future Hitler champs. Soon everybody will truly have ancestors Nordic with a deep history in genetic manipulation away from sick ancient aboriginal cultures towards waking every day feeling wonderfully superior.

In tune with the war on drugs and minorities ABADE is wrapping up an op in Wastern Alaska and USPS/FAA/TSA etc. They been drug dogging and mass spec analyzing all canine alert suspect freight and mail out of Shitbanks and Anchoragua.

Up here in Barrow, the busts are averaging 2-3 each week. Fun, fun. I'd like to be the guy doing the enhanced interrogation on these monkey fucking browntards. I'll save yer case, but yer suspect dies horribly.

You bloody haloed and burnt winged angels were sent down here to continue the Christian/Saxon/Viking extermination and sterilization of the sick twisted primate motherfuckers.

Carry on gents, may the Lord be with you, yer airborne spermatazoa AND yer bullets.

Kiaqpuq Nigloo-me

Attached is a press release from the FBI PIO web site.

---

http://chicago.fbi.gov/dojpressrel/pressrel08/oct21_08.htm

(202) 514-2007

WWW.USDOJ.GOV

TDD (202) 514-1888


U.S. INDICTS FORMER CHICAGO POLICE COMMANDER ON PERJURY,
OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE CHARGES RELATED TO ALLEGED
TORTURE AND PHYSICAL ABUSE

WASHINGTON – Former Chicago Police Commander Jon Burge was arrested today at his home in Florida on federal obstruction of justice and perjury charges for allegedly lying about whether he and other officers under his command participated in torture and physical abuse of suspects in police custody dating back to the 1980s. Burge was charged with two counts of obstruction of justice and one count of perjury in a three-count indictment that was returned under seal by a federal grand jury last Thursday, Oct. 16. 2008, and unsealed following his arrest.

The indictment was announced jointly by Grace Chung Becker, Acting Assistant Attorney General for the U.S. Justice Department’s Civil Rights Division, Patrick J. Fitzgerald, U.S. Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois, and Robert D. Grant, Special Agent-in-Charge of the Chicago Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Today’s indictment alleges that Burge lied and impeded court proceedings in November 2003 when he provided written answers to questions, known as interrogatories, in a civil lawsuit alleging that he and others tortured and abused people in their custody.

“Throughout our nation, our fine law enforcement officers make daily sacrifices in the pursuit of justice,” said Acting Assistant Attorney General Becker. “It is imperative that we take these charges seriously but also bear in mind they do not reflect upon the conduct of the vast majority of law enforcement officers.”

“There is no place for torture and abuse in a police station. There is no place for perjury and false statements in federal lawsuits,” said U.S. Attorney. Fitzgerald. “No person is above the law, and nobody – even a suspected murderer – is beneath its protection. The alleged criminal conduct by defendant Burge goes to the core principles of our criminal justice system.”

“Everyday Chicago Police Officers execute their sworn duties lawfully with great skill, courage and integrity,” said Special Agent-in-Charge Grant. “Sometimes they do so with great peril, as we have been sadly reminded in recent weeks and months. But police officers have a special duty which is underscored by today's announcement. Police officers don't serve the public as judge and jury and they have a special responsibility to care for those within their custody, regardless of their alleged crimes. Today’s announcement brings great shame on the career of retired Commander Jon Burge. These charges will not erase the pain within our Chicago community, but perhaps it can help begin the healing process.”

Burge, 60, of Apollo Beach. Fla., is expected to have an initial appearance later today in Federal Court in Tampa. No date has yet been set for him to appear in U.S. District Court in Chicago, where he will face prosecution.

According to the indictment, Burge was a Chicago Police Officer from 1970 to 1993. He served in several jurisdictions throughout the city, as a detective from 1972-1974, a sergeant from 1977-1980, and a lieutenant commanding detectives working in the Area Two violent crimes unit from about 1981-1986. Subsequently, he was commander of the Bomb and Arson Unit, and, later, commander of Area Three detectives. Burge was suspended by the Chicago Police Department in 1991 and fired in 1993.

The indictment alleges that during the time Burge worked in Area Two, he was present on one or more occasions for, and at times participated in, the torture and physical abuse of persons in police custody. It is further alleged that during the time he worked as the lieutenant supervising Area Two violent crimes detectives, Burge was aware that detectives he supervised, on one or more other occasions, engaged in torture and physical abuse of people in their custody.

Chicago Police Department regulations, as well as state and federal law, prohibit torture, physical abuse and other use of excessive force by police officers.

Since 1991, a series of police brutality civil lawsuits have been filed alleging that Burge and other detectives and police officers under his command participated in torture and abuse of suspects. One such case, Hobley v. Burge, et al., filed in 2003 in U.S. District Court in Chicago, alleged that plaintiff Madison Hobley was tortured and abused by police officers at Area Two headquarters in January 1987 in order to coerce a confession. The suit included an allegation that police officers had placed a plastic bag over Hobley’s head until he lost consciousness.

The Hobley lawsuit claimed that Burge was aware of a pattern of torture and abuse at Area Two police headquarters. The indictment does not, however, allege that Hobley was tortured or abused.

During the discovery process in civil litigation, Hobley’s attorneys served Burge with written interrogatories. Burge’s written responses are the basis for today’s charges, which allege that Burge corruptly obstructed, influenced and impeded an official proceeding by signing answers containing false statements in response to two interrogatories in the Hobley litigation.

If convicted, Burge faces a statutory maximum penalty of 20 years in prison on each count of obstruction of justice, five years for perjury, and a $250,000 fine on each count.

The investigation is continuing. An indictment contains only charges and is not evidence of guilt. The defendant is presumed innocent and is entitled to a fair trial at which the government has the burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. This case is being prosecuted by Assistant U.S. Attorneys Jeff Cramer, Barry Miller and Sergio Acosta, and Civil Rights Division Trial Attorney Betsy Biffl.

This Senior Center is SO kewl. Inside a castle WITH a bar. Where the fuck do I sign up?

Top of the morning gents,

Fuck dudes, you guys've sure gone through the pussy. We're SO old. All of us.

I'm crowding the big five-oh and bun's burning past sixty. All my younger brothers are in their 40's, my sisters are all in their 50's, my folks are in their 70's and my grandpa is over a hunnert. Alcoholism and drug abuse runs rampant in my family and only the good die young you sick twisted old fucks.

Hold your applause, you may not like me later on in my story.

On our PERS retirement paperwork, we checked off the monthly deduction for the Tier I LTC (long term care). Important shit you old PONTIACS (poor old niggers think it's a Cadillac), unless you WANT to get molested inside the Kotzebue or Barrow Senior Center.

I cackle evil with the image of you killers so crippled that you can't prevent the Henry, Adams and Davidovics faggot grandchildren from making geriatric pillow biters out of all of ye. Ted Bundy was a closet native too. He used his little gomer pecker to reopen healing surgeries like a true IHS/BIA nurse. "Hi Mom, I'm mental!" (Kevin Hanson)

Wake up fucks! 64 days after Kiana SixKiller dumped his granny in the Senior Wheelchair Porn Shop, she fucking croaked it. I would too. Ask any Eskimo, dying is preferable to chronic and ongoing rape and abuse. "Old age is the best cure for sex and death is the best cure for old age" (Sara Evak).

My gorgeous salmon cruncher wife has begged and pleaded with me to shoot her in the fucking face and dump her dead leaking ass out on the ice rather than be discarded at the Kotzebue Senior Abuse Farm in the care of sick ice niggers that were raised by natives.

Guess what? I have a solution for us graying gunslingers with skanky long dicks: follow me and bun to our chosen retirement home in Finland. A fucking castle with a bar all rolled into one glorious rest home for us long dicked squaw boys.

Why the skanky long dick comments? We have to have long dicks, our wives have all been probed by tiny 'skimo fingers and micro Inu dicks stapled on the front of their funny uncles and bastard brothers. One out of every two native women in Alaska will be raped in their life and we're the monsters that are doing our part. Fuck all.

Besides, rape victims love bigger dicks. So do mothers. This I know. Ain't none of ye have kept more mares brooded than yer author on drugs. If you did, you'd have equal number of stray bastard children and persistent infections as my readers.

Like that? Back to my dull point aside from top of me numb skull. I've been planning for retirement since me and Pim started stealing cars, robbing bank deposit slots and selling acid and blow to all kinda neegros.

I believe I've found my final resting place. The attached article details Valhalla fer old drunken Norse whose meat is rotting off the bone. Even you killers, rapists, mad bombers and axe weilding homicidal maniacs can come play. And die too.

You men ain't inherently cruel, just funny. So you'll appreciate this paragraph. We could moonlight as assistend living attendants. Yup. Since we'll all live way too long, we could help fellow droolers, mini-limbers and quadra-plege blue hairs fuck just like us.

My brother Cully once shared some disgusting duties for the dike nurses and gay ass attendants at United Cerebal Palsy and Smith-Wright Estates: help handicampers have sex. Viagra and axle grease for the stink spots, me and the Sgt. could then swing lightweight shrunken mummies at each other like Pete Townsend disintegrates guitars. Think of it. At least them disfigured emaciated insects would get fucked.

Yikes I'm rabid. Pull your attention back to Finland.

A rest home that has its own bar catering to us tall alcoholics sounds perty fucking fine by me. By George! Let's dump our parents at the Kotzebue Fart Hammer Wrinkled Wrecked-um Lodge! Now that's evil cackleworthy. The thought of our dads punching the staff, guests and visitors in the nuts and long dicking NANA blue hairs REALLY cracks me up.

I shudder at some old Schaeffer fuck licking yer mom right in the catchers mitt and turd cutter, but imagine Laura Frankson or Helen Barger on top of your dad gittin' ready to come. For you half-primate motherfuckers that's a fate a compli.

Later niggers.

*Whew. Almost puked appa kye.

Karluk Makki: the guy who photographed these photos from Finland. Enjoy.

---

Bar serves residents at Savonlinna home for the elderly

Brandy is the tipple of choice for locals, who have an average age of 84

By Juhani Saarinen

“Almost 50% cheaper than in a restaurant”, says Tuure Kähkönen as he orders another large cognac.

Kähkönen is spending his afternoon at a pub called Hermanninkuja 1 in Savonlinna. By outward appearances, the bar seems typical. The bar table is dark polished wood, the easy chairs are plush, and old photographs adorn the walls.

The only thing that is odd is the location. The bar is in the Hopearanta service home for the elderly in Savonlinna.

A bar in a service home is definitely not unusual for Finland but this pub and senior home was opened in Hopearanta, inside the medieval Olavinlinna Castle, in April, and it can be used by the residents - with an average age of 84 -, and their guests.

There are other similar institutions that are licenced to serve alcohol, but executive director Marja-Liisa Broms has not seen a bar like this one in this castle anywhere else in the country.

She got the idea during a visit to Denmark.

She feels that it is important for service homes to offer various stimulation for their residents, so that they might remain interested in their surroundings.

“Our aim is that life should not end at the door of the service home. And that is what our new pub is all about”, she says.

The bar was set up only after years of consideration.

There was some hesitation because of what Broms sees as the “traumatic” attitude that Finns have towards alcohol.

People who spend time in bars are easily labelled alcoholics.

While not all residents are interested in sitting in the bar, many do feel that the pub - which seats 20 customers - is a good addition to the service home.

“When guests come, I like to bring them here”, says Tauno Silvennoinen.

“There’s only one negative side: You can’t take a bottle to the room with you”, grins Teuvo Ahokas.

Aside from brandy, which seems a particularly popular tipple, hits with the locals include beer and wines, but to be honest it is the act of getting together that is more important than the drinking.

If anyone is refused service, the probability is a great deal strong that it has something to do with his or her medication, rather than that someone has had a drop too much already.

The pub is open until 8 in the evening. There is no need for a "last orders" call, and Tauno Silvennoinen is out of the place already before five.

"Oh, aren't your cheeks looking red. Quite flushed", some ladies tease him as he walks from the bar into the corridor.

There was really no need for the joshing this time - Silvennoinen's glass contained nothing stronger than lemonade.

Helsingin Sanomat / First published in print 10/5/2008

Tis the season to be merry and help yer inlaws kill themselves.

Top of the morning gents,

'Bout fucking time. Wretched brief break from last winter some chicken chokers call summer, punctuated with mucho NANA neegro delicacies: mud, bugs and drugs.

Goddamned snow all summer with icebergs bumping and thudding like morbidly chunky Alaskans afuck. Yup. Welcome to Barrow. The home of higher class nigerians, pale zombies and inbred sober people. Like that?

"Addii Karlukmun, you sure immik too much. We should go to Anchorage or Fairbanks just so you can sober up" (grandma mag).

As already stated, out here way North of 70 lat, I tend to take better care of myself. Subfucksistence diet, walks far niglukmee and mailok-si con canine y pistolero. Somedays I'm one hung over motherfucker too.

My goat milker habits will be the death of me. Awake at 5:00am brewing coffee and bong hits, CNBC TV and computer streamings with mushuk, then off to yonder frozen tundra to take the guns for a walk: all by 0700 moron hours.

If I had any hangover when I arose, it's long fucking gone after I walk my dick off, wipe down the dogs and feed and water the guns.

I'm entering dark territory niggers. Barrow's sun is soon to set till IRS day and this fucking armed and impaired vampire ain't falling prey to no prowling christians nor glue head natives. As the chief always said, "You can never go wrong with guns." God I love the way that man thinks.

Goddamned Kraut Columbo is pissing and shitting all over Holland, Michigan. WITH his guns I hope. I spied thou arsenal Columbo, nice Browning products, a couple off-brand bastard goodies too: shit he 'fused to sell me. Greedy bitch.

All guns are beautiful and the best gun in the world is the gun I got in my hand. Fuck all. I drag my dirty hairy nigger shooter with me to the post office and the bank, but seldom the courthouse, that's a little bit illegal. Besides, my gun bag is recycled shwag from the hospital loaded with that 44 blackhawk, uncle Mike's 12 count velcro bullet belt, binoculars, combat knife and pepper mace.

My possibles bag is better described as my camp pack. This dog can hunt.

I hear yer objections to single action pistols, but I cain't shoot as well with shorter, lighter and smaller ordinance repeaters. A heavy long barrel with lots of snoose fits this Finn perty gud. I'm a lousy shot with most guns: this cannon finds every target I squint, pucker and aim my scroat at.

Seeing and hearing after I touch off a few rounds with this dandy cannon only further adds to my already awful hearing. So my bird hound, retriever and hunting dog functions as eyes and ears for this deaf motherfucking Finn. She also functions perty dern gud as a wife.

Got Squaw? Yup. She gives me wood too.

Y'all chump ass coppers keep yer dick hard and powder dry. Keep reading my shit and your stomach will turn.


Karluk Nigluk Puq-Oosik.


PS: Here's the link: ALL Christmas all the time. Christmas Broadband is my favorite.

http://www.live365.com/cgi-bin/directory.cgi?genre=seasonal%2fholiday

Or good oldy moldy shite: Cuz we're really fucking old and confuse KOTZ with KZOK for fuck's sake.

http://player.play.it/player/player.html?v=4.1.25&id=136&onestat=kzok

**Did you know that today is National Make Fun of the Handicrapped Day?

---

Originally published October 17, 2008 at 7:50 AM

Tacoma Goodwill fined for worker death

The state fined Tacoma Goodwill Industries nearly $50,000 for safety violations that contributed to the death of a developmentally disabled worker.

TACOMA, Wash. —
The state fined Tacoma Goodwill Industries nearly $50,000 for safety violations that contributed to the death of a developmentally disabled worker.

The 27-year-old man, Nick Miller, was crushed April 15 by a machine that lifts trash into a compactor.

The Tacoma News Tribune reports the Department of Labor and Industries found that Goodwill failed to properly train and supervise disabled workers and failed to make sure the trash-tipping machine had emergency stop controls.

Tacoma Goodwill CEO Terry Hayes disputes the findings and says it will appeal. She says Goodwill has worked with the department in the past and inspectors did not find problems with the trash machine or ask for special accident prevention training for disabled workers.

---

Police investigate gas-pipeline blast

Police are investigating an explosion targeting a gas pipeline on the British Columbia-Alberta border.

It was the second explosion targeting a gas line owned by EnCana this week.

Sgt. Tim Shields said Thursday that the explosion detonated overnight appears to be a deliberate act. He says the blast left a crater in the ground under the natural-gas pipeline, which was damaged but did not rupture.

Police say the explosion seems to be related to one earlier this week when a sour gas pipeline owned by EnCana was bombed, about 31 miles east of Dawson Creek, B.C.

Selah, Yakima County

---

Seattle (or Buckland Deering some shit)

A 42-year-old woman was stabbed in the chest in a southbound car on Interstate 5 Thursday afternoon and later died at Harborview Medical Center, a police spokesman said.

A 42-year-old man, whom police believe to be the woman's boyfriend, was arrested and booked into King County Jail, said Seattle Police Department spokesman Mark Jamieson.

The woman was a passenger in the front seat of a car shortly before 4 p.m. when she was stabbed by a male passenger in the back seat as the car was on I-5 near North 92nd Street, said State Patrol spokesman Curt Boyle.

The male driver is being questioned as a witness, Jamieson said. Homicide detectives are investigating, he said.

Traffic on I-5 was backed up seven miles for about two hours while police responded and paramedics worked to save the woman's life.

All lanes were opened around 6 p.m., said Department of Transportation spokesman Sean McDermott.

---

Lucky this fucker ain't got skank native cooter stashed back in Kotzebue

Man pleads guilty in smuggling case suspected drug smuggler who turned himself in after 15 years on the run pleaded guilty to money laundering Thursday morning in U.S. District Court in Tacoma.

By Noelene Clark

Seattle Times staff reporter

A man who turned himself in after 15 years on the run pleaded guilty to money laundering Thursday in U.S. District Court in Tacoma.

Frank Falco, 58, faces up to 20 years in prison and a $500,000 fine, said U.S. Attorney's Office spokeswoman Emily Langlie.

In 1992, Falco and several co-conspirators smuggled 50,000 pounds of hashish from Pakistan into Southwest Washington and then to Oregon, California and New York, according to the plea agreement.

In the elaborate scheme, Falco was in charge of distributing the millions of dollars from the drug sales, according to the U.S. Attorney's Office.

Falco and others fled to Mexico after a federal grand jury indicted several suspects in 1994, but four conspirators, including Falco, have since been arrested, according to the U.S. Attorney's Office.

In 1998, Robert Tillitz was arrested in Mexico, extradited and convicted by a federal jury in Tacoma in connection with the smuggling operation. He served more than 10 years in prison.

In April 2007, Jeffrey Warren was arrested and extradited. He pleaded guilty in January 2008 and is scheduled to be sentenced Nov. 21 in U.S. District Court in Tacoma.

Richard Harrison surrendered at the U.S.-Mexico border, pleaded guilty in Tacoma and was sentenced April 11 to 21 months in prison followed by three years of supervised release.

Falco is scheduled to be sentenced Jan. 9.

"Frank Falco was able to live free for 15 years on the profits of his illegal venture," said Arnold Moorin, special agent in charge of the Drug Enforcement Administration in Seattle. "The time has come for him to settle up with the justice system and pay for his past acts."

Noelene Clark: 206-464-2321 or nclark@seattletimes.com

Copyright © 2008 The Seattle Times Company

Excellent BBC article about Barrow's battle with alcohol.

What up G?

Fuck that sounds gay. Remind me that I'm a bleeding miserable old cunt. Not a shit talking nigger.


Top of the morning gents,

Some days I just can't believe the native village I piss and shit all over is more violent than the killing fields of the Pacific Northwest.

Ho hum. Folks are dying all around us. Boring. Kids are getting treated like aboriginal man-pussy. Yawn. Wives are gittin' beat. Now I'm interested. Nothing more satisfying than to silence shrill irritants that NEVER become pearls.

I'm thinking that tampons and pads best be laced with arsenic or Ex-Lax. Soon you'll be eating yer wives Prem-Pro to ease those painful lacerations on yer dick.

But, only will I'll know you've matured to my advanced level is when I see you purchasing Silk. You'll know what I'm talking about when you see yer poor wife fall apart in front of you. Silk is a menopausal mother's little helper. Non-detergent LOF-don't taste too awful bad neither.

Mother Nature ain't fucking fair at all. I was under the belief I'd be dead already from liver failure, lung disease or drain bramage (drink, toke LSD) Nup. None of the above. Those organs are still perty gud. So's my dick.

I'll save the Viagra for my 60th birthday, I hear mixing Levitra with meth and bong rips will turn yer dick into a day care combine. I mean a senior center corn shucker and mule skinner.

Speaking of us lads: this rapidly aging Hitler Youth, I just got back from the Samuel Simmons Infection connection and my cholesterol is 150, my bp is 112 over 72 with an EKG that displays minimal cardio vascular prison trauma and pulse round 68. Not bad for a chain marijuana smoker, heavier drinker than any mick or ice nigger and eat more mushrooms and acid than Stuart Shreve.

Yet, according to my 50,000 year old Norse DNA instructional manual, my pancreas will steadily decrease in function. Diet and exercise for the last decade kept me dead level 210 pounds and skinny. No easy matter. You try to convince a drug addicted NAZI Finn with munchies 24/7 NOT to graze constantly like a tundra monkey. As I pass the half century mark I'll be adding pills to my drug piles tweaking my A1C--trim tabbing round 6.5-7.5

That is, IF I stick to this fucked up healthy lifestyle. I miss my cigarettes. I miss snarfing PILES of good blow, chugging cold keg beer and pissing in someone else's gas tank. I miss waking up in the front yard or puking in my grow room. I also miss working against you fuckers instead of with ye. No fun working within the constraints of yer fucking narc contracts. Oops. I never read them. Drug dealer Finns are invariably slydexic and Attention...

Where was I? Oh, Silk is found in the Vagina Section at AC. It's 10W-30 donkey lube dudes. "Time to grease the cat's butt." (240 Gordy Kelly) Us old dudes cain't never wear condoms, cuz they catch fire and melt when rubbed vigorously against hardened sap. Yoy?

I had a good run on the PFD predatory run. Sold a butt load of guns, keeping the Ruger Super Dick Hawk. Single action long barrel 44 magnum my bunnik bought me, cuz she's real native. No gun? No biscuit mr. tunnik boy. Rape makes fer happier interracial marriages.

Just try to prosecute me for raping my wife. Instead of cruelty towards hookers drowned I take ALL my business home: Good, Bad and Ugly. Fuck it. I'm married which means I don't have to ask. Nor be nice about it. If I ever fooled around with yer dumber wives, you'd know it. They'd be dead.

Or in a wheelchair. So count yer blessings ye dumb fucks. Those nasty hairs on yer toilet ain't pubes, they're my whiskers. I pluck a few of my longest beard hairs and carefully place 1 or 2 on your toilet seat and lid. Ya see, I cackle evil at the phony notion that yer nugger wives shed hair like a mangy beaver.

I'm an asshole.

All us Washington shit heads like to beat and suffocate our pussy and God loves those that reach across the racial and IQ divide for a spouse. Not us niggers, our Asian/Sino/Inu derivative life support systems fer penis holsters. Dang slagger bitches married dumb with us Casper coons eh bart?

Nulik-me Finn: tall and slender and punching where it's tender. Got wood?

Squaw boys all ye. I don't pimp my ride. I pimp my wife making her sew, cook and serve as my very own personal ball washer. Fuck ye. After she chews my boots, she chews my grisle. Loveliest women on the slope, happily married, happily retired: high steppin' yeller.

That's why Squaw men wink at each other. We file down teeth with our dicks.

$20K in crowns and dental cosmetics are like GTO (gas, tires and oil) to a squaw boy like me. But it's worth it. The dark sillouette ain't my shadow, it's my Eakimo wife 20 paces behind me.

Cheers mates. Bigger noses and more boners.

"Addiiga we sure go oochuk-laq." Dean Westlake age 91. Same condom. Newer diaper.


Karla biach.


PS. Suffer as we may, at least we ain't married to any of these invading save the natives pear shaped fat cunt lesbo dike bitch-cunt white ladies.

---

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http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7658579.stm

Page last updated at 13:02 GMT, Wednesday, 8 October 2008 14:02 UK

Alaska alcohol: Bootleg bounty?

By Stephen Chittenden
BBC Radio Five Live, Alaska

At the Barrow Distribution Centre business is brisk, and so it should be as the only place for 200 miles (320 km) where you can get alcohol.

Locals trot eagerly up the icy front steps, before emerging to struggle back down laden with cases of beer, bottles of spirits and boxes of red wine.

There is a party spirit among the steady stream of customers.

One woman is obviously pleased with her choice.

"I've got two cases of this great beer that I found, and a couple of bottles of tequila. I got just what I wanted," she says.

The drink is loaded in their trucks then driven away through the snow to their homes.

Wet, dry, damp

The Barrow Distribution Centre is a small blue-painted wooden shack which stands on stilts right next to the town's airport, a symbol of Barrow's status as a so-called "damp" town, where alcohol is neither freely available nor banned outright.

Barrow's supermarket shelves are stocked with dozens of soft drinks and juice, but alcohol is nowhere to be seen.

There are no bars in Barrow, not even in the many tourist hotels. Signs displayed in hotel lobbies warn they are Strictly No Alcohol. Guests are warned of fines up to $300 (£171) and police eviction for anyone caught breaking the rules.

There is a history of alcohol abuse among native people in Alaska, so under the State's system of local referendums many communities choose to restrict consumption.

Barrow's Police Captain Leon Boyea has to deal with more alcohol-related crime than anything else.

"Alcohol is the drug of choice on the North Slope", he says.

He explains how excessive drinking has put Alaska near the top of the US table for crimes such as domestic violence and sexual assault.

Barrow has a large native population of Inupiat Eskimos. It is neither "wet" like Anchorage, where alcohol is freely sold, nor dry like the Inupiat villages of Kaktovik, Point Hope and Wainwright where even the possession of alcohol is illegal.

Instead, drink is available only to permit-holding residents who must order it from Fairbanks, 500 miles south, before paying to have it flown into Barrow. The permits cost $50 each year, and there is an administration charge on top.

Local laws

Most of the customers at the Distribution Centre seemed to think the system works.

"I think it's right because that's what the local people have decided," said a woman carrying a case of American beer.

"That's why Alaska has local option laws, so each community gets to decide. If you go to Nome you can drink, but people here decided that rather than having no access there would be some, and I think that works."

But another said he was frustrated at the cost of the process.

"I am from the Philippines and I think Barrow should have a liquor store here. We pay $50 for a permit then we go to the police department, then to the city. Every year it's $50."

But the restrictions do not stop there, as there are strict quotas for how much each person can receive each month.

Strict but generous: each individual is allowed 4.5 litres (6 bottles) of spirits, 20 litres (26 bottles) of wine and 5 cases of beer.

Order all that and consume it in one month, and you have a serious drinking problem, according to Capt Boyea.

Don't drink it all and sell it on illegally instead, and the problem becomes his.

"The biggest problem we have here is the sale of alcohol illegally, bootleg alcohol," he says,

"You get people who have a full order, keep some for themselves, and then sell the rest. It's actually a very lucrative trade. It makes sense to buy a product like whisky for $11 and sell it for $100 and that's what you can do. You can sell it in a dry village for $150."

Domestic violence

Selling alcohol in Barrow is a felony, a criminal offence that carries a penalty of up to five years in jail.

And one customer at the Distribution Centre, who asked not to be named, laughed off the idea of widespread bootlegging.

Strict rules in public but police fear alcohol abuse is rising

"Bootlegging? It's against the law so nobody does it," he insisted.

When asked if he's certain no-one else is selling on their quota he laughs again.

"No, nope we don't sell, we don't bootleg around here, and we drink it all. All in one night. I joke."

But things may be changing for the better.

As deputy director of behavioural health for North Slope Borough Council, Gail Reed is responsible for dealing with alcohol and drug addiction.

She accepts there are major problems in the community, but has recently become more optimistic.

"I see a maturing of the community where there's less ambivalence about the harm and damage of drugs and alcohol," she says.

"There's a realisation that this is where we are, but this is not where we want to be.

"There's now honest conversation about alcohol abuse and all that goes along with that, the domestic violence, chaotic families, putting children at risk. I continue to be inspired by a vision of a healthy community."

But the police fear the opposite is the case, that drinking is on the rise and the reported cases of alcohol-related crimes such as domestic violence and bootlegging point to a serious problem.

Besides Georgia, Russia's in a pissing row with Finland, Alaska and Greenland.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm betting none of ye knew that we've been chasing Russian aircraft back home all goddamn year.

Rusky fuckers have been zipping under our skirts Diomede and Pribilof and buzzing over top of Barrow so frequent that we're building a full scale big ass Coast Guard Naval Port.

Wake up fucks! The last time Barrow had a naval facility was during the Cold War with them Soviet Godless fucks: AKA NARL-naval arctic research laboratory.

We even shadow subhuman rusky dickweeds as they radar, sonar and topograph the open water Nordic highway commonly believed to be frozen year round.

Odd mythology to believe Vikings cruised the Earth for thousands of years--in ice breaking navies. Not. Rotten old Vinland maps show open poles, both north and south.

Just set the slaves on cruise control, rally ice free super highways, scrawg native slagger biscuit and pillage till yer dick hurts. Serious rally mish, more boners leave taller morons in yer wake. My great gramps always bragged about pushing the bottom outa some mongolian biscuit with labia lips top and bottom--not side by side. He swears that little beaver crotch pocket used to wink and blink at him after he come a load, drove it home, pulling out real quick to watch that big eyed beaver gag, convulse and chew cud like a blinking venus fly trap. I made that last part up.

Where was my line of thought, I got way too focused describing some of the weirdest pussy I've sucked, fucked and glued. Some pussies look a lot like a salamander in a taco with others looking like grilled cheese sandwich smashed on a wheelchair wrapped in Depends.

Back to my thesis of spectacular navy vessels looming over my day time daydreams and hallucinationatory chink strolls. Barrow is the ugly native troll under the bridge and thus, the toll takers. Barrow is like Kotzebue Long Range Radar Site, but also equipped with SUPER fancy submarine chit chat machines.

All fucking summer my drunken dog walks and 4 wheeler rally mishes have had large destroyers barely obscured by clouds and ghostly giant carriers reminiscent of seeing three ships come saling in on Christmas Day in the morning.

Wake and bake niggers. My beach hike escapes for some smoking, drinking and shooting now got monstrous ice breakers and submarine killers puttering about yonder Ukpeagvik ocean. Gnarley equipment assisted by repeated sattelite flyovers and additional lethal compliments of Boeing's E3A AWACS radome jets. Now that's fucking sea, air and land superiority fuck all.

According my crooks overseas, them Rusky buttfuckers are also jerking around causing a ruckus with Finland, our mates bordering Russia on the opposite site from Alaska.

You twits really ought to hang up yer fucking guns and cuffs and go back to college, old farts get free tuition and them college girls can pack more meat in their mouth than they can pack in their cooter. Gotta hack a loocher on yer own dry dick to pull out of a frog's water tight vagina and unfold them super glued dry labia wraps before they tear off half yer donkey beard.

Yup, prolific shite. Yer author on drugs is also a goat milker, so fuck ye.

You boys are all more than just fucking Alaskans, yer also some other genetic stock like some German Hitler fucks or yer gramps walked like a Norwegian. Well besides a goat fucker or gunslinger or squaw boy, yer Alaskans AND something else. Something really ugly, but God loves ye. I'm trying.

Ye see, God don't like Russians. Their gay Islamic onion domed government buildings make me retch quicker'n smelling sodomy in a sod house.

Hey, deal's a deal. No do-overs or take-backs. We done stole Alaska fair and square.

Just gotta figure out what to do with all them horny aborigines. I'm sure you European rapists will figure something out.

Stay nasty.

---

Russia admits July border violation by one of its helicopters

Russia has admitted that one of the country's frontier guard service helicopters flew into Finnish airspace over the near Nuijamaa in late July.

A spokesman from the Vyborg area frontier guard stated that the illegal border crossing was a result of a navigational error by the helicopter crew at a point where the border-zone makes a sharp curve.

Such things are apparently possible when flying by sight navigation at low altitudes.

Russia has issued a formal apology for the violation and the matter is officially closed.

A heavy MI-8 helicopter was spotted by several witnesses at around noon on July 28th in a place where it was not supposed to be. One border patrol also took pictures of the aircraft in flight.

It was apparently on the Finnish side for around five minutes, and the greatest extent of the incursion was roughly two kilometres from the border.


Helsingin Sanomat

---

Arctic Cabinet Meeting Risks New Cold War for Oil (Update1)

By Theophilos Argitis

Aug. 26 (Bloomberg) -- Beneath the melting ice of the Arctic Ocean, the world's last great land grab is under way.

Global warming is opening the Northwest Passage that sailing ships sought 500 years ago, and some of the world's biggest oil reserves are becoming accessible under the polar sea. Russia, the U.S., Canada, Norway and Denmark are jockeying for territory in moves that could end up in clashing claims.

With an eye on asserting Canada's stake, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper and his cabinet will travel this week to the Arctic town of Inuvik, as the country completes its largest- ever military exercise in the region. The town, where the summer sun never sets, lies 4,100 kilometers (2,548 miles) from Ottawa.

``You have the recipe for trouble if there isn't real energy invested early to help resolve some of these issues,'' said Scott Borgerson, a fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations in New York. ``You can envisage a future in which all the ice is gone, there is this wild-west environment in terms of lack of respect for whatever national law.''

Western nations are playing catch-up in laying claim to the Arctic. Russia, which planted a titanium flag on the Arctic seabed last year, already deploys strategic-bomber flights to patrol the region. It has also begun training troops for combat in the far north, where temperatures can drop to less than -57 degrees Celsius (-70 degrees Fahrenheit).

Georgia Parallel

If Arctic disputes come to a head, the divide between leaders in Moscow and the West may soon stretch beyond Georgia, where a war with Russia broke out this month over the breakaway region of South Ossetia.

``Events in Georgia should wake people up to what the Russians have been doing,'' said Rob Huebert, associate director of the University of Calgary's Center for Military and Strategic Studies. ``The northern developments are where they're going to get their next major source of petrol dollars and they're going to be very aggressive there.''

Canada is in the midst of its own military buildup in the Arctic Ocean, an area about the size of Russia. It has budgeted C$7.4 billion for Arctic ships, and its fighter jets regularly shadow Russian TU-95 bombers.

``We remind them we want to see their tail end, not their front-end,'' said Defense Minister Peter Mackay, 42, in a telephone interview from a military base in Alert, Nunavut, the world's northernmost inhabited place. ``The presence of Canadian forces is increasingly important to not just claim our sovereignty but exert it.''

Elections

The cabinet's trip, coming weeks before possible parliamentary elections, helps Harper, 49, project the image of a strong leader who fights for Canadians, said Norman Hillmer, a Carleton University professor in Ottawa specializing in Canada's foreign policy.

Harper is slated to arrive today in Inuvik, population about 3,500, where he'll stay at the MacKenzie Hotel opposite Canada's northernmost traffic light. Before leaving Ottawa, he unveiled a project to map energy and minerals in the region, telling a news conference the known resources are ``merely the tip of the proverbial iceberg.''

On Aug. 28, he'll meet at the hotel with his 13-member core cabinet.

Tomorrow, Harper crosses the treeless permafrost on a Hercules C130 military transport plane to tour Tuktoyaktuk, an Inuit community on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. The next day he makes an announcement on national security.

``Every so often, Canadians get seized of the north,'' said Hillmer. ``It comes to the front of our minds mostly when it seems threatened. It seems to be threatened at the moment.''

Overlapping Claims

The five Arctic nations have sought to ease the tension. At a two-day summit in Greenland in May, they agreed to work for an ``orderly settlement'' of any conflicting claims.

Canadian Natural Resource Minister Gary Lunn said at a Madrid conference in July that overlapping claims ``will be minimal,'' while Margaret Hayes, director of the State Department's Bureau of Oceans, Environment and Science, told reporters Aug. 11 that Russia's territorial assertions aren't ``intruding'' on U.S. interests.

``I don't think we're ever going to have a battle up in the Arctic, at least I hope not,'' Paul Cellucci, a former U.S. ambassador to Canada, said in a telephone interview. ``I think these determinations are going to have to be made in some sort of a legal framework and I think ultimately the Russians will understand that as well.''

`Oil and Gas'

Under the United Nations Law of the Sea convention, the economic rights of countries on the Arctic Ocean extend 320 kilometers from their shores. They can base claims on the reach of their continental shelf, creating the potential for overlapping stakes.

``This is an instance when science has tangible geopolitical consequences,'' Mikhail Flint, said deputy director of ecology at the Institute of Oceanology of the Russian Academy of Sciences. ``In this case everything is related to oil and gas.''

The combination of rising temperatures and soaring oil prices is fueling the urgency of the land rush.

The region is warming about twice as fast as the global average, the UN's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change said in a report last year. The fabled Northwest Passage, a shortcut between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, opened this year for only the second time in recorded history.

Retreating Ice

The retreat of the ice may allow oil companies to explore the deepest parts of the Arctic Ocean year-round as petroleum- rich nations in the Middle East, Latin America and the former Soviet Union restrict access to reserves.

The Arctic may hold 90 billion barrels of oil, more than the proven reserves of Nigeria, Kazakhstan and Mexico combined, and enough to supply the U.S. for more than a decade, the U.S. Geological Survey said in July.

The Russians aren't the only worry for Canada. The U.S. contests Canada's sovereignty over the Northwest Passage, which could shrink travel between Shanghai and New Jersey by 7,000 kilometers, and the two are disputing a sliver of water just north of Alaska.

Building a military and civilian presence in the region is key to Canadian control of its Arctic resources, officials say.

``I don't believe we should be out there assuming the others don't want to cooperate,'' said former Prime Minister Paul Martin, 69, Harper's predecessor, in a telephone interview. ``But if that occurs, then we should be able to respond very quickly.''

To contact the reporter on this story: Theophilos Argitis in Inuvik, Northwest Territories at targitis@bloomberg.net.

Last Updated: August 26, 2008 13:36 EDT

---

EU prepares Arctic action plan as ice melts[fr][de]

Published: Thursday 11 September 2008

EU Fisheries and Maritime Affairs Commissioner Joe Borg announced that Brussels is preparing proposals to safeguard the Arctic, a region on the front line of global warming and increasingly at the centre of sovereignty conflicts. He was speaking at a three-day Arctic conference in Ilulissat, Greenland, which ended today (11 September).

The action plan will cover three broad fronts: measures aimed at safeguarding the Arctic and its ecosystem, promoting the sustainable use of resources and addressing "the broader question of governance," Borg said.

Speaking to EurActiv, a Commission spokesperson explained that the EU was not about to press for new international legislation for the Arctic, but rather for "enhanced cooperation between the interested parties". But he was careful not to rule out new legislation at a later stage.

"We are not convinced either that we need, or we don't need, new legislation" with respect to maritime routes, fishing and access to resources, he said. A clearer picture may emerge following an EU conference on the Arctic (scheduled to take place in Monaco on 9 November) and a Commission Communication on the Arctic Region to be published afterwards, he explained.

In fact, this is the first time that the EU has been invited to such a conference, organised by the Nordic Council of Ministers (Denmark, Finland, Sweden, Norway and Iceland). The EU's interest in the Arctic stems from the challenges of climate change as well as from new opportunities to draw upon the wealth of untapped natural resources in the region. The Union was represented in Ilulissat by Commissioner Borg, a vice president of the European Parliament and a French ambassador representing the EU Presidency.

Russia not the issue

Asked if the EU saw this as an occasion to respond to Russia's planting of its flag on the seabed of the North Pole, the Commission representative made clear that the conference was not a response to events, but rather a response to climate change.

Russia was represented at the conference by an ambassador-at-large, but Commission representatives left Greenland before he made his contribution and did not have bilateral contact with him.

Canada and US warn of possible conflict

Canadian Foreign Minister David Emerson recently expressed concern about illegal overflights of Canadian airspace by Russian jets, adding that his country treats such actions in the context of recent Russian actions in Georgia.

Similar concerns were expressed yesterday by a senior US coastguard commander. Speaking to the BBC, Rear Admiral Gene Brooks, in charge of the coastguard's vast Alaska region, appealed for a diplomatic deal to be struck, warning of a risk of conflict in the Arctic unless disputes over international borders are solved.

Hey dudes, let's move to Butthole, drink Lysol and do suicide by cop.

Top of the morning gents,

Busy fucking day for you boys in blue. Righting flipped planes, chasing down burnt toast big game guides and popping retarded natives hopped up on some really delicious Lysol and hairspray. Yum.

I also read about a numb nut melee in Fairbanks, bunch of fucking punks think it's real smart to punch cops. Poor Tilmer Black. Real reservation bag of red scroat took a pounding that gives me hard nipples and a drippy dick just reminisciong of my years with peers beating jailed ice coons.
Fun. Fun. Some days it just don't pay to be nice. Gents, just shoot first, swap ID's later. Fuck all.

If the scumbag runs, then do a Tina Schaeffer and shoot the fleeing pustule squarely between the back pockets. Buckwheats with hollow point fart hammers and blast off dick rockets with airborne salty smoked nuts. No shit. That psycho bitch shot Jim Lee up his fleeing ass and also vaporized his goonie goo-goos.

My fellow smokers out here in this cat box, our imaginations can't make up shit like this. Alaskans always pull a Nike and just fucking do it. Hats off to cunt psyche Tina Shaeffer. She gets a surprise case of herpe blisters and a hand gun, then her fucking married boyfriend (deceased Jim Lee) tells her that she better get a DVPO (domestic violence protective order ye morons) cuz he's coming to kill her. Wow. Real Kotzebue romance with both eyes black and hickeys all over puckered purple blisters herpetic.

If a dude gaped me with a spiked dose of ignorant sperm and genital herpes, I'd go cunt psyche Schaeffer in a Sisoliq minute.

We all get what's coming to us. Ross now gotta virus speading rut mongoloid fer a bitch daughter and the guy that gave it to her got three 357 magnum hollow points through the groin, breast and trachea: all back to front whilst running away from the mangy Eskimo biscuit toating the revolver.

Read what bullshit you poor boys in blue gotta put up with. Later piggers.

Karluk puk nigluk.


---

Location: Talkeetna
Case Number: 08-76139
Type: Aircraft Crash Fatality/Injury

Location: Talkeetna

Case number: 08-76139

Type: Aircraft Crash Fatality/Injury ...

Original Text: On 9/11/08 at 0331 hours, AST received a report from Rescue Coordination Center stating that a super cub with tail number N7174K took off from Talkeetna Airport on 9/10/08 at 1600 hours with two people on board.
Investigation revealed that the pilot, 48 year old Frank Dinello of Big Lake, took off from Talkeetna with plans to take a hunter to a location approximately 40 miles east of Talkeetna, and then return to Talkeetna to take another hunter to the same camp. Dinello never returned for the second hunter. Aerial resources were dispatched to the area, but had to turn back due to weather. The Civil Air Patrol was able to start searching this morning, and was able to locate the crash site for the super cub. Dinello was located and was deceased at the scene.
The search continues for the first hunter. The next of kin has been notified for Dinello.

--UPDATE--

Text: The Rescue Coordination Center search efforts continued
into the night of 9/11/08, until a helicopter crew spotted the missing
man about 5 miles from the scene of the aircraft crash. It was determined
that Mel Morton, age 51 of Eagle, Idaho had actually been in the single
engine aircraft when it had crashed on 9/10/08. He extinguished the flames on his clothing and the clothing of the pilot after impact. Morton then performed CPR on the pilot for several minutes in an effort to revive him but was unsuccessful. Morton spent the first night huddled under one of the wings of the aircraft and the next morning began hiking towards a camp he believed some other hunters occupied about 10 miles away. After only getting one-half way there, the injuries to his left hand and leg was so painful he stopped. He lit a fire to attempt to get warm and remained at that location until the rescue helicopter spotted him. Morton was airlifted to Providence Hospital where he is being treated for his burn injuries. Morton indicated he has been working as an assistant guide for the pilot, Frank Dinello, for several years.


Author: AJA2

---

C Detachment



Location: Dillingham

Case Number: 08-76728

Type: Aircraft Accident- Damage only

Text: On 9/12/08, Dillingham based Alaska State Troopers responded to a
private air strip just outside of the Dillingham City limits after an
aircraft accident was reported. A Cessna 207 had flipped onto its back
just off the end of the runway. No one was injured. Due to an ongoing
NTSB investigation, troopers will release no further information at this
time.

Author: DJB0

Received Saturday, September 13, 2008 9:13 AM and posted Saturday, September 13, 2008 9:16 AM

---


Location: Bethel
Case number: 08-76815
Type: Officer Involved Shooting - Bethel Police Department


Text: On Sept. 12th, 2008 at approximately 2238 hrs AST in Bethel was
contacted by the Chief of the Bethel Police Department and advised of an
Officer involved shooting that had just occurred in the city of Bethel.
The Bethel Police Department requested that AST conduct the investigation into the shooting. Initial investigation revealed that the Bethel Police Department responded to a residence Ptarmigan Rd in Bethel to a report of a distraught male with a weapon. Subsequent to their arrival the male subject came onto the porch of the residence, brandishing a rifle. He was ordered to drop the weapon and instead pointed the rifle at one of the Bethel Police Officers. Bethel Police fired at the male subject and he was struck. EMS was called to the scene and the victim was transported to the Bethel Hospital where he was subsequently pronounced dead. The male subject was identified as Evan E. WILLIAMS Jr, 34 years old of Bethel. Alcohol was a factor in this incident and next of kin have been advised.



The investigation is continuing by Bethel AST and an Anchorage based ABI
investigator.


Author:CSM0
Received Saturday, September 13, 2008 12:13 PM and posted Saturday, September 13, 2008 12:26 PM

---

Location: Fairbanks


Case number: 08-76795



Type: Assault on a Peace Officer, and Resisting Arrest


Text: On 09-12-08 AST responded to a fight at Lathrop High School while
assisting FPD with the large fight. While attempting to break up the
fight a 16 yoa male struck a Trooper in the face and continued to fight
with Troopers while being arrested. The 16 yoa was arrested and charges
forwarded to Juvenile Justice.


Author: TAM1
Received Saturday, September 13, 2008 10:13 AM and posted Saturday, September 13, 2008 10:31 AM

Okay, who let the chicken hawks out? Newsflash: Barrow a gomer magnet.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm getting paranoid. Is my infectious and sick humor merely hot air and runny bullshit or are we chuckling at aspects of arctic existence?

In just the last week, our local cop shop has been racing about serving warrants up the fucking ass. Lots of dipfucks getting cuffed and thumped for Failure to Appear and lots more dickweeds entangled in our Eskimo marijuana mafia.

When cops offer Get Out of Jail Free Cards to any chirping bird, the domino effect sends ripples of green shit through our collective village ass paint buckets.

The new twist in arrestive fever includes child poachers and baby gomers.

No shit. Like speeding tickets at the Indy 500, our NS brown shirts are picking up baby rapers faster'n selling shit to Eskimos and freezers to cow pastures. Adii, Slysdexia Karluk Puq Nigluq.

Whatever dudes. Since when were Alaska Piss Officers supposed to pick up and persecute the incontinent rights of infant splitters?

Take a peek below at the HUMONGOUS list of warrants and indictments our much beloved AST, ABI, NSPSO dick skinners punched out just this last week.

"Feeling better?"

"Better get me a bucket, I'm going to fucking puke!" (Monty Python). Same bat time. Same bat channel.

Inupiaqoochuk Attigignik seems to include children AND white trash losers.

---

Location: Prudoe Bay & Wasilla

Case number: 08-29709

Type: Possession of Child Pornography Investigation, Indictment

Text: In October, 2006, the Alaska Bureau of Investigation, Computer and
Financial Crime Unit (ABI CFCU) was asked by the North Slope Borough
Police Department to assist them in the investigation of Rheuben Morgan,
age 62 of Wasilla. During this time period, a USB thumb drive was found
outside of a Doyon Security vehicle in Prudoe Bay. The thumb drive was
searched and found to contain child pornography. The CFCU conducted and
examination of the thumb drive, as well as Morgan's laptop computer,
which was seized from his room on the North Slope. Many images of child
pornography were found during the search.

On 9-4-08, a Barrow Grand Jury indicted Morgan on 20 counts of
Possession of Child Pornography. Morgan was issued a summons to appear
in court.

Author:DJD2
Received Friday, September 05, 2008 9:05 AM and posted Friday, September 05, 2008 9:41 AM

---

Eielson airman gets prison, demotion for child porn possession
By Staff report

Published Thursday, September 4, 2008

FAIRBANKS — A 23-year-old senior airman on Eielson Air Force Base was convicted last week of possessing child pornography, a military spokesman confirmed Wednesday.

Jeremy Scott Russell was sentenced in a military court to a year in a prison.

He was demoted to basic airman and is being dishonorably discharged, according to Eielson spokesman Lt. Frank Hartnett.

“He will be confined in a military facility,” Hartnett said.

Sgt. Ron Tidler of the Anchorage Police Department said Russell was accused of trading child pornography on the Internet.

Tidler heads a statewide cyber crimes task force.

Russell’s computer was seized in 2006, but civilian authorities handed off the case to military authorities for adjudication, Tidler said.

---

North Slope worker wanted by police

Anchorage Daily News

Published: September 5th, 2008 01:43 AM
Last Modified: September 5th, 2008 02:10 AM

Police are looking for a North Slope worker wanted on charges of possessing child pornography, according to the Alaska Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force.

Jess Peacock, 24, of Barrow, is wanted on a $25,000 warrant issued Tuesday for two counts of possessing child pornography, Anchorage police detective Sgt. Ron Tidler said.

An investigation revealed that Peacock was downloading pornographic images while at work at the Kuparak oil field camp, Tidler said. Officers working with Conoco Phillips officials in June discovered a laptop computer in his quarters that was in the process of downloading child porn, Tidler said.

A forensic examination of the computer and other evidence was completed Tuesday and a judge issued a warrant for his arrest, he said.

Police think Peacock might be in the North Slope Borough or possibly the Fairbanks area. Anyone with information about his whereabouts is asked to call police at 907-786-8900.

Freak accidents are neither. Tragic events? Yup. Can you see where I'm going with this?

Top of the morning gents,

You all assisted on a shit load of ambulance calls but
ain't none of ye seen someone get stuck on a pool
drain.

"I'm melting!" (Wicked Witch West)

I ain't talking a face plant on the super sucker at
the bottom of Lynnwood YMCA or the Yost Pool, I'm
talking about a kid spin-cycling downward slamming on
the bottom of a swimming pool ASS first. Vlad the
Impaler ain't got shit on this one.

For you fuckheads that graduated from Alaska Public
Schools, our old buddy Vlad the Y1K Terrorist put a
stick up yer ass and foisted ye 20 feet in the air
just to watch ye gape down the flag pole, aboriginal
man-vagina first. No cat butt grease neither and yer
teeth and brains spiral up above yer head.

Whole cities were left crucified inside out. Shit
worked and scared all the Normans and Norsemen to a
halt, then do a fucking reverse 180 Rockford.

I wonder if Pink Floyd speculated baby butts and guts
churned awash through the "icy waters running
underground." (Astronomy Domine) Pool drains are just
like a small hole in the shell of an airplane at high
altitude. Shit gets sucked out like watery discharge.

Me and Cully loaded lots of gimps onto the railroad
tracks just to watch 'em flip like fish. What us
serial killers most wish to impress upon our flailing
victims and sperm dumps: is a moment of no hope.

I've frequently sucked pussy so hard I caved in a
bitch's head. Some biscuit I sucked on right inside
the pools I was employed as a lifeguard, swim
instructor and locker room womb stretcher. I never
thought to drown strippers and plant 'em twat first on
a pool drain.

When Drug Dealer Finn has keys to a large public
swimming pool, all his best friends also have a
private pool to swim around after hours whilst REALLY
high on LSD.

Me and Cully loaded up the vans and carted whole
parties to the Lynnwood YMCA to immerse in an Olympic
sized flotation device with Pink Floyd and Tangerine
Dream ambience and lysergic acid screaming in our
eyes. None of us lost our guts to the drain monster at
the bottom of the pool, just lots of brain cells.

Scandinavian miscreants can afford to lose them. AFN
dudes, I Ain't Fucking Native, but I sure could use an
Industrial cunt sucker on all my game meat I butcher.

What a ral gud idea: bun could drop caribou, whale and
walrus ass on draining swimming pools. Addiiga
nigluk-me, SUPER clean iingallocks! Wake up fucks,
this slaughter house abortion vacuum would invariably
make my "drite meet" and "tunnik punniktuk" chores
easier. WAY easier: no shit all over my counters and
floors.

If I could do a draining pool ass drop on all my
shitty game meats, I wouldn't have to gross out and
drool acid every time I gotta pull out fetal land and
sea mammals. I'd probably get slapped by grandma Mag
cuz she "sure like to eat baby caribou still inside."

"Armik deep oochuk tootoolak" Bunnik Grammik tunnik
oossik grimmer.

I still get a boner when really old women beat me:
real young ones too. If you need Viagra, yer still
married. Whiskey dicks are blind as one eyed mice. God
invented whiskey so that ugly women get laid.

"Nair ray veech pickled baby whale-tuk?" "Ah bun, we
sure eat unborn baby whale in Pt. Hope ah?" I'm
thinking Arby's. Or maybe rank doksibuq clooch
biscuit.

Fuck that's gross.

I'll eat Irish pickled pig trotters and Finnish blood
sausage (intestines packed with reindeer blood, oats
and chopped gonads), but I ain't ever put nikkipaq in
my mouth. Shit tastes like black girl pussy, but don't
stink as awful as Trudy Kenworthy shooting ping-pong
balls at ye.

Most cultures just can't digest bovine tundra
afterbirth nor sea mammal butt pussy on Pilot
Crackers. But our wives sure could all right.

Nullick me in the goat ass. As soon as I wash my
bottom and penis ral gud, I can only speak niglikme
tunnik. I sure need a fucking shower. My dick is
telling me I gotta "scrape crust." (Spanky)

Officer Ramoth once told me that native love is 2
black eyes and a hickey. Something wrong here, all us
white niggers ever ended up with is 2 blue eyes and
herpes.

I get it. Us 50-year-old interracially married Casper
coons have dicks so young, they break out periodically
with acne. Actually, my frequent STD's are from
driving farm equipment with a rotten tampon punked in
my dick hole.

Yer all a bunch of fucking fart hammers, graying
gunslingers and dick skinners too.

Read my 2 attached articles. Then gag, choke and puke.


---

Girl, 6, Dies From Swimming Pool Injury
By DOUG GLASS – 1 hour ago

MINNEAPOLIS (AP) — A 6-year-old girl whose intestines
were partially sucked out by a swimming pool drain,
leading to tougher safety legislation, has died, her
family's attorney said Friday.

Abigail Taylor's parents were with her when she died
Thursday at Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha, where
she had surgery in December to receive a new small
bowel, liver and pancreas several months after she was
injured.

She suffered setbacks, including a cancerous condition
sometimes triggered by organ transplants, family
attorney Bob Bennett said.

A hospital spokeswoman, Kara Haworth, confirmed
Abigail's death but said that she could not comment
further and that Abigail's doctors were not available
Friday.

Abigail, of Edina in the suburban Twin Cities, was
injured June 29 when she sat on a wading pool drain at
the Minneapolis Golf Club in the suburb of St. Louis
Park; its powerful suction ripped out part of her
intestinal tract.

Her parents, Scott and Katey Taylor, lobbied for
tougher regulations to help prevent similar injuries,
and in December, President Bush signed a law that bans
the manufacture, sale or distribution of drain covers
that don't meet anti-entrapment safety standards.

The legislation, the Virginia Graeme Baker Pool and
Spa Safety Act, is named for another victim, the
7-year-old granddaughter of former Secretary of State
James Baker. She drowned at a graduation party in
2002, when the suction from a drain pinned her.

Sen. Amy Klobuchar, D-Minn., called the girl "an
inspiration for change" who prodded pool-safety
legislation that had gone nowhere for years.

"I visited her in the hospital, and she just had this
incredible spunk, and was very focused on wanting to
get this bill through Washington," Klobuchar said.

Bennett said the Taylors wouldn't be available to
comment Friday. In November, the family sued the golf
club and Sta-Rite Industries, the pool equipment
manufacturer owned by Pentair of Golden Valley.

Gretchen Koehn, president of the Minneapolis Golf
Club's executive committee, sent a note to club
members notifying them of Abigail's death. The club's
"hearts and prayers" go out to the Taylor family, she
wrote.

Associated Press writers Brian Bakst, Chris Williams
and Frederic J. Frommer contributed to this report.

http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5iOrEG1rhl1_xMmz10FLwJqvP4iJAD8VI1NPO3

---

Girl Harmed by Pool Drain Last Year Has Died
By Alice Turner
March 21st 2008

Abigail Taylor, the six year old girl whose intestines
were sucked out by a pool drain, has died Thursday
evening at a Nebraska hospital. She had surgery to
receive a new small bowel, liver and pancreas, but
complications from the transplant occurred. She was
injured June 29 when suction from a pool drain she sat
on ripped out her entrails at the Minneapolis Golf
Club in the suburb of St. Louis Park.

Her parents, Scott and Katey Taylor, pushed for
legislation to prevent such accidents in the future.
Last December, Congress approved legislation to ban
the manufacture, sale or distribution of drain covers
that don't meet anti-entrapment safety standards.

"They have held up and been held up for such a tough,
tough road. I just feel terrible for them," said State
Sen. Geoff Michel to AP after the news of Abigail's
death broke.

She is not the only child hurt by poorly designed pool
drains. The 7-year old granddaughter of former
Secretary of State James Baker drowned in a swimming
pool in 2002, after she was pinned by a drain.
Subsequent pressure led to the Virginia Graeme Baker
Pool and Spa Safety Act.

© 2007 - 2008 - eFluxMedia

http://www.efluxmedia.com/news_Girl_Harmed_by_Pool_Drain_Last_Year_Has_Died_15423.html

---

I'm such a fucking idiot. At this moment, I shant beg to differ.

Top of the morning gents,

I am such a dummy. Being a FIRM believer in fuel
additives like HEET, GUM-OUT, STP etc, I assumed my
car, sno-go, kahmoon, and wheeler also had a Viking's
appetite for John Barley Corn (ethanol, liquor). Ain't
happening fuckheads.

Laugh it up faggots, but it turns out that ethanol has
a LOT of water content that is impossible to remove
and rapidly absorbs atmospheric moisture at an
alarming rate. Hence impossible to pump through
pipelines.

Like yer author on drugs (and a moron) I too thought
that since I had a thirst for Jim Beam so great it
cast its own shadow, my Chevy 350 V-8 would chow
major on booze. "I was wrong." (Ron White)

My dog is named Chevy. My wife is named Chevy too.
I'm a mud farmer. And ignorant. "Ye can't fix stupid."

Call me a dumbass, I'll believe anything. A farmer
once told me that his daughter got the clap from
riding in a farm tractor: in her swim suit. Remember,
I'm a mud-grown turd cruncher from Washington so I cut
out his pacemaker and fucked him in the hole. Ted
Bundy was a pussy.

Yup. All the booze we're gonna pump in our E85 farm
Fag-Fuel burners has to be trucked, thus fucking us
Alaskans. I was gonna sell buckets that E85 here on
the Arctic Coast for Eskimos to drink.

Peace out oochuk boys.

Fuck that sounded dumb. I sure ain't coon enough for
ghetto-nupiaq.

I clipped this Alaskan related article cuz I think I
just got my shit straightened out by a fucking genius.
A black genius too.

The best cure for racism and sexism is excellence.

Karlukpuq Nigluq

---

The great corn and ethanol hoax
By WALTER E. WILLIAMS

One of the many mandates of the Energy Policy Act of
2005 calls for oil companies to increase the amount of
ethanol mixed with gasoline.

President Bush said, during his 2006 State of the
Union address, "America is addicted to oil, which is
often imported from unstable parts of the world."

Let's look at some of the "wonders" of ethanol as a
replacement for gasoline.

Ethanol contains water that distillation cannot
remove. As such, it can cause major damage to
automobile engines not specifically designed to burn
ethanol. The water content of ethanol also risks
pipeline corrosion and thus must be shipped by truck,
rail car or barge. These shipping methods are far more
expensive than pipelines.

Ethanol is 20 to 30 percent less efficient than
gasoline, making it more expensive per highway mile.
It takes 450 pounds of corn to produce . . .

(cont'd from front page) the ethanol to fill one SUV
tank. That's enough corn to feed one person for a
year.

Plus, it takes more than one gallon of fossil fuel —
oil and natural gas — to produce one gallon of
ethanol. After all, corn must be grown, fertilized,
harvested and trucked to ethanol producers — all of
which are fuel-using activities.

And, it takes 1,700 gallons of water to produce one
gallon of ethanol. On top of all this, if our total
annual corn output were put to ethanol production, it
would reduce gasoline consumption by 10 or 12 percent.

Ethanol is so costly that it wouldn't make it in a
free market. That's why Congress has enacted major
ethanol subsidies, about $1.05 to $1.38 a gallon,
which is no less than a tax on consumers. In fact,
there's a double tax — one in the form of ethanol
subsidies and another in the form of handouts to corn
farmers to the tune of $9.5 billion in 2005 alone.

There's something else wrong with this picture. If
Congress and President Bush say we need less reliance
on oil and greater use of renewable fuels, then why
would Congress impose a stiff tariff, 54 cents a
gallon, on ethanol from Brazil? Brazilian ethanol, by
the way, is produced from sugar cane and is far more
energy efficient, cleaner and cheaper to produce.

Ethanol production has driven up the prices of
corn-fed livestock, such as beef, chicken and dairy
products, and products made from corn, such as
cereals. As a result of higher demand for corn, other
grain prices, such as soybean and wheat, have risen
dramatically.

The fact that the U.S. is the world's largest grain
producer and exporter means that the ethanol-induced
higher grain prices will have a worldwide impact on
food prices.

It's easy to understand how the public, looking for
cheaper gasoline, can be taken in by the call for
increased ethanol usage. But politicians, corn farmers
and ethanol producers know they are running a cruel
hoax on the American consumer. They are in it for the
money.

The top leader in the ethanol hoax is Archer Daniels
Midland (ADM), the country's largest producer of
ethanol. Ethanol producers and the farm lobby have
pressured farm state congressmen into believing that
it would be political suicide if they didn't support
subsidized ethanol production. That's the stick.
Campaign contributions play the role of the carrot.

The ethanol hoax is a good example of a problem
economists refer to as narrow, well-defined benefits
versus widely dispersed costs. It pays the ethanol
lobby to organize and collect money to grease the
palms of politicians willing to do their bidding
because there's a large benefit for them — higher
wages and profits.

The millions of gasoline consumers, who fund the
benefits through higher fuel and food prices, as well
as taxes, are relatively uninformed and have little
clout.

After all, who do you think a politician will invite
into his congressional or White House office to have a
heart-to-heart — you or an Archer Daniels Midlands
executive?

*Walter E. Williams is a professor at George Mason
University at Fairfax, Va. His column is distributed
by Creators Syndicate Inc., 5777 W. Century Blvd.,
Suite 700, Los Angeles, CA 90045; (310) 337-7003.

Natives sure hate the N-word. Happy Saint Patrick's Day mates, read foul and have a drink on me.

Top of the morning gents,

I gotta quote a dear old friend from my childhood.

"Shit, fuck, bitch, cunt!"

Yup, that's Frank Empfield's modification of Gordy
Kelly's "Jesus Fuck!" and "Fat Jack is a stinky bitch
cunt."

If ye ever want to hear it again, let Spanky drive yer
car. Observe the physic trauma of yer detuned
undercarriage and suspension and those words will come
out yer pie hole. Or green shit will blast forth from
yer butt.

Ya see, us smarter white boys from the Killing Fields
of the Pacific Northwest only swear when surrounded by
loved ones. If your nugger wives are nearby, ye can't
say no native jokes or SLURS, regardless of their
archetypical FAS congenital exposure. Slurred speech
ain’t polite if yer white.

Alcoholism is a genetic disorder that follows family
lineage. Just we ain't supposed to make fun of drunk
monkeys, tard babies, nor fuel soaked darky biscuit.
'Struth, I really ain't married into another family
tree, I thought I saw a wreath and stuck my
wrinkle-free donkey right through the middle of it.
When I pulled out fer more medicines, I looked down at
my big Finn and chuckled Ho, Ho, Ho, Green Giant.

Truth, honesty and swearing are inherently
inseparable. If I ain't radiating fine foul rants,
reads and writes, you ain't my friend. "I'm real
particular who I drink with." (Nick Nolte-Extreme
Prejudice) Why do I lose my best native friends
whenever they sober up?

Just ask any of us squaw boys that rutted in
KikikNigruk darky biscuit. Hence the hilarious neegro
slang, "ye can't turn a whore into a housewife." I mix
metaphors with racism and end up with mud.

Dope or diapers? Fuck it, we're drunk and baked, yet
skating in ice niggershit and iikkee aboriginal
fuckery.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who's the fairest of them
all. You lads. I'm a wigger, yer a wigger. Wouldn't
you like to be a wigger too? (Old Dr. Pepper jingle)

The world is all gone to hell. The world's best golfer
is black. The world's best rapper is white. And a
slave has more voting rights than an albino Norse
abortion.

"Dudes, green beer and green toke." (Janton-KPD
Squadroom-1989) “That’s mighty white of you.” (Clint
Eastwood-Dirty Harry) Besides, we ALL got white dads.

Orders: Celebrate St. Patrick's, get real drunk and
cuss like a white punk on dope. Cuz with a really
clean bottom and penis, it's what you are.

Kiaqpuke Niglik. AK Raper #1. Pretty fucking good
cusser too.

---

Supreme Court to hear FCC appeal of fleeting f-bomb
ruling

By Eric Bangeman Published: March 17, 2008 10:40AM CT

Under the leadership of Chairman Kevin Martin, the
Federal Communications has shown an increasing
willingness to fine broadcasters for indecency. The
Supreme Court has announced that it will step into the
fray, as it will hear the FCC's appeal of an lower
court ruling that barred the agency from fining
broadcasters for "fleeting expletives."

The case dates back to a November 2006 FCC ruling that
fleeting expletives broadcast during prime time
violated indecency and profanity prohibitions. The
swear words in question were uttered by the likes of
Cher and Nicole Richie during the 2002 and 2003
Billboard Music Awards broadcast on Fox. The network
immediately challenged the ruling in court, saying
that the FCC's failure to issue clear standards left
the network unsure what was and was not appropriate.

During the hearing at the US Court of Appeals for the
Second Circuit, the judges seemed skeptical of the
FCC's claims that issuing clear guidance would amount
to censorship. It didn't come as much of a surprise
when the court said that fleeting expletives were okay
in a June 2007 ruling.

In its 2-1 ruling, the court found that the FCC's
policy was "arbitrary and capricious" and that the
Commission failed to "articulate a reasoned basis for
its change in policy." The opinion also raised
questions about whether the FCC's policy would pass
constitutional muster. Martin's response to the
decision was both blunt and furious, as he called the
court "divorced from reality."

The Supreme Court will hear oral arguments next fall
in what will be the first broadcast indecency case
taken by the court in 30 years. That 1978 case, FCC v.
Pacifica Foundation, resulted from a New York radio
station's 1973 airing of George Carlin's "seven dirty
words" routine. There, the Court ruled that the
broadcast was indecent, but not obscene, and gave the
Commission the authority to crack down on indecent
material during hours when children are likely to be
watching TV.

Impetago, measles, mumps, chicken-pox, and God knows what else: we've had it. Mom, touch me, I'm sick.

Top of the morning gents,

Old-fashioned farts is us. We got Indun sick when we
were kids: so what. We ain't bitching. We can't bitch,
aside from our own dark skinned wives and less wit
children, we fucking ain't minority buttfuckers.

Perma-white devils like us deserve every fucking
illness and virus on the planet, cuz we're white. And
to mutate and transmit the virus that finally
eliminates us lot: drunk assholes, jerk-offs and bar
fly smart-assess.

Bun says I ain't just white trash, I'm SUPER white
trash.

Go native? Nup, fuck you and eat my koomucks. When I
paid the magnum child a hunnert bucks for each and
every 'A' on her report card, her half-primate
half-FAS half-sister taunted her with the well worn
Inupiaq reservation mantra and common sense: "trying
to be white." And meant it.

Fuck me running. Since when was being clever and
bright, such a bad thing for dark eyed mongoloids like
our nugger children?

Yup, that's us. Our smartness hinges on skin hue and
hence the definition of the word 'primitive cultures'.
Get it? Primate cultures infecting our dumber darker
wives: for us to dissect and piss on. Plus you got
your pick of biscuit-proofed with a large number of
tard vil chitlins that look an AWFUL lot like yer ass.
You porno monkey fuckers’ offspring represent the
entire rainbow of skin color, dick size and brain
power: In a non-gay, yet FAS criminal way. I checked
the criminal records of all yer kids-REAL criminal
genius midget fucks. Genius skips generations and cop
kids are shit.

Alas, during this millennium, us fair-skinned fairies
might be the sharpest tools in the toolbox, but we're
the palest neegroes, so our intelligence is unfairly
weighted towards the normal ape butt. Meaning dumber
down over there young man or we'll dye yer hair and
Special Ed yer European hide darker. Adii, you can
lead an Indun girl to Vassar, but you cannot make her
think.

Fuck me. If I lied and checked off one just ONE of the
mud race boxes on my UAF entrance exams, I'd be as
smart as a whole solar system. Up Chuck U alumnus with
super high-test scores: fuck me in the goat ass, I'm
non-native, non-neegro, non-hispanic and non-femTwat.
Dudes, the way I see it, all you white motherfuckers
qualify as "non-everything." Yer diet, unleaded and
free of dyes and perfumes. Ghost plain and white ass
shiny albino motherfuckers: non-everything makes ye
100% alien. My Siberian wife swears that an alien
invasion requires billions of transparent demonic
white folks. Silver skinned niger mukes with honker
mud flaps and no end to their glow in the dark dicks.
My squaw is smarter than yers. I bought her on a
Wednesday.

My Uncle Charlie told me that eating nuveevuks,
puturooks and mingeoks were aboriginal intoxicants
like blue mice. Well if that were the case we'd be
like our inlaws tripping balls and crapping in a
bucket. But no getting high on micro-toxins, I just
suck down RSV and village influenza like discharge on
an oyster shell. Hep A, Herp 007, staff infections,
virulent spittle and cut skin MRSA combat has been and
SHALL be visited upon yer sick pale devil hide.
“Stupid fucking white man.” (Mr. Sparrow-UAF). We sick
vil fuckers get the shit don't we?

We lost our Arctic Sounder Editor to devastating
illness. Expatriate syndrome dudes: Croatian malaria,
Serb. pox, Chechnya TB or anything else ye all snorted
up your donkey spitters. He's in a better place now. A
place called Portland.

Imagine adding Alaska or Africa to all yer hunnert
fucking STD inoculations, now that would be a resume
booster. Y'all survived the plague merely losing only
75% of your family tree to lethal rings ‘round posies.
Northern European surviving descendants of the plague
also share immunity to HIV. So fuck it, let’s go to
Africa and bring home some serious nationwide nuclear
Indun killers. Just like old times. Dudes, the grim
reaper got serious dick.

Commander Craig suffered years of Hep medicines from
the NANA region and advised me to avoid airborne
sputum, sneeze rain and anal spittle. At all cost.
Good jailer advice.

I got shit soaked a hunnert fucking times cutting down
suicides with Fields, Ramoth, Mashburn and Kosloff and
lugging shot dogs for you gun happy KPD AST maniacs.
Until you get shit soaked wrestling with a leaker,
like mouth to mouth on a dead bitch: Craig’s advice
seems moot and redundant.

Pussy responders now got bile and vomit masks: fuck me
running. Over the last 30 shitty years I sure spit out
a lot of other nigger’s bitter puke out my pie hole. I
done MORE mouth to mouth on choke and puke dead people
than all of ye. I can revive crack whores and natives.
My Siberian Mrs. has watched me breathe life back into
a hunnert sick bitches. She’ll swear, “Fucking Jesus
ain’t got nothing on Karluk.” No shit, if Trox or the
Shackles ain’t ‘round, call me and bun. That is,
provided you unintentionally shot yer Indun wife.

Before moving to KikikNigRunt to addict legion, I ran
a crack house. If you go all buckwheat on us and you
shoot yer wife, you get to suck yer own round out her
ass. If ye just need 7-Lakes disposal, call me before
the dogs begin to smell her.

It sure feels good to feel good: know what I mean Lem?
I fucking wasted 2+ weeks of perfectly good bitch cold
freezer walks and talks: fucking dying from the flu
like a midget runt Indun snuggled up in Abe Lincoln's
custom sick pox blankies. Flu so painful ye wished to
be a good Indun and just fucking die.

Once way back a few years in Mountlake Terrace, me,
Higbitch and Troyous caught a really awful nasty flu
from horking down bong rips with only 311 other drug
addicts. Fucking felt like Kobuk AIDS. Being barely
over the drinking age, that flu truly killed small
children, so we were glad to get over that one. Not
pretty. We threw up in our mush, so to speak.

Some Edmonds strains of lung virals almost kilt us
rural mud fuckers with raging temperatures and
herpetic blistering. Diseases with genitally
disfiguring symptoms that made drug dealing a bitch.

"Could it be I had the flu for Christmas, cuz I'm not
feeling up to par." Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.
All of us virally infected sick albino fuck wads were
comparing levels of aspirin, cold remedies,
liquor/cocaine cough syrup and vitamin content in our
runny shits.

I needed sauna, so I unrolled a futon pad in the grow
room, disabled the timers, killed the exhaust fan,
then sprayed all the plants with plain tap water and a
few granulars of Miracle Grow.

For a week I let that stadium lamp cook. No shit, I
baked my ass for an unknown number days in a 24 hour a
day super bright fucking BC tanning salon. My remedial
fertilizer was homemade 7% solution.

I’m lying. Like a hunnert returning Rip Van Winkles
with AIDS, Dennis and Marto had a get well soon
Herp/Hep/TB party and for days, served up to an 8-ball
of slag and left over drugs dissolved in one fifth of
101 proof Turkey. We were so sick we couldn’t smoke
shit. We couldn’t snort medication if we wanted to
neither. But addii, we could sure drink ah bart? Yoy.

So the basturd bartenders: Marto and Dennis helped the
universe plagued with a delicious patent snake oil
poison remedy recycling leftover crack, free-base cake
and sick powdered toot serving it all right back to
sick Puget Sound drug dealers mixed in hard liquor. If
cocaine came in soda pop, why not in LOTS of aged corn
liquor?

To avoid disclaimer suits, I'm almost 50 and viruses
mutate as fast as my drug habit. Rubella, mumps
whatever, liquor and cocaine-shaken not stirred-works,
so kiss my dick.

Bacterial and viral attacks shorten organ life almost
as fast as alcoholism and nicotine exposure, which
means we fuckers suffered like miserable rasty rat
fucks. Give it a name, but this new “Brisbane 10
Influenza” sounds a lot like Hong Kong Flu or German
measles, but shit, yer still sicker'n a basement full
of dead Lynnwood prostitutes.

In familial tense, hugs and kisses on heaps of sick
natives over at Samuel Simmons Memorial Hospital is
totally acceptable. Ye gotta dig the 'Memorial' part
of the clinic name: its stupid niff code for
"infection connection." Go in for Hep douche, walk out
with Elephant-titis of yer dick. Yup, me too. I know
what all ye been talkin' about, BIA hospitals are
really neato. My viruses ALWAYS win.

At my coaxing, me and bun went in for our annual
10,000 mile tune-up. No faggots, not a pap smear and
mammogram, I call it my 'crap smear and mud flapOgram.
The Doc smashes my gonads till they're flatter'n tits
on a board then takes a lateral x-ray. After the IHS
x-ray tech realized my nuts weren't big hairy tits,
she yelled at me to get outa the OB/Gyn clinic.

Man I got hard at all them naked ladies putting their
hooters in them photo-vices and sitting all cool atop
tables with built-in 'eat me' stirrups. When my BIA
doc requested a sperm, urine and fecal sample, I leapt
about like a Chernobyl ape butt swinging my ugly dick
like a propeller, then pitched my underwear at me doc.
Fuck I'm funny.

Trust me, hang out in a BIA village clinic and hug my
in-laws: you'll look like a house landed on yer
sister.

Anyways. It's good to be healthy again. Now we can do
LOTS of drugs.

At Kiaqpuk’s Nigloo.

PS. Have a drink on me. We got heavy equipment up the
ass. UIC and SKW are building Barrow’s new hospital:
big realty wood dudes. “It’s a beautiful day in my
neighborhood” (Fred Rogers-notorious homo and tunnel
rat).

---

Mumps threatening to make a comeback in Finland


Whilst it is hardly endemic, mumps seems to be making
a bit of a comeback in Finland. Last year, six cases
of mumps were identified, four of which occurred in
September-December, one case per month.

In 2006 and 2005 eight and six cases of mumps were
reported respectively. Before that, however, the
number of annual mumps cases has been considerably
lower. For example, at the turn of the millennium not
one single case was diagnosed.

And this was how it should be, for steps had been
taken to eradicate the illness altogether.

The incidence of mumps started abating when the MPR
vaccine was included in the general immunisation
programme. The MPR vaccine (also sometimes known as
the MMR vaccine) provides immunisation against
Measles, Mumps (Parotitis), and Rubella (German
measles).

The vaccination campaign practically eliminated these
diseases from Finland.

In fact, Finland was the first country in the world to
wipe out these three common childhoos ailments,
Professor Heikki Peltola from the University of
Helsinki notes in his new book on children's health.

"We have no reason to be lulled into thinking that
this pleasant situation will automatically continue,
however. We will only stay clear of measles, mumps,
and rubella if a minimum of 95 percent of the children
are reached year after year and all suspicious cases
are responded to swiftly", Peltola emphasises.

The innocent sounding measles is still a serious
threat to the children of the world. The World Health
Organisation calls it the greatest killer of small
children.

The year before last, it was estimated that 27
children died of measles every hour.

Through vaccination campaigns, though, measles - which
is regarded as one of the most contagious illnesses -
has been got under some sort of control.

In 2000-2006 nearly 500 million children in countries
particularly ravaged by the illness received
immunisation against it.

This resulted in a massive 68-percent reduction in
measles-related deaths. In Africa the percentage was
even higher, 91%.

Mumps is usually contracted when travelling abroad,
says special researcher Irja Davidkin of the National
Public Health Institute. Of those that contracted the
illness last year, only one had been vaccinated
against it. The rest had already passed the infant age
by 1982, when the mass MPR vaccinations were
introduced.

Davidkin points out that the illness is still
extremely rare, even if the number of cases has
increased slightly.

"The situation is still very good, thanks to the good
coverage of the immunisation scheme."

A vaccinated person contracting the illness is
explained by the fact that the MPR vaccine does not
provide as complete protection against mumps as it
does against measles and rubella.

In recent years there have been mumps outbreaks among
those vaccinated against it in the United States and
Canada.

As a consequence, a research team led by Heikki
Peltola looked into the efficiency of various mumps
vaccines. The vaccine used in Finland proved 95-per
cent effective.

"An epidemic may be caused by a virus strain different
from the one that the vaccine was originally developed
against, in which case the protection is not equally
good", Davidkin adds.

Mumps, measles and German measles were commonplace in
Finland into the 1960s - illnesses that practically
all children woulde succumb to, even if they did not
actually manifest clinical symptoms.

Though sometimes dismissed as "childhood infections",
and in most cases passing over with a week or two off
school, these were not innocent or harmless illnesses
by any means, with possible knock-on effects and
complications.

To give a simple example, rubella contracted in early
pregnancy was an indicator that the child might be
born with congenital rubella syndrome (CRS), a range
of serious incurable illnesses.

Equally, measles in adulthood often leads to more
serious complications than among children. Measles is
still a significant cause of child mortality in many
developing countries.

http://www.hs.fi/english/article/Mumps+threatening+to+make+a+comeback+in+Finland/1135233878366

---

The reason us tall alcoholics smile so much is because we can't hear women nor children. Fuck it. We cain't hear slaves neither.

Top of the morning gents,

Fuck! Colder'n a witch's tit, and I covered my 66 days
of total darkness with minimal murder. Minus 73 in
Tok, minus 66 in Northway and only 47 below way up
here north of 70 lat.

You boys are almost home free. We're pert near through
one motherfucker of a winter way the fuck out on this
God foresaken arctic coast. The sun came back, and
fuck me in the goat ass, so did all yer wives.

Here's some good advice from Super Dad from
Unalakleet. He told me that the best way keep sane
during the relentless 9 months of arctic winter "out
here on the rez is to get down with the brown, and
dude, chug mad coffee."

Bright guy: superb arctic metaphor to Franky's "coffee
and bong hits" but with an added clever pun on
inferior skin hues, hoochina tokage and the Eskimo
superstitious fear of sobriety.

Something wrong with me though: I ain't depressed fer
shit, I'm happy as a pig in Juneau. Polar mania is my
lame excuse for GIVING ulcers, instead of receiving
them. Fuck it. I'm as happy as dike in Aushwitz and
even the lesbians in my nightmares are smiling.

Dark winters never bothered me much, cuz I drank
analgesic levels with all you fuckers. We're all so
frickin' dumb: we chose shitty villages with
astronomical suicide, homicide and sexual assault,
then we pickle our mongoloids. Adii, we sure drink
native.

Just to show how fucked I am, I still have flashbacks
of mUtT and jEfF long-dicking Edith Melton. Thanks a
fucking lot, with a thought like that in mind, ain't
none of us gonna git wood till we cart our tit-fill up
to boot hill. And come home alone.

Out here on the arctic coastal shelf I got ZERO Baltic
biscuit to core sample and no Viking ex-wives and
girlfriends to remind me how truly handsome I am. You
darker celt and mick fucks know what I'm talking
about: peach deep sweet and viscous vaginal candy that
don't lock you half way out in the hallway and
dragging yer luggage.

Fuck me running. All I got to jerk off to are
cross-eyed mongoloid neighbors that make Barney
Reuter's children look like smart half-trash trailer
swine. After seeing the Roto-Midol-Rooter tear his
thumbnail picking his wife's nose she won't need to
pierce shit. Word up. There ain't nothing more
depressing that seeing members of your own race living
in filth.

That is unless they're fat, then nobody cares.

My Siberian Mrs. puts a leash on me and takes me for
walks provided I put a face mask on so as not to scare
the neighbors. This transluscent Norseman is about as
welcome on the slope as a nigger in Mississippi. These
inuit coons are smart though, they hate EVERY color o'
negro. Especially NANA 'tard natives like you niggers.
No kidding, y'all best stay in the ghetto where you
live, cuz these frosted tarnukuns hate seeing their
own kind living in filth too.

Glow in the dark super white ghosts and silver devils
are only good on TV, not on the rez porking their
prettiest girls nor hogging up all the slop in their
pig trough.

Bong water seeks it's own level. Meaning you albino
niffs ain't tough enough to live THIS far north.
Matter of fact, I've already bet you Eskimo barley
corn sponges ain't got the nads to last a decade north
of 70 lat. This is a job for Super Man.

The central scrutiziner says we gottoo keep 'em
separated. After me and Mr. Craig bury our wives we
gettoo go play out, but we gotta stick to the white
zone only, cuz the white zone is only for loading and
unloading. Or so Zappa told me. He's alive you know.

Out here in the smoking section of this cat box, we're
seasonally impaired and chemically affected
interracial buttfucker squaw boys. Commander Craig
tells me that there's something truly heartbreaking
about pitching dirt on yer wife.

Yet tragically and despite your 30 years in the Lord's
service way deep in rural Alaska, all you non-negroes
will soon deep freeze yer wives leaving tear stained
Sorrell boot tracks all the way back to the barn you
was born in.

Yup. I'm fucked too. After bun passes I'm making shit
up. When all the old cops down at the Senior Center
ask where bunnik has been all winter, I tell 'em I hid
her shoes.

Like I fucking told ye, this is a job for Super Man.
Make sure you wash yer bottom and penis.

Kiaqpuk Naulami sans Inupiaq Atigiigniq (stinky white
dick with zero aboriginal sense).



PS. Read these 2 clippings

*high pitched sirens to chase off punk ass hoodlums.

*child slave markets in India top 15 million children,
Sudan tops 2 million and Asia top 40 million child
slaves sold annually.

---

Stores use sonic devices to chase kids

By ROBERT BARR Associated Press Writer

LONDON - England's commissioner for children and a
civil liberties group joined in on a campaign Tuesday
to ban high-frequency devices intended to drive
misbehaving children away from shops and other areas.

The so-called "Mosquito" device emits high-frequency
noise which is audible — and annoying — to young ears,
but generally not heard by people over 20.

"This device is a quick fix that does not tackle the
root cause of the problem and it is indiscriminate,"
English Children's Commissioner Al Aynsley-Green said.

The campaigners claim that about 3,500 of the devices,
made by a Welsh company, are in use.

Aynsley-Green said in an interview with British
Broadcasting Corp. radio that the devices do not
tackle the real problem, which is that children have
no place to gather other than on the streets.

"I think it is a powerful symptom of what I call the
malaise at the heart of our society," he said.

"I'm very concerned about what I see to be an emerging
gap between the young and the old, the fears, the
intolerance, even the hatred, of the older generation
toward the young."

Shami Chakrabarti, director of the civil rights group
Liberty, supported the campaign.

"Imagine the outcry if a device was introduced that
caused blanket discomfort to people of one race or
gender, rather than to our kids," Chakrabarti said.
"The 'Mosquito' has no place in a country that values
its children and seeks to instill them with dignity
and respect."

The Mosquito's inventor, Howard Stapleton, has called
for agreement about guidelines for using the devices.

"We tell shopkeepers to use it when they have a
problem and I would be more than happy to introduce a
contract which stipulates to shopkeepers how it can be
used," Stapleton was quoted as telling the Western
Mail newspaper.

"People talk about infringing human rights but what
about the human rights of the shopkeeper who is seeing
his business collapse because groups of unruly
teenagers are driving away his customers?"

___


Industry and Capitalism Halve Child Mortality.

"Economic historian Robert Hessen recently published
"claims of increased misery...[are] based on ignorance
of how squalid life actually had been earlier. Before
children began earning money working in factories,
they had been sent to live in parish poorhouses,
apprenticed as unpaid household servants, rented out
for backbreaking agricultural labor, or became
beggars, vagrants, thieves, and prostitutes (Nutten).
The precapitalist "good old days" simply never
existed"[8]

"The pre-factory age was not a time of happy,
contented kids. From 1730 to 1740, 75 percent of
children in England died before age five. From 1810 to
1829, supposedly the evil age of the factory, infant
mortality fell to 32 percent and would continue to
drop. Capitalism and the industrial revolution gave
youngsters a chance to survive. "[9]

Industries that are packed with child slavery topping
the list are chocolate and dapper haberdashery.

Cotton and silk, ain't the worst bonded child labor
law violators. Slavery by any other name, but India
sells bonded child laborers on an open market. Last
year an estimated 15 million children were negotiated
in India, 2 million in the Sudan and easily ten times
these estimates in Asia and South America where Human
Rights Watch estimates pert near a quarter billion
bonded children are worked to an early grave.

http://hrw.org/children/labor.htm

Smoking bugs and turds in the Industrial, and burning piss at Lem's Mortuary and Crackhouse. Pranks are way kewl dude.

Top of the morning gents,

I love fucking with people. Which means I gotta take
shit and eat it too. Part of the game of "get fucked
up" or in Alaskan parlance, "get fucked over." We all
dun what Archie Ferguson and Charles Frasier (Reggie
Joule's father) announced to the lesser 48: "Please
come to Alaska and breed these people upwards."

That's why yer all here: spread your heaven sent sperm
all over these half-Earthling fucking freezer neegros.
Just imagine how retarded yer half-nugger kids would
look like, if yer dumber wives continued to fool
around within their own aboriginally wreathed family
tree? "Ye can't fix stupid" (Ron White), but we can
breed some brains into most stuttering ice cocoons.

The way agent Octuck explained it, "stupid sticks to
Alaskan bitches like Kiana herpes to a native."
Besides, once ye dunk yer dink in darky pussy, you'll
forever smell like Kudo Kenworthy. Laugh it up
faggots, just look at me. I can't wash that smell off
me fer shit. I even tried to scrub my stinky donkey
with a hunnert white skankies: no avail except the
world is now populated with a hunnert more bitches
that stink worse than second hand Schaeffer pussy.
Remember seeing that nasty gaping oochuk hole in
Sheila Romaine’s head? Why the fuck do you assholes
always make me lug yer corpses to the meat wagon AND
haul yer shot up dogs to the dump?

Fuck me running. Y'all taught me ral gud. You bastards
are the fucking masters of remote arctic public safety
and drug enforcement. Ye also dun learnt me how to
spot village idiots, FAS nugger twat poppers, and
non-sentient dildo buttfucks in a Nutsack minute. All
ye have frequently separated whole flocks of FAS-tards
from their health, wealth and beauty. And their
cervix. “Alaska” in rat speak means, fuck us in the
goat ass.

Wake up fucks. I ain't dumb, I just learnt we're
related to entire communities of cross-eyed,
pockmarked child gomers AND yer fucking jail is full
of 'em. Fart Yukon drunks and Eskimo bake heads create
really dull inutards thus spinning the revolving door
down yonder KPD/KRJ. A veritable SAM's Club of canine
anus and sphincter mashers. Metaphorically speaking of
course. Only thing we humans are left to do. We gettoo
fuck with the retarded.

You see where this article is heading now don't ye?
Okay, on with my Edmonds language tale of abusing
drain bramaged retards like us.

Now imagine wearing yer beards, sportin’ wood,
tripping balls, and drinking like us tall alcoholics.
Now add destructive shred music with Scott Wade, white
Mike Peterson and Cully neutralizing our last
remaining brain cells by means of concussive arpeggios
and fucking Tinitis level sound pressure levels. I
ain’t shitting. Volumes so damn high, yer hard nipples
and drippy dick fucking hurt.

If Callahan loads you a bong hit, dig out the bud to
make sure he didn't load anything surreptitious. He's
notorious for letting unsuspecting dickheads smoke
bugs, flies and wasps. Matter of fact: I seen goat
turd pellets horked down by white niggers that show up
at my mortuary empty handed.

Don't get me wrong, we fucked Callatard back with
karma like me wife, grams and mum: bitchy and unfairly
menstrual. I got his shitty 66 Dodge beater truck to
turn into a monster smoke bomb by running on cooking
oil. His Dodge 318 already had failing oil control
piston rings from a million years of operator
malfunction smoking ‘em in all four gears: neutral
too.

After I poured some good 20W/50 oil in MY car, I
refilled the Mobil 1 synthetic containers with cooking
oil. Lo and behold, around the corning comes a
rumbling beater driven by a hairy ass fuck Mick. He
usually motors by on the way to work at NW Steel
Rolling Mills: swing shift 3pm-12midnight but
detouring to my place-coffee and bong rips.

As usual, Callahan bitched that his leaky smoky junker
was running low on oil and that the oil light came on.
I shrugged and told him to look around Cully's green
van: grab whatever was lying around.

Mike climbed in the green van and spied the oil
containers and yipped happy to snag synthetic oil for
his piece of shit. I smirked like a motherfucker as he
poured that shit down the oil filler cap atop his
junker motor.

When he started up his truck to head off to work, his
beater smoked shitty garbage plumes like all get out.
That piece of shit almost completely disappeared in
its own shit cloud. Y'd think he was already fucking
gone by now, except for lacking mufflers and until he
revved the motor again.

I died laughing, pert near wet my trousers. Callahan's
junker spewing nasty rotten pollution blinding traffic
like a smoke bomb. Fucking gross.

Fun. Fun.

I munched on a sandwich in the old KPD jail once. Not
pretty. Joe Garoutte made me a quick snack from the
kitchen. Real nice guy. I wretched and puked my dick
purple inside Central Dispatch. I had to spit and
chuke in the KPD waste bin cuz he packed 2 pounds of
salt in my sandwich. I suspect he also jizzed in it,
half-runt first turd Nigerians are like that.

Word: don't eat ANYTHING handed to you from a
Kikiknigrunt Half-Citizen, even if really fat jailers
order you bent over for a hat full of bull semen.

Some stereotypes DO come with guarantees. This lesson
told me not to bend over within grope range of a
half-primate that looks an awful lot like an anal baby
Tabor Ryder. Ask mUtT and jeFf what getting Taborised
is all about: they'll fucking kill ye. Besides, yer
shitty peninsula needs more ghosts, demons and dead
homos. These thugs will wail the piss outa you, then
deliver you to the caring hands of the jailers
employed in the KPD/KRJ house of pain.

The old jail may be long torn down and the AC Marina
may be long gone washed out to sea, but my deceased
party mates and the ghosts of the raped and freezing
still contribute to Nigloo soil that's gone bad
directly under yer stumpy nugger feet.

Heck, some of them ghosts are dead cuz we poured the
drinks or doled out the beat downs. I mighta downed
bottles of 151 and snorted piles o' tootaine within 8
hours of Bull Hensley croaking, but I never humped
June Nelson into her pine box. Me and that Janton
motherfucker merely dumped the junky bitch in it. I
sure miss shooting dogs, loading the meat wagon and
kicking shit outa drunks.

Now I gotto entertain myself in other ways.

Another really fucking great prank is to pop the hood
of any car, tie a piece of twine to the throttle
linkage and tie the other end to a heavy brick placed
on the ground under the car. When yer sucker bitch
pulls forward or backward out his own driveway, the
rope pulls the throttle linkage wide open blasting the
car backward and full throttle into trees, kids or
minorities, while still dragging the brick.

Oh yeah, more good advice from Pransker Rapist #1:
Don't eat yellow snow from inside my meth lab and
don't drink the bong water from any Green River crime
scene carpet cleaners.

Ye don't gottoo be so native. Y'all can drink Lysol
and hairspray if ye wanna, but yer author on drugs
recommends yer upcoming retirement AND misspent youth
be wasted gacking down gnarley grawlers, choking on
Cubanos and pine plumes and gargling down gallons of
foamy keg beer better than fucking Benny Hill.

Just not me, I'm on restriction. I never gettoo
consume any illegal drugs, nor lay hands on any
minority buttfuckers.

I'm all-better: I'm married now. Landed gentry got a
lot to lose and when it comes to crime, I'm pure as
the driven snow.

Funny fucker eh? I got all new drugs now, legal ones
too. Liquor for my heart: 4 million ounces daily,
Methylphenidate: Ritalin amphetamine recipe for
cocaine with a PG rating and medical marijuana for the
tumor in my mangler. "Weeds, whites and wine." (Lowell
George-Little Feat)

I seen you fuckers in the surveillance tapes, ya'll
got big dang mud flaps. Donkey porn scrotal cancer
actually. Since we live on a reservation fer ice turds
and since we're all Alaskan immiks (drink native), our
feet and head are on backwards. Ye see, it ain't a
tail, it's yer dick. Y'all should take a peek at my
date rape surveillance tapes. The bleeding and
bruising goes away.

Plus, you've got uncontrolled cell division in yer
dick. Ya bastards git wood more often than a dike in
Auschwitz and baby-hungry as a Camp Siv Convict.
Painful swelling needs fucking something, unruly stink
eskimo lives in yer pants.

On really slow nights I used to beat on convicts,
watch porno upstairs in the old jail, then go home and
spank the shit outa bun with Mr. Wobbly. Sharing hard
porn videos and spanking natives. You boys are to
blame for my being a little hard on the beaver.

If ya'll would fucking share your Viagra with me AND
if you graying gunslingers stay at work, I'll let yer
ugly retard in laws climb my dick. Then kill them if
you like. Goddamn shrunken head Inucoons, don't they
just make ye want to pinch their fucking heads?

Oh yeah, my story about my retirement and health
benefits of managing a crack house and mortuary: a
Washington drug infested cemetery with a NO VACANCY
sign out front. Mountlake Terrace got its name from
being the highest point in Western Washington allowing
remarkable LSD views from the top of the water tower.
Fucking GREAT place to set up a drug pit, latrine and
wrecking yard.

That's Lem's Mortuary and Crack house. I owned my very
own crematorium, gooner bud grow room and grand
central backroom alkaloid bourse. "Nau mi na ha
Kiaqpuq." For you non-neegros, this is Inupiaq for
Callahan's oft gripe and scolding "Way to go Karl."

One of the chapters in the book, "Care and Feeding of
Eskimo Women" is devoted to nugger mind reading and
learning ghetto slagger dialects. I still can't read a
women's mind, but I can sure decode inflamed gorilla
pie from a mile away (thou shalt rape the willing). I
also can write pert near fluent Eski-Lish, the Chinook
Jargon our local groidal frozen ice coons jabber on
about.

You boys have been to my crack house keg parties:
they're invigorating, but bad for fuel mileage. In
mine, I simple set the keg on the hood on one of my
junker parts cars out back. Let all the piss foam,
puke foam, cup spills and foam over feeds the lawn.

Another reason for mandatory keggage outside is due to
Cully's PA gear and stadium lamps. This ain't no
fucking reservation, this is Terrace dude: white punks
on dope. Ya see, cocaine and keg beer kills most
minorities but only disables behavioral control in
Edmonds Hitler Youth.

ALWAYS put the keg outside and fucking NEVER let yer
nigger friends bring them inside the house. Unless you
like to wake up swimming frozen in pissy wet carpets.
Piss is good for my mortuary landscaping, but sure
makes a car run terrible. Even yer author on drugs
gets punked once in a while.

For fun, a dozen dirty white boys stood by a keg of
Rainier Dark and chugged gallons of sweet froth, then
whizzed in the gas tank of my car parked in hiding out
back. Franky and Arneson estimated my best drug
buddies pissed more than 30 times in my tank. Probably
5 gallons of toxic trouser monster drainage.

Laugh it up faggots. The next morning my AMC barely
started up for work and and coughed and stumbled all
goddamned day. I almost didn't make it to the U
District to gorp and mop big caulk at the Campus
Apartments: 4210 Brooklyn a block off University Ave.

Besides running a crack den, I also gorped, caulked
and painted a million fucking apartments near the UW
campus 20 minutes south a' Terrace. We'd already
revamped the H&K Apartment Building (4701 15th Ave NE)
but the Campus Building located at 4210 Brooklyn
Avenue was our masterpiece.

Me, Heupel and Skeeter converted 36 rezzed out lefty
liberal college trashed apartments into 44 pimp-sweet
suites. We worked from 10am to 3pm so the tenants
wouldn't complain of paint fumes and sawdust, but also
it allowed me to avoid Seattle's famous road rage
head-rush hour traffic jams.

Heupel and Skeeter managed the H&K Apartments and the
Campus Apartment building. Pert near 100 rezzed out
shit ass dumpartments and of course, Dummy in charge
of the finishing touches: paint, clean and spit shine.


I got the nickname "Dummy" from a slur that popped
up-and stuck. (I wreck a lot of cars-crash test dude).
Even after 30 years, nicknames die hard. As recent as
10 years ago, me and bun sat and chiefed with Skeeter,
his bro and Franz. To bun's amazement, they still
called me Dummy.

Oh yeah, the short 5-hour work-jag from 10am to 3pm.
The bankers’ hours Indun work schedule is like
flextime work scheduling for the proprietor of a
mortuary and crack house: yer author on drugs.

Looking around the smoking section here in the cat
box, I recognize a few of ye that were there. Remember
yer first Grawler Gack boner? That was me, Higbitch,
240 Gordy, Joyous Troyous and Cully, the graying drug
slingers that fucked yer shit up for the better.

Welcome to Lem's. Live band out front: seriously
packed beaks in the back rooms and kegger in the
backyard next to my parts cars and delivery beaters.

Not a bad work schedule. Work from 10am-3pm, then
hustle back North. I'd take orders, weigh up packets
and boxes and then make my runs. I usually finished
'round 7pm or so, leaving me a nice profit margin. Me
and me crackster gangsters Hitler Youth pals were then
free to snort the cream, smoke the gravy and wash it
all down with a pony keg of Rainier Dark. Also
explains the late 10am narcotic banking hours.

I always kept a few treat packets from the previous
night's vampire distribution work shift to share with
Heupel and Skeeter. In my line of work, a little toot
and bongers REALLY gets a Nordic workday started with
a bang. Nowadays, them little sober people just
mainline Starbucks. At 3000 calories per serving,
there's a shit load of fat motivated and diabetic
people yonder Seattle. Drugs saved my life.

Wake up fucks. Ye think ye gotta clue? I grew up
steam-cleaning drunken carpets: selling drugs to niger
mukes and pockmarked Induns. And being such a Jewish
money saver, my multi-tasking hyper shite drug dealing
paying is still paying today and supplementing a
fraction of my current retirement.

How does it work? I'll tell ye. Ill-gotten gains self
clean themselves at any hardware and auto parts store.
Laundered drug money and sweat equity is the invisible
profit margin that rolls over into the next project.

If you ever chased mud and paint on hunnert year old
buildings in Seattle-without coffee and 'treats', you
understand. Work for 5 hours straight, bill for 8
hours, home in time to fill the fridge with Washington
beer, cut trailer buds, scale up packets of lumpy fuel
cocaine and start another second work shift.

Except this one day, my car plumed foul sewage scented
exhaust bringing me horn honks and waves of stubby
dark middle fingers. My visual retort involved
brandishing weapons or swerving directly at bitchy
cunts and whiny wiggers.

Cully snagged an old steering wheel from the wrecking
yard for me. For shits and giggles and look like an
out of control gimp, I'd wave that old steering wheel
out my window.

Get it? Traffic all around me locked up brakes
yielding to a loony with no control of his vehicle.
Just when traffic got a clue, I'd swerve back and
forth across the entire freeway screeching tires and
smashing Japanese beer cans into piles. I could wreck
'em by the dozens.

Fenders and tires flattened from Karluk Puk's
concussive smash-ups: I cackle at the pile-ups I've
left way back in my queer view mirror. I ain't afraid
of no MVC's, I'm from the BIA.

Come on fuckers, look back in time minus 30 years. Can
you see me back then? I drive like a fucking dick in
big ugly cars that run REALLY shitty on white nigger
piss. Auto insurance and accurate registration ain’t
this dirty white criminal, it’s for all them little
sober people.

Not me. I like crashing shit up; can I borrow your
car?

Since my first arrival in Alaska every summer since
1979, I'm happy to see y'all drive just like me.

Oh yeah, crack head urine in the tank. After a day of
varnish fumes and installing really old doorknobs I
finally puttered home later in the day, Franky and
Arnie-girl pulled up to see my dick skinners under the
hood checking spark plugs and vacuum hoses fucking
trying to repair the stalling, sputtering and shitty
smelling contrails out my ass end.

Franko and Mark Arneson were fucking cackling like
cunts on fire finally confessing and telling all about
the 10 gallons of high proof drug addict urine over
filling my gas tank. Funny fuckers eh? I was baffled
how my gas gauge went from 3/4 FULL to running down
the side of the car.

Arnie-girl drove me down to R&R Automotive to grab a
couple pints of Ban Ice alcohol de-icing fuel
additives.

I grabbed a gallon from Tib and Keely, booked back
home and dumped the whole fucker in. Like a gimp-wop
Spanky jumped on the rear bumper to speed rank piss
and alcohol dilution. Arneson yanked the fuel filter,
and then had me crank the motor. He sprayed the watery
pissy gas all over until he smelt booze in my bright
red Union 76 leaded premium, then yelled, "Kill it!"

He reattached the fuel filter and fuel line back to
the back of the carburetor then gave me the nod to
fire that mother up. It ran perfect, albeit with loads
of steam in the exhaust and pervasive ammonia urea
reek.

For a fucking week my car plumed steam. I even had to
open the floor vents and open a rear window a crack to
escape the ammonia whizz ripe fume gaggage.

Ain't no treat to be behind me either. I drove
heavy-footed all over Hell clouding the entire freeway
with my piss-drug smoke screen: like I give a shit
about another asshole that drives like me. PUnch it.

I've matured now. Now I drive like a pissed off
Alaskan on meth. Or Ritalin and cigarettes.

Humans may believe they're reflective of the image of
God, but not us Alaskans. We’re evil on all levels.
We're drunken fools proud we ass-fucked slagger
biscuit with tails, rows of nipples and anal molars.

If ye can't join 'em, beat 'em. If ye can't beat 'em,
fuck 'em. They're kids will love ye for it. Go West
Young Man.

Nup. More like mass infectious destiny. Up here, way
north of 70 lat. we need more fucking squaw boys.
Please come to Alaska and help us breed these ugly
peoples upwards.

Kiaqpuk Nigluk

PS. As far as my abusing retard niffs, simply share my
missives akhaa with your most loathed coworkers and
dumber friends.

NEWS FLASH: Hundreds of Americans kill their babies every year. SIDS or infanticide? I'm thinking Arby's.

Top of the morning gents,

If I ain't doing my chores, I'm making pipe bombs or
killing children. Chores will save yer life. Yer ugly
kids' lives too.

"Karl! Make tea!" (Lolly Veinman). I never gettoo play
no more: milking fucking goats, mopping puke in the
drunk tanks, making coffee for assholes that stink
like farm animals, 2-stroke exhaust and gun oil. I'm
forever doing more chores.

What's in your wallet? Mine has a picture of a
dickweed.

Way back when I was a kid, all us Terracites went to a
Meadowdale Beach kegger. I seen this long haired hippy
maggot with a T-shirt emblazoned, "Janton, CA Iron
Lung Union."

No false advertisement. This fucker carried his own
double bubble water bong and right in front of me
horked down a small nuclear device. Fucker grinned and
sipped his skunky beer, then exhaled a toxic plume
composed of a golf ball sized gnarley ghost bud and a
tablespoon of dealer grade Bolivian. Seriously
industrial bong hit dudes.

Fucker had intriguing things to say too. "Green beer
and green toke dudes." "Good motto anyone can live
with. Unless yer dick." Then he said he was heading to
Alaska, sick of white bitch bullshit.

I see kids that look like him all over Alaska.
Kotzebue too. Fucking darky girls get pregnant just
sneezing on his donkey mud. This asswipe even knocked
up dried old slagger cunts that hysterically had their
pussy scooped out. Big Swedes don't collect scalps,
they collect cervix wreaths, wear 'em whilst
defrosting and seasoning mean biscuits.

Donkey mud. Now that's funny. Almost as funny as Super
Dad's "Thou shalt not smoke bone." In my old age, I
hang out with sick fucks. Perty much like all ye.

I thought retirement would mean sleeping in late,
eating bun's pastries pasted with my cocaine, or
candied chronic bong rips better known to parasitic
Terracites as "cocoa puffs", "termination dust" or
"frosted hemp flakes." More Ovaltine Please!

Nup, ain't happening. Fucking mush. Fucking steamed
vegies. God awful piles of native foods that'd make
any dead baby in a blender chuke apple sauce out its
butt.

I'm only FOS. I wish I could eat as well as you
bastards. My appearance is bogus. More like facade
false fronts on ghostal Alaskan milltown stores, I
look real fucking good. But on the inside I got
failing organs, arthritic facets and even smell like
my gramps. So do you.

Without my spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch, I
look like an old jew: a long dead yet graying
Scandinavian Jew. Meaning I can't resist working like
a slave, building kyped weatlth and got bum limbs and
busted knuckles.

I'm also notorious for being humbug cheap as a
miserable heeb on Christmas, preferring to spoil
friends and loved ones t'other 364 days a year. Ya
see, despite being the inventors of Santa Claus and
Christmas most Finns are Yanni come lately in this
Christian movement deal.

Rape improves circumpolar marriage and pagan cultural
archetypes die hard. Never say please, but we mite
thank ye, whilst wiping Mr. Wobbly on yer face, undies
or drapes. Weddings preclude being nice about vicious
monogamy and forcible rape maintains happy nativity.
Handguns and hard-ons go hand in hand.

Like that? My Siberian Mrs. sure does. Rape by a Finn
will ring yer bell and leave ye tits up snoring
lumber. The bruising and bleeding goes away.

Rape victims usually experience orgasms, I made that
up. Fuck everything. Baw Humbug. Yer born, ye die. In
the middle you do shit. I best git in my humping time.


If I take even a short break in my chores, I'll awake
in some stupid jail. Again. "It's my free time that'll
kill me" (Bill Cosby). I ain't a human being, I'm a
human DOING werkbitch.

Chores, hobbies and jerking off in yer inbox. That's
what makes Mr. Winter a dull boy. Some days I just do
chores, clean out dad's barns or smoke alfalfa. If I
want some excitement, I'll piss on the horse pasture
electric fence or jerk off to gun magazines in the
tack barn.

Boring chores are ALWAYS better'n taking a beating in
the Mountlake Terrace jail. Good job Officer Beuler,
no welts, no cuts, no cuffs.

"Of all the mammals on Earth, homo-sapien sapien males
have the largest penis-relative to body mass"
(Professor Tarrant, Shoreline College).

We all gotta serve somebody, if we're ignoring our
duties to our wife, our house AND our wife, we're
smearing obsolete DNA all over strangely shaped
breasts with foreign accents and feeding a million of
our closest relatives imported vaginal candy.

Now I have your attention. Cuz yer healthy. I fear
some of our neighbors north of 70 lat are sick whackos
that git wood smothering babies. Real Alaskans like my
molesters in law and my homo in law.

Not one of ye married smarter'n me and my hat is off
to the lot of ye that whooped piss and shit outa YOUR
molesters in law. I'm money in a boxing match, but
I'll always lose a knife fight to ANY of my inlaws,
fuckers are programmed to kill reflections and
shadows. And white niggers.

Fuck me running, this dickhead prefers "chase the
bullet."

Speaking of 9mm smoked dog butt lunch, you boys have
done my dirty work for me. All my Mountlake Terrace,
Richmond Beach and Kotzebue dogs are split up by
buckshot. POLICE issued buckshot. One attack dog you
shot at the dump was so gnarley that Harley and David
Melton went back and cut the head off. The skull
became sick art skrimshaw.

Fuck you very much, ye kilt my dogs AND smoked by
affie strain, and survived. Some of the odd plants,
dogs and goats I forced bred could kill and eat small
children. You graying gunslingers may not smoke bone,
but ye sure as fuck smoke dog butt.

Marto and Dennis and the Wertman bitch put skin
wasters in touch with the departed. Fed them to
livestock, then sold the animals after they made their
mortal remains outdoor cannibis fertilizer. You
nimrods may have forgotten, pigs and goats, dogs and
cats all eat meat AND vegies. Yup, omnivores will make
an even bigger ice turd outa yer ignant ass.

I'm so dumbesticated. I mate my pets with my drug
buddies and breed my plants with my computer. My
hortichronical hobbies have all gone native on me:
inbred to cure the rare aboriginal inability to speak
to the dead. You fuckers are all dead as, fucking
dead, yet hear my shit.

Baby killing. I don't agree with 'em. But I
understand.

Myself, as a child killing antidote I tear apart and
rebuild unnuk shacks and honey bucket cabins. Either
fuck with Eskimo dumps, or shoot phone junction boxes
offa the side of telephone poles and low IQ apartment
buildings.

And you thought I was aiming fer yer nugger children.

You guys seen me, free time yields projects with
numbers like 676, 711, 369 and Lucky Shot 99688. ALL
them fuckers had frozen water systems and anything
that moved nearby got shot at. Some repeatedly.

2 Decades ago, Captain Wallace entered one of my
sniper ghetto rez improvement projects, seized my
rifle, then spanked me with it. Fucker didn't even
knock, just ruined my gun and scolded my ass.

I still blame my friends, they made me shoot 'em.

Best labor pool: sociopathic potheads and
deteriorating alcohoic pals. Big Dumb Dale, Harley,
Scott Wade and Marto International stuffed, packed,
painted a hunnert rolls of insulation, foam, caulk and
paint all over them nasty cuqtaq akhaa (rotten ass
paint) huts and grottos. Them boys smoked fat chiefs,
got chinked, then tore shit up showing off to all ye.
Some of the shacks me and bun bought could gag a
maggot and stimulate walking rice to flee the crotch
pocket yer licking.

Kikiktagruk Inukun Acid Test. Long summers of torching
city dumps, shooting dogs and light pole attachments,
fun, fun. Mud, bugs and drugs. When first snow flies,
I send my pals back home with stolen firearms, grow
room portraits, and persistent psychotic LSD daymares
of partying in dead baby shacks or swimming in old
nugger Rosie McLuke's mammoth OOtchuk. Word: Herpes.

Don't let that visual run away on ye. I hurled just
scribbling the shit. Did I ever tell ye my friends are
rapists and thieves? Yup.

It only looks like I'm talking to myself. I compose
out loud like a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart
full of ittik chuke. My walk and talks are two decimal
hikes inland and way the fuck out on the ice shelf.
Fuck it. I gotta shoot something or snort whiskey.

Do the math, I'm retarded AND retired. Like you
fuckers, I ain't completely toasted, this dog got some
hunt left in him. I jerk off dreaming of eating store
bought meat. Subsistence in Inushite dialect means up
to my arms in piss and shit.

Like a nimrod, I'm talking out silly interfaced
contexts and interracial irony whilst butchering shit.
That's what lends to my appearance as a nut case.
Hyperactive and too few remaining IQ's. "I coulda been
born bright" (P. Townsend-WHo).

I beg to differ, it's yer author on drugs marching
wind swept plains ranting frosty dung breath. I've
always looked like a lunatic, both to the manor born
and really ugly goat fucker.

Gorton's of Glouster dudes: up to my knees in rubber
boots, long rain coat and stupid fisherman's wool hat.
That's the description, perty much like a complete
Puget Sound dildo. Fucking Gilligan on acid.

"You boys take it outside!" sayeth matriach farm hag
manure flavored girlfriends, thus night and day I'm
outside born in a barn. When folks rush past Mr.
Winter shivering 'allapa', I'm clueless. Every day
outside decomposing stories 400 miles north of the
Arctic Circle is ALWAYS the same.

My frosty booze breath crystallizing space and time
and I'm wheezing from heavily travelled drunken
morony. I'm guilty of operating my imagination under
the influence. Yet, somebody's reading my shit.

Ever get the feeling yer surrounded by friends and
angels? It's just me spying remote viewing. I sure
think about you guys a lot. Some days I want to show
off a gun or land deal, my remodel project, or a
partly healed scar I botched up with super glue and
eskimo urine.

Guess I need friends and enemas, cuz I sure enjoy the
company of friends like you nugger shooters.

Our jobs and duties make us only sound luantic. Chores
from the wood inspired Franky and Arneson to banter
like old Italian women.

"Gorp big caulk and paintwerks, drive bacteria
slingshots and suck dog farts and dead bimbo drippings
outa this mortuary and crack house."

"Major crust scrapage dude."

You're clueless aren't ye? Since you Kikiktagruk
Energy whores exist sufferably in quarter value
quarters ($80K:$320K) I'll interpret.

Most of ye aboriginal cunnichuk macaques never learnt
to do household chores and live in really rezzed out
native dumps. That's why you don't get it. In
non-reservation white man clean castle speakage.
"Caulk, prime and paint, mop, vac and steam clean
carpets."

Next job: exterior caulk and paint. I'm aiming at
dumping this duplex behemoth when the appraisals peg
$320,000, then maybe build a honey-tagruk bucket cabin
or unnuk-piaq shack on bun's first turd nations native
lot-dump. Nigerian code: I could live like you ripe
fuckers again.

Sadly enough, despite our advanced old age, I could
use yer company. Pop in if yer still breathing God's
air. If not, I'll smirk knowing all you mixed bleed
maggots are buried in mass graves just like all them
old Kotzebue ice coons that haunt frozen Hell.

Sick fuck Kikiktagruk infections are terminal, I'll
die exactly like you guys: gun, booze or my slagger
head stove.

Such deaf, dumb lame-fucks, we'd never see gray sniper
eyes nor hear the bullet with our name on it. Little
boys are always the last ones to know they're dead.

We all got it coming, especially if we kilt a kid.

Growing up in Alaska T-minus 128 years, the holiday
feasts you ate as starving slagger children were
actually 'dead niff Au Jus', 'akka biscuits and
gravy', 'appa Slim's scrambled mud flaps', or
'grandma's chicken fried millooks'.

John Paul Sartre suggest baby butt roast, Velma Wallis
suggest wrinkled Kobe grandma meats.

I'm thinking Arby's.

Safe sex: git yer side pussy from the Group FAS Bench.
Who's got the fucking time to "put it in soft and
wait around for all the bones to break!" (Black Bird
aka Nigger Bill).

Besides, if yer doing yer fucking gorp duties and mud
chores chasing power tools baked like a clam, ye ain't
gonna git all post partum psycho bitch and shoot me
nor kill yer own children.

Cheers mates, grim is good. Do your chores till you
die, you won't feel a thing. Parents make the best
killers.


Appa Kye.

---

SIDS or infanticide?

Sloppy investigations blur the line

By Thomas Hargrove and John Hall Scripps Howard News
Service

Hundreds of Americans kill their babies every year.

Depending on where they live, they may well get away
with it.

States that aggressively review infant death
investigations are finding twice as many homicides as
states with little or no such oversight, a Scripps
Howard News Service study of 40,000 infant deaths has
found.

The Scripps findings are the first statistical
evidence that geography largely determines if a parent
or caregiver will get caught after suffocating or
smothering a baby - deaths that can appear so similar
to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) that only a
thorough investigation and review can determine the
difference.

Child safety experts unanimously agree that correctly
diagnosing the cause of death is essential to saving
babies in the future. Yet there are no national
standards, or even incentives, for state and county
governments to conduct careful reviews of sudden and
unexpected infant deaths.

One tragic result is that some people are getting away
with the murder of infants in their care.

"I often tell people that if you want to commit murder
and get away with it, come see me," said Dallas-based
forensic pathologist Linda Norton, a nationally
prominent consultant in child murder cases. "I know
the best places to go."

Norton became famous when she convinced New York
authorities to seek a serial killer after reading a
1972 medical journal that concluded the deaths of
three children in the same family showed SIDS has a
genetic link. Police eventually confronted Oswego,
N.Y., housewife Waneta Hoyt, who confessed in 1995
that she had smothered all three to silence their
crying. She also admitted she'd killed an additional
daughter and son after the journal article had been
written.

One place where killing a baby is most likely to be
discovered is Arizona, the Scripps study found.

Infant deaths in Arizona are investigated by
professional medical examiners who are also medical
doctors, a stark contrast to the more than two dozen
states that allow election of coroners who often don't
have college educations or formal medical training.

Arizona also has a network of local child death review
teams overseen by a statewide Child Fatality Review
Program with authority to order further investigations
if foul play is suspected, a standard most states
don't have.

As a result, Arizona leads the nation in the detection
of infant homicide. One out of every six sudden infant
deaths in that state was ruled a homicide during the
five-year period from 2000 to 2004, the Scripps study
found.

"That's depressing. But, in a way, it's also very good
that we are picking up on these cases," said Mary
Ellen Rimsza, chairwoman of the Arizona Child Fatality
Review Program. "My experience, definitely, is that
sometimes child abuse deaths are misdiagnosed as
accidents."

At the other end of the spectrum is the state of
Idaho, which is the only major jurisdiction in the
United States that has no formal review process for
the deaths of children.

Only one of every 14 cases of sudden and unexpected
infant death in Idaho was declared by the state's
all-elected coroners to be a homicide. (Coroners with
medical degrees are in the minority there.) Idaho is
reporting infant homicides at a rate at least 14
percent below the national average.

Idaho authorities said they are not proud of their
status as the only place not reviewing juvenile deaths
and they do not dispute Scripps' findings that the
state lags the national average in reporting cases of
infanticide.

"You don't have to convince me that not having a child
death review team is a bad thing," said Boise attorney
Kirtlan Naylor, chairman of the Idaho Children at Risk
Task Force. "This study will be very beneficial when
we contact our legislature. We don't want to be the
only state in the U.S. not to have a child death
review team."

Theresa Covington, director of the Child Death Review
Policy Center at the University of Michigan, said the
Scripps study is the first published proof that
oversight of death investigations will increase the
detection of murder.

"Absolutely, the process of review improves the
quality of death investigations. That's clearly what
these data show," she said.

Rep. Frank Pallone, D-N.J., who chairs the House
Energy and Commerce Subcommittee on Health, said the
Scripps data has convinced him to contact the national
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention "to see how
we can improve the accuracy of the data and,
therefore, our response to the tragic problem of
infant deaths."

"This study clearly shows that a more accurate and
aggressive approach to children's death reviews is
needed," Pallone said.

Covington early next year will publish similar
findings in the American Journal of Public Health. She
found that death review teams are reporting
significantly more "child maltreatment fatalities"
than coroners and medical examiners are recording on
death certificates.

Covington and other experts warn that infant homicide
"is a very rare event" and should not tarnish the
overwhelming majority of grieving families who have
lost children because their babies spontaneously and
mysteriously stopped breathing.

Almost all of the parents touched by sudden infant
death are innocent of any crime, they say. But it is
also true that significant numbers of infanticides are
overlooked every year because of failures of the
medical investigation into their deaths.

The Scripps investigation found that, as a group,
states with both local and statewide child death
oversight boards detect 27 percent more infant
homicides than do states with little or no review.
Some individual states with aggressive review policies
detect infanticide at even greater rates.

Investigators have long suspected that most infant
homicides go undetected or, at least, unproven.
Instead, these deaths frequently are misdiagnosed as
the result of SIDS or, increasingly, by the medically
useless designation of death by unknown causes.

The U.S. Advisory Board on Child Abuse and Neglect
warned in 1995 that its analysts believe the actual
number of homicides among very young children is
double the official reports. If so, then only a
fraction of infant homicides result in successful
prosecutions of the killers, although the exact number
of convictions for infanticide is not known.

"The problem is there is no hard and fast sign that a
child has suffocated," said Norton, the forensic
pathologist.

Veteran homicide investigators agreed that infant
killings are often overlooked.

"It certainly doesn't surprise me. Around here,
someone's uncle is the sheriff and so the nephew is
the coroner," said Danny R. Smith, a private
investigator in Boise, Idaho, who investigated many
infant deaths during his 21 years at the Los Angeles
Sheriff's Department.

"Cases that are misclassified as SIDS are the least
likely to be resolved, in my experience. I had one
case of a woman who suffocated her child while
sleeping. It was ruled accidental. But she's also had
another so-called SIDS case earlier with another of
her children. We just couldn't prove anything," Smith
said.

If the entire nation detected infant homicides at the
rate in Arizona, nearly 700 baby killings would be
reported each year. But if the nation detected infant
murders as infrequently as Idaho, the annual homicide
figure would drop below 300.

In 2004, the most recent year for which complete
information is available, medical authorities reported
only 379 infant homicides. The figure has been closer
to 300 in other recent years. Many of these were not
prosecuted for lack of evidence that would convince a
jury.

Medical authorities consistently report much larger
numbers of infant homicides to the CDC than local
police departments are reporting to the FBI, since
coroners do not have to identify a suspect or
determine criminal intent. Police documented only 201
infanticides in 2004, for example, according to the
FBI's Supplemental Homicide Report issued last year.

The Scripps study found that the detection rates for
infant homicides rise steadily and predictably
according to the amount of review each state conducts.
At the bottom is Idaho with no death review and a
homicide rate of 7.1 percent for cases of sudden,
unexpected infant death.

Fifteen states rely solely on a single statewide board
to try to provide oversight for all child deaths. They
are Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, Iowa, Kansas,
Maine, Mississippi, North Dakota, Nebraska, New
Hampshire, New Mexico, Rhode Island, Utah, Vermont and
West Virginia.

Often these statewide boards are staffed entirely by
volunteers who have other duties. Such boards usually
meet four times a year, but meetings are frequently
poorly attended and often lack a quorum. The homicide
rate in this group was 7.5 percent.

Twenty-two states rely on a network of local review
teams, often a gathering of veteran homicide
investigators, assistant coroners and independent
forensic experts. Child safety experts said if states
couldn't have both local and statewide review, then
local-only review is preferable to state-only review.

The states with local-only boards are: Alabama,
California, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, Louisiana,
Massachusetts, Maryland, Michigan, Missouri, Montana,
Nevada, New York, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Washington, Wisconsin and
Wyoming.

The homicide rate in states with local-only review was
8.0 percent.

But 12 states had both statewide and local child death
review teams during the period of the Scripps study.
They are: Arizona, Colorado, Delaware, Florida,
Indiana, Kentucky, Minnesota, North Carolina, New
Jersey, Oklahoma, South Carolina and Virginia.

In these states, every child's death is reviewed at
least two times after the coroner or medical examiner
issues a diagnosis for the cause of death. The
homicide rate was 9.0 percent of all sudden infant
deaths in these states.

"That's good to hear," said Covington at the National
Center for Child Death Review. "We have known
anecdotally for years that communities that have
review teams have a much better system of
investigation. They are doing a much better job
looking at sudden and unexplained infant deaths."

Norton agreed. "When presenting a case to a death
review board, by definition, you are going to get a
whole lot more information about the case," she said.
"That's much better than, say, an elected coroner who
doesn't even bother to get an autopsy."

Experts also agree the more review each infant death
receives, the greater the chance human error or foul
play will be detected.

"We review all of these cases at the local level and,
yet again, at a state level," said Stephen Nelson,
chairman of the Florida Medical Examiners Commission.
"It gives us a bunch of different eyes reviewing these
deaths."

Florida's medical examiners reported 115 infant
homicides during the five-year period of the study, a
rate well above the national average. In fact, Nelson
said the state's review board had detected a
suspicious infant death the morning he was interviewed
for this story.

"We just had a meeting in my office with the state
attorney to talk about a child's death with which we
were not comfortable. The child had some old injuries,
so we clearly decided not just to call it SIDS,"
Nelson said. "We are going to call it 'undetermined'
until local law enforcement provides us with some more
information."

The experts warn that it's probably a mistake for
states to rely on a single state board to review all
infant deaths.

"When we have local review, we have a much better
outcome," said Covington. "But a review only at the
state level has quite a few layers working downward
before they can make changes at the local level."

Mississippi, with a lower-than-average infant homicide
rate, has a fledgling child death review team that is
struggling to find its way.

"We are hoping to establish meaningful child death
review, not just a bunch of paperwork, but it takes a
lot of work," said Mississippi board chairwoman
Elizabeth Christ. "Last year we had three full
meetings. This year we are trying to meet on a
quarterly basis. It's hard to keep up the energy when
so much of this is voluntary."

In addition to Arizona, there were five states and the
District of Columbia that reported a double-digit
percentage of their sudden infant deaths were
discovered to be homicides. The other states were
Alaska, Nevada and Utah at 12 percent each and Indiana
and New Jersey, both at 11 percent. The District of
Columbia had 18 percent.

Authorities in states that have been successful in
detecting homicides say it is critical to urge
coroners to avoid routinely resorting to a diagnosis
of SIDS.

"We've made an effort over the last several years to
educate and to try to emphasize that SIDS is not a
diagnosis that you can make without a full autopsy, a
scene investigation and reviewing a complete medical
history," said Roland Khor, a member of the Indiana
State Child Fatality Review Team.

Khor exactly summarized the requirements for a SIDS
diagnosis as set by the World Health Organization and
the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

As a result, Indiana has a homicide detection rate
nearly a third higher than the national average and a
rate of reported accidental suffocation more than
double the national average. In Vigo County, where
Khor is coroner, only about a third of recent infant
deaths were blamed on SIDS. More that a quarter of his
cases were homicides, and a similar number were ruled
accidental suffocations.

"We're really coming down hard on coroners who try to
make that diagnosis without doing those three steps to
verify it," Khor said. "SIDS is a very narrow
diagnosis. I think the coroners of Indiana are
responding very well to that education."

Sometimes highly motivated local death review teams
also can have a profound impact on how infant
mortality is investigated. More than half of the 93
infant deaths in Marion County, Indiana, were ruled to
be accidental suffocations, making Indianapolis one of
the least likely major metro areas to diagnose SIDS.

"You see time after time that these babies have died
because they are sleeping in an unsafe place," said
Barbara Johnson, coordinator of the Marion County
Child Fatality Review Team.

Johnson was so troubled by the real cause of infant
death in her county that she founded the Indiana Safe
Sleep Network to convince parents to avoid improper
bedding, dangerous clothing and adult co-sleeping with
infants.

"Prevention is the best result of what comes out of
child fatality review," she said.

BY THE NUMBERS

The number of infant homicides reported from Jan. 1,
2000, through Dec. 31, 2004; the number of sudden
infant deaths reported during that period; and the
percentage of sudden infant deaths found to be
homicides.

County Homicides Total Rate

Hamilton 7 109 6.4
Butler 2 31 6.5
Warren 0 4 0.0
Kenton 0 11 0.0


For more information and a nationwide data base of
20,000 infant deaths, go to www.scrippsnews.com/sids

http://news.cincypost.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20071120/NEWS01/711200364

Ellensberg, AK or Talkeetna, WA The Valley is still the city killers' dumping ground for dead dogs and horses. Bitches too.

Top of the morning gents,

Most of ye have been all over the Valley, but have you
ever set foot in Snoqualmie? Tell the truth. Everytime
I read about corpses and animals found with gaped
asses I think of all of you.

Like I said, God may love you all, I'm fucking trying
to.

Can you account for your whereabouts for the last 31
years? If you have even a single horse pubic hair in
yer trousers: yer so busted. If you are found to have
dog hair and fibers in yer groinulars, that tells me
yer from Kivilina.

Fuck I'm funny. But I never left shot horses, dogs or
natives on the roadside, just lots of dead white
bitches. You know, the coke, liquor and weed whores we
sent down the 'bimbo trap door.'

The worst drug parasites are white trash. When Dennis
or Marto ever burnt or buried really bad smelling
people up at 7-lakes, they had to cover their tracks
like forensic scientists. If they'd been shooting
white trash bitches with pig tits and domesticated
turd cutters, we could just ditch the burlap skank
anywhere between Sedro Woolley and Sea-Tac. No shit,
quite the trend back when I was growing up: blame it
on the Green River Killer or Ted Bundy. Real Alaskans.

We are forever fortunate lay persons in the ways of
espionage. And meat humping serial killers too.

Anytime you Alaskan rotfucks got stinkers nearby with
break-up around the corner, all ye are practiced at
floating ugly barrels, then shooting and sinking them
just before they got too far down the Yukon River out
of sight near Nulato.

Better'n freezing dead junky bitches in the cunnichuk
like that Shish bitch: Mary Olanna. If she's foul
enough to git shit ass drunk and mash nasties with
Kotzebue's nurse diesel and the herp queens, she
deserves the scissors in the face, hammer in the
cooter. Come on. When you scrawg dirty dicks or stank
skank in the NANA region, the pussy is always free but
yer paying with yer life, lumps on yer uterus and
blister caked rectums. In dead bitch Olanna's case,
all three.

Weird chick: goes to Kotzebue for native sex and gets
a dose of Washington pussy. Dikes fer brekky appa kye,
then a side order of post mortem rectal wreckage from
a generational retard. "Billy Howarth is gonna fry"
(Scott Wade).

Like lynching skin wasters and molesting native
children, slaughtering food chain losers and Darwinian
meat puppets is taught to children. A process of
killing that starts at REALLY young ages.

If any of ye drive up the hill outa Shoreline, I-5
south hanging east on I-90 you'll need a piss break
and a pack of fags (smokes) in Ellensberg. Head past
Aplets and Cotlets and the Fresh Pies Diner to the
Timothy and Alfalfa FOR SALE signage. At mile 32.3
follow my dad's old International Harvest pickup
through the orchards and you'll see a giant barn
melting into the pasture.

That old Ellensberg barn holds fantastic childhood
memories.

My dad saw a classified advertisement RFB-request for
bid on a whole barn filled with decent sileage grade
bailed Timothy and alfalfa hay. A WHOLE barn filled
with the shit. Dad phoned the number, put a mystery
number to paper and mailed it out.

We got high bid, so me, Cully, Grandpa Veinman and
some dude pals of my dads hooked up trucks, trailers,
beer and food, hay hooks, ropes and rifles. A carton
of cigs I understood, but don't ask me why we needed
rifles on a hay hauling mission into Eastern
Washington.

We drove across the Cascade Mountains and onto the
continental shelf and got to Ellensberg by first piss
and in time for a fag break (smoke break you moron
fuck).

Our convoy arrived at the same time as the owners whom
explained that the bales of hay were stacked all the
way to the ceiling and that there were hundreds of
feral cats and rattle snakes fortified throughout the
entire mountain of high fiber bio-mass that would soon
be horse and goat manure.

"Fuck it. Even yer mom's shitty food will make a turd"
(M. Callahan).

When we opened the barn doors and backed up the
trailers and trucks for loading, I spotted dozens of
dead cats at our feet-some eaten, others shaped like
dehydrated snake fecus.

The smell was larger than a locomotive but what
clinched my sphyncter and sucked my balls up to my ear
lobes was all the layers upon layers of dead snakes.

Seriously nasty, and I've kissed and licked a lot of
nasty: I'm from the BIA. Been there, done that and got
the T-shirt stating I lost my heart and got HIV in
Kiana, Alaska. Dude, where's my rectum?

The reason we married natives is cuz we're ignorant of
condoms and oral hygiene and ain't no law against
raping the willing. Besides, ye can't infect already
sick puppies just like us.

Okay, back to a giant barn filled to brim with cats,
snakes and hay bales.

When we tried to stab our hay hooks into bales and
load our trucks and trailers, we received interference
from rattles coiling up all around us. Hence the
reason the men brought so many rifles.

It was determined that strafing the hay with lead shot
would sicken our livestock, so the men and older boys
just started shooting boxes and boxes of brass jacket
22 and 30 carbine rounds. Thousands and thousands of
rounds too.

Me and Cully dodged beer breath and live fire filling
trash bags with shot up cats and fucked snakes. What
fascinated me was my grandpa's Latvian Special Forces
training: his shots were ALL bulls eyes, I mean cats
eyes. One center forehead shot and we'd see leaping
cats flying 10 or 20 feet straight up in the air.
Their last scream was like a siren. "Yup, it's time to
grease the cat's butt" (Gordy Kelly).

I always figured if gramps came along on a kill mish,
I'd know which niggers he picked off: they'd leap
right out of their dumpsters screeching like drunken
Induns blasted skyward buckwheats.

Quite a visual: leaking skull trauma and screeching
cats flying a mile in the fucking air landing dead for
me and Cully's mission to fill up multiple trucks with
mangy feral shit ass cats feeding clusters of
opportunistic reptiles.

No shit. As we loaded up our convoy of trailers and
trucks with hay, we also had to haul numerous
truckloads of dead cats and snakes to the burn pile.

Goddamn long day filled with lots of good cheer and
howling shitty kitties playing chase the bullet. To
speed up our killing efficiency we simply blasted all
that slithered and crept, dragging away metric tons of
good goat food, exposing more clusters of baby snakes
and hairless sick kitties. Which in turn got a fair
share of blasted violence.

In all, me and Cully filled and hauled away over a
half dozen truckloads filled with burlap sacks of
kitties and snakes. Once we accumulated a mountain of
squirming death, we poured lantern fuel all over the
bleeding fuckers, then lit it up. Now that's a smell
reminiscent of my days in the Hitler Youth. "It's an
Edmonds kind of day."

As we rode off in the sunset, me and Cully could still
make out the huge smoke plume that smelt really
aromatic and Muslim. Gag a maggot dudes.

Me and Cully were soaked in shit, soot and beat ass
tired, so we slept the entire trip back home: with our
pockets filled with dead rattler tails and cats' paws.
"Addii, stink 'laumi inukun Finns" (grandma
Magdeline).

I got hard just telling this story. Fuck it, beer for
my horses, whiskey for my men. Tether yer bitches out
back near the latrine. We're Alaskans and it's still
legal to lynch pert near anybody. Snakes, cats, dogs,
including our darky wives.

Except yer horses. That's just wrong.

When we die and go to hell, lets get together in
Alaska. Have a drink on me.

Kevin Elsberg.


---

Valley is city killers' body dump

SIDE ROADS: Anchorage has fewer hiding places.

By ANDREW WELLNER awellner@adn.com

Dallas Massie, recently retired after many years as a
detective with the Alaska State Troopers, confessed
surprise the day his former cohorts discovered the
body of Mindy Schloss in woods not far from his home
on Knik-Goose Bay Road.

Surprise at the location, but not at the fact that
someone had found another body, an apparent murder
victim from Anchorage, in that part of the
Matanuska-Susitna Borough called the Valley.

"Where are they going to go in Anchorage? They'll
either go north or south," Massie said.

Neither was trooper Sgt. Craig Allen surprised. Along
with Sgt. Mike Burkmire, Allen supervises the
investigators at the Palmer trooper post, the job
Massie once held.

Anchorage police had scoured the Anchorage Bowl
thoroughly, Allen said. He concluded that Schloss, a
psychiatric nurse from Anchorage, would be found in
either the Valley or along the Seward Highway south of
the city.

Joshua Wade, 28, of Anchorage is charged in federal
court with illegal use of Schloss' ATM card after she
vanished Aug. 3. Nobody has been charged with her
murder.

Schloss, whose body was found Sept. 14, is just the
latest Anchorage crime victim found dead in the
Valley. Massie on Thursday recounted more than a
half-dozen cases from his nearly 25 years of police
work in which victims were left in the Valley, far
from Anchorage crime scenes.

It's pretty common for killers to seek out a spot they
know and are comfortable with, Massie said. He said
none has ever confessed to him of randomly choosing
somewhere to dispose of a body.

Two examples illustrate his point. When Judi Burgin
was bludgeoned to death in 1993 in Anchorage, she
wound up at Mile 81.5 Parks Highway, 10 miles north of
Willow. Massie said he later learned that the place
was near a favorite fishing spot of Carl Brown, the
man eventually convicted of her murder and sentenced
to 85 years in prison.

Terrell Houngues, 23, of Anchorage was shot to death
in 2005 on a Houston ATV trail and left there. Massie
pointed out that one of the men eventually convicted
of his murder, Mario Page, lived nearby before moving
to Anchorage.

Page was eventually sentenced in August to 90 years in
prison with 25 suspended for second-degree murder and
kidnapping. Two accomplices, Kira Gray and Tommie
Patterson, were convicted of first-degree murder in
June and August respectively. Both are awaiting
sentencing.

Then there's Robert Hansen, Alaska's infamous serial
killer, bakery owner and pilot nicknamed the "Butcher
Baker." He told investigators one of his favorite
spots to take his victims was the Knik River, Massie
and Allen said. Hansen received a 461-year sentence in
1984, having confessed to 17 murders and 30 rapes of
Anchorage dancers and prostitutes.

Massie could point to only one case he investigated in
which a killer took the victim in the opposite
direction. In 1991, Kyung Yoon murdered Amy Patrick
after chloroforming and kidnapping her from a Valley
home where she was housesitting.

Yoon eventually confessed to the crime but drank
poison in the back of a trooper patrol car the night
of his arrest and died the next morning, Massie said.

Yoon, Massie said, was more cold and analytical than
most killers, whose jangled nerves usually make them
sloppy.

Patrick was eventually found after an exhaustive
search in the Anchorage landfill in Eagle River. It
was almost the perfect crime, Massie said. Yoon had
only a fleeting connection to Patrick and
investigators almost overlooked him. And he chose to
leave her in a place where she would likely stay
hidden and to which he had no connection.

Allen is currently working on a case in which the
suspect took a body from the Valley toward Anchorage.
Over the summer, Frank Adams led police on a chase
from Palmer down the Glenn Highway that ended near the
south Peters Creek exit. In the vehicle's backseat,
police found the body of Adams' girlfriend, Stacey
Johnston. Adams has pleaded not guilty to murdering
Johnston and is awaiting trial.

Since Adams' arrest began with a police chase, "it's
not certain that (Anchorage) was the destination,"
Allen said.

Allen and Massie warned that they might be biased by
their careers in the Valley, but it appears to them
that Anchorage killers take their victims north more
frequently than south.

"Here, there's side roads everywhere," Massie said,
explaining why the Valley might possibly be a more
popular place for killers to hide bodies than the
Seward Highway, where side roads are few.

And Anchorage is a terrible place to hide someone. At
the start of his career bodies would turn up in South
Anchorage, Massie said. Development there largely put
an end to that. Few secluded spots are left within the
city.

Disposing of a body in the Valley might seem to a
murderer like putting distance between himself and
evidence of the crime.

"But the Valley is growing so fast it's kind of a
latent myth to think that the Valley is so remote,"
Allen said.

Both detectives agreed that this type of crime is
typified by a trait common to most criminals --
laziness.

"Criminals basically are lazy. Because if they weren't
they'd be working for a living instead of stealing or
dealing drugs," Massie said.

That laziness becomes apparent when bodies are found.
They are often left close to major roads, buried in
shallow graves or not buried at all, Massie said.

"Alaska is kind of, it seems like, a place that'd be
good to hide bodies," Massie said. "But they have a
nasty habit of popping back up."

---

Dead ponies' owner identified

Sunday, November 4, 2007 - Page updated at 02:05 PM By
Jennifer Sullivan-Seattle Times staff reporter

A Snohomish County animal-welfare group said it has
identified the owner of two ponies found shot to death
on a rural trail near Snoqualmie on Friday.

Susan Michaels, co-founder of Pasado's Safe Haven,
said four tips led them to a North Bend-area resident.

"The horse community is a small community," Michaels
said. "Veterinarians and other horse owners know each
other."

Michaels said her group's staff have talked to the
woman who owns the nearly 20-year-old ponies and that
the woman claims she "entrusted friends to euthanize
the animals properly."

Michaels said a man and a woman were seen pulling a
horse trailer into the area Wednesday night. It is
unclear when the animals were killed.

The ponies' owner told Pasado's Safe Haven staff that
the horses had been sick. Michaels said a necropsy
will determine what they were suffering from and
whether the animals died humanely.

King County Animal Control and the sheriff's office
are investigating, Michaels said. It appears each
horse died after being shot once in the head on a
riding trail near Tokul Road Southeast, Michaels said.

She didn't release the name of the owner because an
investigation is still ongoing.

It is not illegal in Washington to kill your own pet
if it's done in a humane way. But if the ponies were
killed in a way that caused them to suffer,
prosecutors could file a felony animal-cruelty charge,
which could result in up to five years in prison and a
$10,000 fine.

Pasado's Safe Haven offered a $5,000 reward for tips
leading to the owner's identification. Michaels said
they haven't determined who will receive the money

Lights is growin' dim Tex, so learn Inupiaq before you croak.

Top of the morning gents,

Goddamned immiktuqs bug the shit outa me. I oughta
close down the Scandinavian bar. Not. The Alaska
Permanent Fund checks arrived in the mail on Saturday
and yes, every drop of liquor and crumb of marijuana
was auctioned to the highest bidder inverse to
intelligence.

No shit, ain't no sunshine for 2 months, so on our
first day of darkness, my neighbors converted to
liquid fuels. Crib Death: Double R down the pie hole,
natural gas out the stink hole and die. On my late
night hikes to go shooting, smoking and drinking I saw
a mess o' LifeGuard and LifeFlight medical transports
departing over my bakedHead and barely warmed 44.

Soilent Green dudes. I could brine and dry human
buttcheeks. Pre-diabetic fat fucks make the best
tunnik punniktuq. I'm an expert goat fucker and can
milk any job that comes my way. The rubber boots are
Scots-Highland rear leg restraints and some
animalistic husbandries can pack a lot of meat in
their cooter. Just ask me brother Tobus.

"What are you saying appa kye?" (Sara Magnum's oldest
girl Gwendolyn Ootoyuk).

Like my lineage, 'groidal type and generation, my
fellow Eskimo brethren will soon learn to pronounce
words like Metformin, Avandia, Lipitor and Lysipronil,
or was that Lysinopril. I can't read braille without
my Preparaton H.

Fact of life. Most of us take blood pressure meds,
cholesterol meds, blood sugar meds and thus, are
expressing our mutual love and heartfelt admiration
for each other. Keep taking your meds: or else yer
gonads, kidneys and eyes will start leaking. And
failing.

Otherwise yer nigger asses wouldn't be around for me
abuse the shit out of. Spock would espouse us to 'live
long and prosper' whereas I need friends like scabs:
to pick on constanstly.

Flipping shit is what reminds me of you guys. A life
without you graying gunslingers and justifiably
violent sons of birches would basically suck. Imagine
not having mUtt and jEfF to kick around any longer?

Code talk for Squish and the Sgt, or K6 muktok and
Nush. Without them four geniuses a hunnert fewer
cheekbones would be broke, fewer Indun teeth stuck in
yer hands and patrol car windows shot all to fuck.

Shoot, if it hadn't been for the Chief's or
SixKiller's well placed skeletally distorting punches,
Werneke's anus would be an inny instead of an outy and
Mike Lie's face and testes wouldn't be all crooked and
goofy looking.

To forewarn golfers of incoming missiles and drunken
monkey fuckers of impending ass kickage, simply yell,
"K-FORE 616!"

Mortality rates are cruel and actuarial tables don't
lie. The reason I laugh whenever my buddies git soaked
and croaked, eat their gun or dive under a semi truck
is cuz I'm relieving stress. Stress from the fear of
death and losing hold of the miracle of life with both
my opposing thumbs, and bicameral brain.

You fucks are lucky. I'm already dead meat and rank
excretia cuz I'm a primitive make and obsolete model.
I'm merely homo-erectus habillus all on account I got
grasping hands. And a right handsome pecker.

Wake up fucks. The only way we could be in the middle
of our midlife crisis is if we're gonna live to the
age of 80, 90 or a hunnert. The likelihood of any of
us living to see 100 is a big ZERO. Upon death, a
cross section ring count of our wooden boners likely
yields numbers WAY under 60.

Reason 1. We all grew up exposed to second hand
cigarette smoke, with rank fumes and chewing tobacco
syrup dripping down our fucking face right now as we
speak.

I grew up in a house constantly filled with my dad's
aromatic pipe tobacco smoke and anytime my grandma
Saimi was in house for cooking, cleaning and beating
me and Cully, we were fumigated with Salem Lights.

Good stuff Maynard. The first cigarette I ever smoked
was stolen from my grandma. I've since added a nasty
consumption of French Galouses (Gal-waw) cigs during
my years at university and working at Helsinki and St.
Petersburg campuses.

I've since smartened up and exchanged cigarettes for
vitamins, Ritalin and high fiber hemper dude bong
rips. I'm just like all of you: really fucking
retarded.

Children growing up with cigarette smoke in their
homes should clip a decade off their lifespans and
those of us currently smoking or chewing should
calculate pine box diving 20 years before a healthy
mongoloid's dirt nap. That goes for herb chokes too,
so our trips to Dutch cafes and Helsinki hemp bars
count double damages. I'm so fucked.

Reason 2. Y'all got waist measurements WAY over 40
inches. Belly fat is mirrored with aortic plaque
build-up.

My heaviest was pert near 300 pounds, but since
getting married Jan 23 '03, I now look like an AIDS
vicitim. Good thing my ancestors survived the plague,
thus the Nordic immunity to AIDS.

Also explains why that trigger happy fucker from
Janton, CA ain't fucking dead. Some of the pussy he's
ruined had alien acid inside-like Trudy Kenworthy
shooting ping pong balls in yer drinks.

Before you die, visit Noorvik in the winter.
Absolutely gorgeous if you can get past the cunnichuk
macaques and inbred FAS mischief.

For reasons retarded and soaked, I can't remember any
of my trips to Noorvik. Me and higbitch and Chip
Hailstone sure got fuckered up on Lysol, hairspray,
homebrew and bootleg pink cap 51. "I don't know, I was
really drunk at the time" (P. Floyd).

If I mixed enough Tang with my cans of hairspray or
Lysol, my cocktail gave me akhakitch nuvuk quagolaq
that tastes like orange flavored kikmik unnuk ice
cubes. If a dog can lick his own bottom and penis, why
not you minority dak-daks?

Can you believe this wigger speaks more Inupiaq than
all you half-beast sodomites? "It's cuz yer gay"
(Super Dad from Unalakleet).

AFN dudes: ain't fucking native. You ain't worth
doodoo till ye speak yer own language better'n me. And
I'm just a piece of worthless doodoo white trash.

Life is short, yet yer stay with long deceased
troopers is forever.

Take better care of yourselves. You're already dead
and buried and 'gone to be with the worms.' I better
take my vitamins and aspirin, as me bunnik ordered me,
"Eat your mushuk."

Karluk Immiktuq.


*Take a look at these clippings right from our
backyards.

It may be a typo, but the news service mistakenly
calls our super drunken neegro skid mark Noorvik. I've
gotten super drunk with Horace (whore ass) Field a
million fucking times: if he ain't drinking, he's
dying.

---

Man struck by semi may have been drunk (ye think so?)

by Jill Burke
Sunday, Nov. 18, 2007

ANCHORAGE, Alaska -- Police say a man struck and
killed by a semi -truck last week may have been
drinking.

Horace Field, 45 of Noorvik, died after being struck
and dragged in an accident downtown last weekend.

Police say blood tests show he may have been drinking.
Toxicology tests are also being completed on the truck
diver, although police believe he was sober.

Police are reviewing surveillance footage from an FBI
building nearby to determine where Noorvik was
standing when the semi turned the corner, striking
him.

---

(Honest Injun, I NEVER in my life had this much
cocaine in my house. More than a quarter pound of
crack was seized in Kotzebue)

Cocaine found in Kotzebue residence
November 16, 2007 at 10:54AM AKST
THE SOUNDER STAFF

A large amount of money and 147 grams of rock cocaine
were found and seized from a residence in Kotzebue on
Nov. 5.

The drugs and money were found by officers with the
Kotzebue Police Department, Alaska Bureau of Alcohol
and Drug Enforcement and the Alaska State Troopers,
after a search warrant was executed in the house
following an investigation into the case.

Three people were present in the house at the time of
the search. Mckyle Shumann, 25, of Kotzebue, Easter
Lane, 22, of Kotzebue and Hakim Giddins, 27, of
Anchorage were arrested.

Charges of third-degree misconduct involving a weapon,
third-degree misconduct involving a controlled
substance and fourth-degree misconduct involving a
controlled substance as well as violation of
conditions of release were filed with the Kotzebue
court.

---

AK Bureau of Alcohol & Drug Enforcement

-------------------------------------------------

Location: Kotzebue
Case number: 07-99720
Type: MICS IV

Text: On 11-19-07, Kotzebue ABADE contacted Carlos
Hawley, 57 of Kivalina at a local airline, as he
prepared to depart Kotzebue en route to Kivalina.
Further investigation revealed that Hawley was in
possession of over 5 pounds of marijuana. The
marijuana was seized and Hawley was arrested and
charged with 2 counts of Misconduct Involving a
Controlled Substance in the 4th Degree.

Author: AFB0
Received Monday, November 19, 2007 3:19 PM and posted
Monday, November 19, 2007 3:50 PM

---

Two Barrow men arrested, charged with burglary,
assault

Isaac W. Leavitt, 26, and Christopher R. Leavitt, 24,
have been arrested and charged after North Slope
Borough Police officers responded to a report of an
assault and burglary at the residence of Brady J.
Grimes on 4436 North Star St. in Barrow.

Investigations determined that three suspects had
entered Grimes' home in his absence, breaking out
several windows and damaging property inside the home.

Upon his return, Grimes was attacked by two of the
suspects and was later transported to the local
hospital and treated for lacerations and contusions to
his head and torso.

Isaac W. Leavitt was charged with second-degree
assault, first-degree burglary and third-degree
criminal mischief. Christopher R. Leavitt was charged
with third-degree assault, first-degree burglary and
third-degree criminal mischief.

The case is under investigation, and the police are
seeking the identity of the third individual involved
in the incident.

I have an excuse for hurting friends and family and abusing co-dealers-What's yours?

Top of the morning gents,

Just the other day, an old silver haired bush doctor
quizzed me on topics that only you lads might
understand. He's oft asks why I live ghetto rez, fuck
dark pussy, eat shit and don't die?

My retort don't even get outa my neck hole before he
cuts me off. "Most of my BIA and IHS customers are a
bit mule headed and unkempt." "It sure is nice to see
another square head 'round here."

"What the fuck is a square head?" asked the dumbest
nugger shooter in the mirror. Whereupon he declared
that my predictably bizarre communication skills of
irritation sophisticate are Finnish traits. And truly
a treat.

What a goddamn gomer. I never knew my vile opines:
sexy and racy (ipso facto sexist and racist) are due
in part to my ancestry. Fuck me in the goat ass, I
only brine my meats, shoot or butcher defenseless
animals and smell worse than any non-colored guy.
Underneath my shitty exterior is a giant albino
inukun, major labia shredder, and cunt guzzling gutter
slut.

Yup, that's perty much yer author on drugs. Same with
you buttfuckers.

As you've duly noted, I regressed to my Mark Twain
chords vocabular and hereby declare that I'm no worse
than any other bush Alaskan fuck-off and that the
rumors of my drain bramage alcoholism were vastly
underrated.

The old doc looked a little disappointed, then
proceeded to shove a needle sans god smack in me
bleeding fucking broken arm, then he shoved a goddamn
coat rack camera up me arse.

Before you go in for your annual chubby ass
colonoscopy or man breast mammogram, spend a few
months in Anvil Mountain Correctional Center. THEN
march to your primary health provider: Manure-lick
Mental Center. Just douche yer eyes, nose, ears and
mouth before you get more sicker at the walk-in
counter of your local shitty native clinic.

Oh, and wash yer bottom and penis too: be the only
clean Indun patient all day. "I ain't afraid of no
UFO's, I'm from the BIA." (Johnson Greene-KOTZ).

To prove my commitment to beavers blond and clams
pink, bearded and fair, I've added 3 new Finn biaches
from Helsinki plus that mean old fucking doc to this
blogshite: now with pert near a hunnert vile
recipients. Fuck y'all.

Come on. How many good white folks ever moved to
Alaska? Every single Caucasoidal fuck ass dick skinner
that ever come to AK is either a rapist. Or a rapist.

All by ourselves we mixed and spread the Michigan and
Kiana strains of herpes: extraordinarily painful and
stinging blisters worse than noatak pus tubes in yer
ears, taint and testes.

With snow as camouflage, them blind drunk and pickled
biscuits never even see yer dicks coming. Don't worry,
ain't none of yer GI babies got blond pussy: baby
drapes and mud flaps always match the trainer bucket.

NEVER hire a doc that knows your complete medical
history, your lineage or your professions disingenuous
and resume forgeries counterfeit. I got great
references: you shooters. "I need a gunslinger. So
there is justice on the land." (John Fogerty-CCR).

Point in fact ever so inescapable and known to both my
personal physicians in Kotzebue and here north of 70
lat: I spent more time in prison than all of you
dildos combined. I still ain't got over some sick
injuries and nasty pustulatin' infections from my last
hitch. Imagine that? (Google my name in parenthesis
like "Fred Garvin" or "Mike Hunt")

You boys have gone far too long without a good fist
fight. Yer all WAY over your punching weights and
likely ain't doled out any beat downs nor tune ups in
the last forever. Hence, the migraines, blood pressure
meds and Acyclovir fer them dern Squirrel River
blisters.

On yer dicks. "That asshole got me pregnant and gave
me herpes." (M. Hanson) No shit, when was the last
time you went to the Kotzebue dump and made shit go
BOOM. Or at least shot one of my dogs?

Ya see, you chubby dildos are smarter'n me and keep
your hands to yourself and your snot lockers clean.
Yet your hands can't never no more stink pretty from
saliva, brains nor blood. Pretty blonde pussy neither,
cuz yer all older'n shit neegros.

I've had to contain, carry and dispose a hunnert
drunken in-laws from Pt. Dope, Wainwrong, Nutsack and
the Neegro Assholes of Northwest Alaska (NANA). Unlike
you geniuses, I serve butt loads of liquor to my
wife's sibs, cuz 'tards, funny uncles and brothers
with a hard-on for baby butt pussy. If I shaved my ass
and staggered backward, I'd get more strange dick than
our dumber wives.

If any of you have gotten pissing drunk at my parties
and started up with the macho native fuck yer children
talk, I gotta quiet ye down, soil yer fresh diapers
with yer own bloody foul vaginal discharge, then drag
ye out to the dumpster. Bun's orders: kick the niff in
the cunt.

It's called ADRD: rectal dysfunction. I fail daily at
controlling compulsive and destructive behavior.
Remember, I'm the dumbass. I serve liquor to familial
ice turds and Inubriates.

Whenever asshole related natives "try be funny" with
me, I'm in there anus with a fork whilst
simultaneously finger fucking broken eggshell behind
their eye socket.

Yup, that's a prison trick I learnt at convict
college. If ye can't hack off a dudes nads or willy,
split his puny ass eye orbital with a mere finger,
albeit with torturously loud results. Don't worry, FAS
cheek spreaders only need one eye for back in parking.

Reason I know this? Next time we compare dicks or jerk
each other off, take a look at the gnarly scars the
full length of my abdominal meat stand and thorax
trash bags. Got me some ghetto mod skin decor whilst
serving a stretch at an extreme country club with
rendition staff crueler than cellmates cyrrillic.

I sold more LSD in Kotzebue than my entire 10-year
drug dealing wholesaler career in the Killing Fields
of the Pacific Northwest yet not served a single day
in an Alaskan jail. Something's fucked up here. On
many levels.

Oh yeah, I was tasked with manifold invasions
parasitic and corrosive exacerbation of existing
bootlegger corruptions indigenous. 17th century lit
meaning I work up through the afro slime taking aim at
the white people at the top. All the time.

No kidding, I need to work on my attitude. Always gets
me landed in jail. Other Euro trash have lived
peacefully with mud races and gone on to raise big
wonderful diluted half-breed 'tard families. Like your
mashing nasty parents. The most Eskimo of any of ye is
50%, the rest of yer bloody butt quantum is likely
German or some other Celt-trash wastes of skin.

Wait, ain't one of you really a Ghoulsbie? Does yer
dick smell LDS funky? Only big Swede's can chew their
own gristle and tell their wives to "go git yer own
pussy, I got mine."

Ain't none of ye are more than half mongoloid and most
of ye FAS gas-canners are only an eighth inebriate.
But yer cool, God loves ye, and I'm trying to. My
irritation arises when all them fat white cunts spooge
out babies that look like me, yet given tardupiaq
names like the Peacocks et al. "Them nulaumi always
try be native." "So dumb." -grandma mag.

We are what we are and our propensity towards violence
reflects our ancestral roots. Italian Americans are
just as violent as Italians, African Americans are
just as violent as Africans. I'm as reckless as any
Finn dick, Octuck is as dangerous as any Siberian
Mongoloid, and well, you Germanic/Briton tribal
fuckers scare me to death. Come on, SixKiller is more
dangerous and lethal than Adolph Hitler. Likely
smarter too.

I'm a failure at this Christianity gig too. Turn the
other cheek my ass, yer my new butt pussy and leaking
punching bag. Shoot first, swap ID's later.

Quoting National Geographic and Dr. Sollenberger,
Finns are more warlike than even the Maori of New
Zealand and most likely the last of the Xenophobes.
Not me, I'm different and better than yer typical
Norse fuck, I simply hate dullard humans and get wood
caressing their faces, rectals and genitals with my
hands, fists and feet. Fuck ye.

I must confess, every time I pull some dumbass stunt
or rain shit on somebody, collateral descriptors fail
ineptly. Everybody gets dirtied with my shit. You
fuckers are lying when you tell inmates I hurt people.
"Get him the fuck away from me!" "Fuck you! Get him
the fuck outa here!" (S. Lie Jr. yelling at the Galena
volunteer ambulance driver-yer author on drugs). I'm
better at filling meat wagons, than I am driving them.

Pert near a hunnert years ago back in get-high school,
me and Pim tied rope through all the exit doors to the
gymnasium. Then pulled the fire alarm. Fun, fun pep
rally for the retarded AND the injured. Our
preadolescent pipe bombs never kilt anybody. That's
what numb nuts me and Pim were. Are.

Despite decades of training from the college of drug
dealing, advanced pharmacy and metric elimination of
afro slime, I'm still trying to modify my car bombs
and pipe bombs so that only my targets and their
families shit nails and teeth.

Right about now, I better shut my mouth. I promised
bun I'd never mention the probable cause that put me
in prison line-ups and bare naked billy club beat
downs in the snow, poopy butt and all.

Trust me, you fuckers treat your inmates at the
Kotzebue Jail WAY too nice. Imagine if you hired me or
Eunice? Shit would get fucked up.

That metaphor sure went a rye. "Drink bitch!" (Sally
Melton).

Alas, only you can prevent forest fires and hairy
beaver infections. Get fucked up, be super rural
Alaskan and live by the knife. Then allow me to rip
yer lips off.

With friends like you graying gunslingers, who needs
violent laxatives and rape trauma? "In Kotzebue, ye
don't lose yer wife, ye just lose yer turn!" (Roger
Nordlum) "Shit, sometimes ye lose yer wife to her own
family" (bRaIn HigBitch).

Instant karma and we gunslingers always git fucked.
Rape victims only marry rapists. There is a God and
he's bankrolling our crimes with wages of sin.

I never knew how fucking funny smart people are. They
like us even if we got busted knuckles, scab ass and
stinky dick. Right mates, my Viking thirst for bourbon
casts its own shadow. "Adii. I feel like I'm drinking
with Jesus." (Beulah Ipalook).

Have a drink on me, I just hurt friends and family.
And I enjoyed it.

I bet you did too.

Karluk.

*Read how violent dipshit albinos behave.

---

Live by the sword, die by the knife.

Finnish Violence and Traumatic Mortality-By Dr. Mirkka
Lappalainen

"Finns are traditionally more brutal", declared the
headline in the large Swedish newspaper Dagens Nyheter
on its web page on October 13th.

DN was delving into youth violence, which has been a
hot topic of debate recently, interviewing Jerzy
Sarneck, Professor of Criminology at the University of
Stockholm.

He told a generally acknowledged truth - that violence
statistics are traditionally more grim in Finland than
in Sweden. Sarneck says that the Civil War led to the
"brutalisation" of Finnish society, and that violence
has been passed down as a legacy from one generation
to another.

The Professor is wrong. Finland has been a much more
violent place than Sweden at least from the mid-18th
century. Before the Civil War, in the 19th century,
the per capita homicide rate was much higher in
Finland than in Sweden.

Violent behaviour by Finns has been a topic of
discussion in Sweden for at least 400 years. Already
the Archbishop of Uppsala, Olaus Magnus, claimed in
his 1555 best seller Historia de gentibus
septentrionalibus ("History of the Northern Peoples")
that because of their extreme recklessness, the Finns
are not allowed to use weapons during peacetime.

Mythical stories abounded in the 16th and 17th
centuries about the bellicose and violent character of
the Finns. For instance it was told that a force of
600 Finns on skis had chased away 100,000 Russians in
one battle in the 16th century. Even the name
"Finland" was claimed to have had its origins in the
expression "fiendeland", or "enemy country".

Military prowess and violent crime do not have
anything to do with each other as such. However, in
folklore these kinds of things get turned into myths.
The brutal history of the 20th century in Finland has
given a modern tone to the old beliefs.

I must admit that the Finns' reputation as an
inscrutable, mythically rugged nation gives me a sense
of vague pride. To Swedish acquaintances who crack
jokes along the lines of "where is your knife?" I have
boasted about the Winter War - as if I had anything to
do with it.

However, I feel no national pride when I look at
statistics of violent crime. They are sad. Finland
should be a flagship of the modern world, but people
still bleed in front of village taverns just like they
did in the Middle Ages.

Violence certainly flourishes in Sweden as well, but
the general attitude toward it is much more negative
than in Finland. For that reason, youth violence has
been lifted into the headlines, and there have been
marches against it on city streets.

I cannot imagine a similar public debate in Finland,
to say nothing about street protests.

The deep currents of Finnish culture still appear to
include appreciation for taking the law into one's own
hands, and violence, as well as a certain kind of
carelessness: especially violence among young men and
those who have been marginalised is accepted as an
inevitable part of life.

Every week we Finns show that we are "traditionally
more brutal", and that is just sad.

FTW. Fuck the world. This Christmas ye best spoil yer s'elves.

Top of the morning gents,

I been spending money out my ass like "hot and cold
running dysentary" (M*A*S*H 4077th). Also, my pops
always lectured me that it's easier to clean a clean
house and a job well prepped is a job half done.

Smart fucker. So accordingly, in my old age and
advanced wisdoms I best stop acting like a complete
fuck-wad.

Let me rattle off the repairs and upgrades I stole,
installed, schemed and negotiated: then sprayed or
stapled onto this behemoth duplex artic.

*new stackable washer/dryer for Apt B-$1200
*new super cool compact flourescent light bulbs
throughout both apartments upgrading some of the light
fixtures: pitched the scorching hot small decorator
lightbulbs and socket fixtures
*replaced a large living room window-stress cracks
*complete interior paint job on the rental
apartment-bid the job out $3600
*reconditioned the carpets-multiple steam cleanings
*oiled all the woodwork
*natural gas furnace-seasonal service and repairs
*new bladders on the gas water heaters
*new filters installed in the air conditioning/air
handler
*replaced 2 loose and rusting doorknob/lock assemblies

"It's just a spring clean for the May Queen"
(Plant/Page) and I got nothing but 66 days of darkness
ahead of me, so I blast Christmas toonage and do more
chores.

http://www.mikesradioworld.com/xmas.html

With pert near free utilities, everyday is Christmas.
There's a little known fact that I enjoy the cheapest
natural gas in the entire country and the cheapest
electricity in the entire state. Fuck me in the goat
ass, only a fool would buy heating oil, gasoline or
diesel.

About half the automobiles on the Slope are fitted
with CNG tanks: warm up on gasoline $5.00/gal then
switch over to CNG 80 cents/gal approx. Every new car
made has automatic tuning adjustments (spark timing
and cam lobe adv/ret, fuel injectors) for variable
octanes, fuel type, temperatures, and workload so why
not tear up the tundra with natural gas and save the
petrol for you zeroes down South.

Instead of crushing, chopping and snorting piles of
Viagra or Cialis, I just take a look at my utility
bills. Instant wood dudes: big and fat Mr. Wobbly with
the thought that my utility bills are pert near an
eighth of yours.

"Addii, big kuku" (Fanny Howarth). I ain't the only
person in the whole world that goes sleep raping
instead of sleep walking. Dude, where's my pants?
Whose false teeth are these, and why are they gagging
on my grisle?

Laura Frankson always keeps an eye out for me, but I
gotta put it in soft. Ever skull fuck an old bag? Them
ain't halos, they're steering wheels. No runs, no
drips, no errors.

Fuck I'm funny. At least I didn't pork Bob Douglas'
gimp boy in the feeding hole in his head. Now if any
of you graying gunslingers go in for surgery, we could
pop a few stitches and do a Ted Bundy on yer ass.

Christmas toonage keeps my mind straight, my back
limber and keeps me from going berserk: just like all
yer goddamned clients, customers and prisoners. I bet
the Sgt, Squish plus yonder OCS dildos got their hands
full right 'bout now.

As my Inupiuqe 'skimo neighbors go native during the
holiday season I merely wish them a happy welfare and
merry food stamp. I'm not smart enough to work the
poverty system and don't have any niggupiaq blood in
me: at least since breakfast. I just work all damn day
thus my failing to git niggy wit it. I'm such a
fucking Finn.

We just completely refabbed apartment A to brand new
luster then signed in a plumber dude from Anchorage.
We kept the place vacant for a month losing 30 days
worth of rents ($1250.00), but the place now looks
fucking killer.

The rents go directly towards the mortgage, insurance
and property taxes. Instead of dirtying my bank
accounts, I divert all ill-gotten gains and crooked
dollars into utility bills, maintenance, upkeep and
repairs. And trips to visit retarded coppers in
Shitbanks. Dirty money from illicit gun sales can only
be spent: easy come, easy go. I even consult you lads
on brand name, models and calibers, and y'all have
handled most of the guns I sold. Ain't no secret
there.

I've made a FEW mistakes in my gun dealings.

I sold a box of 6 Tech-9 machine pistols to the gooks,
slopes and dinks running Bayside and Mario's. Cheap
chinese shitty 9mm ghetto mod sissy guns. Ye can bet
yer dick they were out of state within a half dozen
sphincter clinches.

I sold a 44 special to Mark Essert, a kid in the biz
minor undergraduate program at UAF. He and his buddies
were chuggin' brews and horking bong rips at
Earthquake Park in Anchoragua. Yup, there was more
than 3 wiggers in a car. They were doing drugs and
playing with a loaded revolver.

The gun went off thus listing a gun fatality to my
conscience. On top of the shotgun I sold Edward Wayne
Henry. "Hey man. Nice shot." (L. Downing).

I'm pretty sure Sheila Romaine ate somebody else's 44
magnum. I worried shitless until Higbitch found my
gun. Goddamned drunken Irish dumbass (redundant?)
forgot that he took it to a party. When he finally
returned the damn gun, it smelled like salmon cruncher
biscuit. Or maybe brains.

You guys remember that 357 I showed you last winter in
Kotzebue? I sold that to Peter Williams, a felon who
then took it to a party at the Brower's house. Freddy
was on probation and not allowed to drink alcohol nor
chase a party outa the house and into the street with
loaded firearms carried by loaded ice nigger convicts.


I never learn. Way to go Karl.

Fuck it. There's gold in them thar hills: odd gun
sales, mondo fleece sales and lawful sales of items I
can't remember nor recall. With such selective memory
y'all can call me 'bitchwerker' or Mr. Mom cuz my
memory doesn't grasp anything remotely felonious. No
shit, my mind is that of a woman's: just like Joe
Garroutte. I change my mind as often as I pitch toxic
tampons into my neighbors dog lot.

All my crimes occurred before the stroke and after my
menopausal ovarian rot and drop. Note to my readers:
you ain't got a clue what changes yer cranky wives are
now experiencing.

It's okay to kill a bitch over menopause. In Alaska at
least. Some herbal and vitamin supplements alleviate
some symptoms, as do the hormone boosters like
PremPro. The best cure for menopause is time. As in
time spent in foreign countries. Ya see, the mad
women's club requires a passport, lots of liquor and
brass knuckles for your fucking dick.

The bleeding hut doesn't help much, cuz even mean old
ladies can't stand bitches on the rag. Plus Eskimo
culture usually banished or ate their barren blue
hairs. Hence the comforting myth about Two Old Women.

Sure. Do ye fucking really believe them old Inuit
naggers survived and the fresh meat dad just brought
home is really chicken of the tundra. Code for old
pussy caulq and seal oil on a grill.

"Even if there were no God. We'd be forced to create
one." (J. Lennon). I like myths that tell a good tale,
the truth is always shit. Wake up fucks. How many more
dead babies, dead drunks and dumpster solid grannies
do we gotta thaw, straighten then re-freeze for
viewing?

Eternal optimist ain't I?

Been a damn fine 3 decades mates. From running crack
houses plethora in Mountlake Terrace to cutting down
hangers, shooting dogs up the ass and loading the meat
wagon destined for ER mastery vintage Troxell and Jan
Shackles.

I seen all ye smoking cigarettes to cancel gag reflex
heavage, plus it smells a fuck lot better. As long as
you old cops keep jailing the likes of Richie Reich,
Machine Gun Tony, and my niece's slackmaster loser
boyfriend, y'all won't git no more corpses to process.

My money is on the side of birth defects. There is a
retard born every minute. Wake up fucks. Take look at
all yer friends. Better yet, take a look at all the
genius Einstein's we married into. Jesus fuck. It
takes a whole village to reach the 100 IQ mark.

We coulda been born bright ye know. Goddamned grunts
is us. Married to dark-skinned aborigines that treat
us worse than natives. Can you guys even remember the
last time you defrosted and seasoned some damn fine
and tasty young white pussy?

Me neither.

One way to make this appallingly painful point of fact
more bearable: repeat what my wife tells me, "All
white girls got AIDS." Super Dad from Unalakleet oft
reminds me that "white chicks' pussy sure smell
funky."

I've made these my mantra. Helps keep me from crying
spontaneously.

Next time you start gittin' flashbacks of naked white
girls, march yer stinky donkey into the nearest native
bar. Look around, take a deep breath, the go home and
strangle yer mangler.

You boys have a good weekend, I gotta go get some new
gun magazines. To jerk off to.

Karluk.

Abortion rights, free birth control: how cool? Alaska is a predator's paradise. Poach on dudes, but my daughter will castrate ye with bare hands.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm pleased as punch. Whatever that means. I gotta
'skimo chick that will soon be called "soldier."

No dickheads, bun ain't signed up for military
service, Sara Magnum is. Is that kewl or twat?

If you remember way back to the early 90's, Ken Hall
put up $500.00 as inducement for Herb Allen and Turd
Natives Inc. to take a baseball bat to bun or Sara.
That started my habit of carrying firearms whenever I
smelt natives: and white nigger druggies.

After much maturation and wisdoms resisted the little
girl that hiked all over arctic hell and back with a
tall alcoholic finally got married to the father of
her children, returned to academics and uniformed
physical abuse. Plus her marital and military duties
drew her way down Mexicali/Tejas way. It looks like
all the boxing gloves and 100+ mph driving lessons
will pay off: she's enlisted in Military Law and
Police. See a pattern anywhere?

Ya see, in Texas a phone call to heaven is a local
call. Buy that bs? Me neither. All I know is hell
froze over and I'm forever trapped in it. Here with
you graying gunslingers. But at least I get to pitch
news that Sara Mag finally got married and dragged her
UAA accounting certifications and
internships(NANA/Colt) towards army officer candidacy.
Weird, it took me till 1/23/03 to get married and I'm
pert near fifty beat to shit years old, and the Magnum
child gits hitched AND recruited into overseas wartime
action: at half my age.

I'm guessing that Sara is just as mean as Mamie Reich,
not shy to crush a testicle or larynx with her elbow.
The heel kick to the sternum made my chest click tween
me lungs when I cough on a bong hit.

Sara mullik me all over narc land arctic. She's seen
me snarf down piles of damn good cocaine, choke
bonfires of pine chron, drink like a fucking native
and do drug transactions wired. She tagged along to
Ken Hall's, Burnor bucket camp Mills, Eddy Larson's
and Rick Carlson's up the Hatcher Pass and even
Mountain View with some immikagoonas.

This is the stupid part. Because bun is way too
native, I made Sara drive for me whenever I was
piffed, drank, charred, baked or soaked. Perty much
all the time since it's a proven fact that I only
partied once in my entire life.

And it started 31 years ago. Fuck ye, eskimo drivers
no survivors.

Me and magnum stuffed the coolest homemade scarecrows,
hung 'em in trees alongside the Deshka road and raced
by at top speed in mom's Cadillac shooting the piss
outa our stuffed targets. Drive-by practice for
minority children. Namely Eskimo girls adopted by a
full blown narcopath armed to the teeth, but way too
drunk to drive. Besides, I always spilt bong water all
over my dick.

Good ingredients biaches. I took a third world
dark-skinned aboriginal girl rescued from a shitty
remote mining and resource extraction colony, and
taught her to drive like me. The idea of teaching her
to shoot from both windows sounded like a good idea at
the time. "I don't know. I was really drunk at the
time" (P. Floyd).

Oh yeah, I also shipped her to Seattle for 15 years.
During her hiatus at the Ewing household she took
private music lessons, some basic karate and boxing,
horseback bullcrap and drove my parents ALL over
Washington State, just like 'Driving Miss Daisy' but
with 2 prunes riding bitch. Sara even drove numerous
times across the state to Spokane, Pullman and the
folks' 52 acre spot way up in rural Idaho. Sara spent
over 15 years total way south for intense training,
orthodontics and kicking white trash ass.

Now pay attention. This is striking because I only
spent 4 years of my life in Kotzebue. Bet you didn't
know that did ye?

Think about it. Yer in daily telepathy with me for
almost 20 years and I probably only sat face to face
with you maybe a hunnert times. The reason you're
always on my mind is cuz I talk to ye every fucking
day.

I ain't fucking 'round. I only pissed away 4 years of
my life slogging in pussy that smells like beef rot
and food that stinks like fish--on mongol ghetto spit
and peninsula kikiktardrunt.

See fuckheads? Honest and open communication builds
healthy, long-term relationships. That's so gay. I can
always find an internet cafes nordic, campus computer
labs baltic to send you my very best. My missives
frequent and touching are because I care so deeply
about how yer all doing. Go fuck yourselves.

Pay no attention to a man that's more crooked than his
house and more fowl than a yard full of kuktaq, unnuk
and sprayed ittik paint. And you let him brag about
his Siberian Mongoloid Inu-daughter that wears pert
near more money in teeth than her fish eater mum's
psychiatric and emergency room expenses.

During our magnum's years away at numerous rich bitch
schools and trust fund finishing academies, she also
underwent maxilofacial procedures. That's code talk
for major facial reconstruction. The beatings I doled
out never quite healed, so I had to cut out a check
for almost 15 years of extreme makeovers fer a salmon
cruncher. "Our land, our people unite, so let's drink
a case of Lysol and beat the piss outa my old lady"
(P. Lonewolf).

Fuck I'm funny. If the Mrs. didn't edit this tripe
towards the poetic, you'd really read stupid shit. I
dare say yer wives would gush walking rice out both
holes if they read my dim wit. Not mine, she's my
beloved editor with a flair for psychological
violence. She's native.

Of course I don't hit my family, cuz if I do, I'll
start catching Tom Peters, Mike Lie or John Erlich in
our wive's beds. Stand any flock of NANA biaches on
their heads: they'll all look like sisters. Besides my
family won't let me. If I have any gun accidents or
misplacements of my dick, she skoal me "I'll knock you
down and hit you in the head with a rock."

God bless brevity Inupiaq. I'm scared too. Sara is
meaner'n Mamie Reich whom put a heel in her husbands
rectum, grabbed a handful of hairy potato gonads and
plucked them off.

"She had his balls in a vice, but she left the dick."
"I guess it's still hooked on, but it shoots too
quick" (F. Zappa). Boy can still piss like a race
horse, but his pasture days are over and a slew of
faggots insist on committing suicide by kicking the
honey bucket and hanging themselves in his garage.

Yoy. Come to bush Alaska, drink native and cut down
hangers. I'm cool with the idea that I'm dying all by
myself long after you boys ship out. I got too many
chores to do and I ain't done writing "The Care and
Feeding of Elderly Eskimo Women."

Something wrong with this universe. Untold millions of
ovum are neutralized with distilled pregnant mare
urine (Premarin) and 4,000 babies a day get the pith
and shop vac cunt suck (abortion).

Life is so precious and ought not be wasted upon the
stupid. Like me. All of us fuckers have lived too
fucking long.

I'm pert near 50 and I can out run all the kids on my
reservation. Runt fuck rez kids can kiss my pockmarked
Scand-Indun ass. But only if they can catch it.

Wussies: all ye. Meet me out on the ice shelf. Have
gun, will travel.

Karluk. Retard padre of the infamous Magnum.

---

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Alaska high court strikes down state abortion consent
law-Nick Fiske at 10:05 AM ET

The Alaska Supreme Court ruled Friday that the
Parental Consent Act, a state law requiring parental
consent before pregnant teens under the age of 17 can
have an abortion, violates the teens' constitutional
right to privacy.

Writing for the majority in a 3-2 decision, Chief
Justice Dana Fabe [official profile] said: The State's
asserted interest in protecting a minor from her own
immaturity by encouraging parental involvement in her
decision-making process is undoubtedly compelling. But
by prohibiting a minor from obtaining an abortion
without parental consent, the Act effectively shifts
that minor's fundamental right to choose if and when
to have a child from the minor to her parents.

Fabe suggested, however, that a law simply requiring
parental notification without consent would probably
be valid.

The decision is the product of an initial suit filed
by Planned Parenthood of Alaska against the state that
began in July 1997. In 2001 the Supreme Court affirmed
a trial court decision granting summary judgment to
Planned Parenthood and remanded the case for further
proceedings to determine the constitutionality of the
Parental Consent Act pursuant to an opinion which had
extended the privacy clause of the Alaska Constitution
to minors. The Anchorage Daily News has more.

---

Fighting for affordable contraceptives

by Jennifer Zilko
http://www.ktuu.com/Global/story.asp?S=7275855
Saturday, Oct. 27, 2007

ANCHORAGE, Alaska -- College health centers have
traditionally been able to offer affordable birth
control to students, but many students got sticker
shock when they went into the campus health clinic
this fall.

Many students at UAA and around the country are
finding out that contraceptive costs are starting to
double, triple and even quadruple, the reason for the
increases, one small sentence change in Medicaid
rules.

Amber Sawyer is fighting for a cause that affects many
of her friends, affordable birth control at UAA.

"Almost every woman I know gets her birth control (at
the clinic,)" Sawyer said.

For years, college health centers have been able to
offer students low cost contraceptives.

But after Congress signed the Deficit Reduction Act in
January, that all changed.

The act changed the language in Medicaid rules, which
in turn ended the incentive for pharmaceutical
companies to give big discounts to colleges and other
low cost health centers like Planned Parenthood.

Some of the incentives for pharmaceutical companies to
give big discounts were keeping customers on the birth
control long after they left college and that
discounted contraceptives didn't count against the
drug makers in a formula that calculating rebates they
owed states to participate in Medicaid.

Mary Anne Wilson is the director of the UAA Health and
Counseling Center.

"The effect now has been previously we were able to
offer contraception for $6 a month to students, and
the cost for example for the Nuva Ring, for example,
has risen to $37 and other name brand contraceptives
have risen to $54 a month," Wilson said.

Sawyer said the increase puts birth control out of
reach for college students.

"I don't know anyone who's paying for their education
that can afford that type of increase," Sawyer said.

According to Sawyer and Wilson, the simple answer to
the problem, is to change the language to reinstate
the exemption, something Sawyer said Congress still
hasn't done.

"My biggest concern is that Congress isn't taking it
seriously," Sawyer said.

Until Congress does take action, consumers will pay
the price.

Calls to Sen. Stevens and Sen. Murkowski's offices
were not immediately returned.

Muslims got the right idea. They immediately execute gimps, perverts and sick puppies. Just like me. Happy All Hallows Eve.

Top of the morning gents,

Fuck my back is killing me.

For each and every action, there's an equal and
opposite reaction and I been up to my dick in red shit
butchery. All for really old fucking people I never
met, nor will never know. As the Chief commented,
"sounds like a lot of hard work" and I'm likely the
only chump ass that visits the Chiropractor twice
monthly.

Like I said before, I work way too hard and there
ain't no valhalla fer Finns, just awakening to the
same chores: forever. You fat fucks won't understand.
Cop work is fer girls. Bitchwerk unfit for criminally
impaired gonadular structures dangling from hunters
nor gatherers. Besides, KPD/AST/ABADE would never
hired no rapists nor molesters.

My dick.

Ass kicking whale harvest this Fall with a bonus stack
of walrus that hauled out onto our beach. And got shot
to piss. I been cutting foul slop for a fucking
fortnight thrice, washing bloody butt munchies and
freezing non-tunnik nickipaq. My tarpal cunnel flares
worse than wire through my course scrotum canvas, but
clears up in short order. After I get bloody, messy
and hard.

Instead of shipping buttloads of the stinkiest meats
and blubs I ever fucked and shucked, I oughta stuff
all our deceased yet still snuggly elders: like dolls.
Instead of burying our cultural treasures we should
stuff 'em. No shit, we could dehydrate my gramps,
pack him with styrofoam, shellac his bottom and penis,
then market this rad wrinkled punching bag as a cuddly
scarred teddy bear in the berserk characature of short
ass runts and dumb old river rats.

I'll buy a shitload for you guys. You know, to use as
sex dolls. Get even attigignik style. I know a rapist
extraordinare when I see one and I know you swinging
dicks would tap that dehydrated granny midget ass and
gape tanned silver whiskered clam in a Kotzebue Day
Care minute. "If nobody's looking" (M. Python).

Fuck boundries on bad language, we could go one step
further. Our children could stuff and pack us, but the
little peckerheads'd run out of stuffing. Fer yer
dicks.

We can't lie to ourselves and all us miscreants have
fucked some foul sphincters and rasty rectums. Shit, I
personally know some of yer truly retarded ex-wives,
ugly bastard children and chuckle at the thought you
got drunk, hard and cracked the seal on all sorts of
aboriginal crotch pockets.

Too far?

Nup. Some of ye are cackling evil at decisions the
rest of us have made. With our dicks.

Okay, I'm only kidding. Besides NEVER monkey fucking
any gimps, natives nor senior citizens, I never layed
hands on another human, never touched a firearm nor
consumed any drugs or alcohol. Yer so fucking thick,
touch me I'm sick.

I'm just more native than all of ye, and it makes me
shit watery green piss. In the last 5 years, I fucked
and shucked more dead sea mammals than any y'all. Wake
up fucks. My Siberian Mongoloid wife says that I'm not
just white, I'm SUPER white. I'm even whiter than
Casper, pert near translucent inside dark pussy, and
glow in the dark when I'm hard.

But I can cut and pack meats like no other aboriginal
grandmother fucker, and I follow the directions and
got adult supervision: my Siberian wife.

Last mondo shipment, fer yer fucking information: we
launched a buttload to our blessed Agent Octuck's
place yonder gas-can soils. He's been delivering
native foods all over Shitbanks, with AFN visitors
from the NANA region thus triggering the holiday
season. We snagged old Cyrus and Viola Norton as they
flew from Wainwrong and Nutsack (Nuiqsut) back to the
ghetto Kikikniggruk: gnarley block pink and black.

Oh, we also pegged blocks of bowhead freeze treats to
some folks in Selawik. Who were these folks bun? Oh
yeah, Emma and Ralph Ramoth. I ain't never met 'em,
but when bunnik says to load a freight box, cab down
to Frontier (Front & Rear) and ship some blessed
shrunken Inukuns endangered species eats: I fucking do
it.

Yup, I'm bragging. All on Indun time. Eedee-Ghee.

If you fuckers weren't so niggardly (Websters: cheap,
small minded) in your earnings and education, you too
could invade shorter alien cultures, mimic their
disgusting sexual norms Alaskan: and be just like me.
Neener Neener Neener. Super Dad from Unalakleet swears
I'm more native than you are.

Laugh it up faggots. That's perty fucking gross.

With serial rapery and murder-all subchump nigerians
programmed into human DNA, I thought every man alive
would snag a stash of date rape drugs before me and
Nasruk executed some bitchin' warrants. And I snagged
a shitload. Took me years to use all that shit up
throughout the women's dorms on the UAF campus.

Safe sex? What are you talking about?

Safe sex. Now that's a joke, our generation don't know
what a condom is for besides water balloons. Besides,
I'm guilty of doping whole harems with spanish fly and
GHB alcoholic suppliments and no girls fucking died,
but their really goddamned handsome abortions sure
did. I must've dragged my dick to the clinic a hunnert
fucking times.

Like my brother Cully stated, "I fucking hate short
pussy." And in concurrence, Pim declared "how fun is
it to only get HALF yer dick wet? Besides, I only eat
my own sperm." I calculate my odds of sending and
receiving STD's were 7 out of 233.

Cereal rape fer brekky appa kye? Okay, maybe a couple
uterine pairs died. What would I tell any human with 2
black eyes? Fucking nothing, I already told 'em twice.


Where was I? Muslims got the right idea.

Since I look so much like Jesus, I never gettoo pour
diesel on angry cunts and then hork a bong hit o'
Cully bud whilst burning dark hair pie more stoney
than Dakota ditch weed or Nebraska no-high.

Alaska natives still engage in infanticide.
Suffocating baby girls under the funny guise of Sudden
Infant Death Syndrome. Oh darn, we lost the one with
no kookoo. Fuck it, if it lives, I can always nuulik
the little midget.

Looking at the mean cunts that survived rural Alaska's
super duty fecal alcohol syndrome makes this Finn wish
MORE babies with biscuits got choked off like a
pinched loaf.

I gottoo go chuke.

I can't believe Dave Craig called me a squaw boy.
Serial rapist or oochuk boi maybe, but not squaw boy.
The reason I don't date women my own age, is cuz they
look just like my grandmother. Or so I 'splained to
MickFuck Craig.

I could make all ye as sick as me, but it'd likely
kill ye. And zap the piss outa yer electricity bill.

You graying gunslingers best smoke my shit with
tombstone titular: AK Raper #1. Blending sound
pharmacy and cervical concussions into a rather nasty
crime scene and forced genetic masterpiece. Halloween
fucks me in the goat ass.

Way back when I was a child in prison, the other kids
called me Powder.

You can call me Fred Garvin.

-

PS. Alaska could learn a few lessons from the European
Union, they're outlawing fucking everything, 'cept
weed and prostitution. Muslims, like natives outlaw
alcohol but embrace honor killings on young and old
pussy.

You obviously haven't heard the news. The EU has
outlawed all chewing tobacco. You can use my dick as
an oral replacement.

I'm such fucking Euro trash in tard clothing.

---

EU fines Åland over smokeless tobacco

The European Union is imposing a fine on the
semi-autonomous Åland Islands for violating the
European Union ban on the sale of smokeless tobacco.

The European Commission decided on Tuesday to impose a
significant fine on the province.

In May of last year the Commission noted that the
practice violates EU legislation, and the total of the
fine grows with each day that Åland fails to comply.
The sum now stands at more than two million euros.

After the decision, the province was given the task of
preparing a law that bans the sale of the moist
smokeless tobacco known as snus. The aim is for a
legislative proposal to be ready when the new
provincial government takes office in November.

Sweden is the only EU country in which the sale of
smokeless tobacco is permitted; when Sweden joined the
EU, it was given special permissison to keep its snus
tradition. In spite of the ban that is in force in the
rest of the EU, sale of the product has continued on
board passenger ships registered in Åland.

Commissioner Olli Rehn says that the size and special
status of Åland was taken into account when setting
the fine. If Finland as a whole had been considered,
the fine would have been much higher.

Rehn also said that he hopes that the new Åland
government would ban the sale of smokeless tobacco as
soon as possible.

The final amount that Åland will have to pay will be
set by the European Court of Justice. It could take a
year before a decision comes.

If Åland still fails to obey the EU law, the fine is
set to increase many times over.

Violations of EU health legislation tend to incur
rather large sanctions. An aggravating circumstance in
Åland’s case is that the violation has continued for a
very long time.

Åland and Finland have an agreement according to which
Åland pays its own EU fines.

"God bless us all, everyone." (Tiny Tim-Christmas Carol) Cuz we're gonna fucking need it.

Top of the morning gents,

In the middle of tasty piles of corrosive corruption,
fresh steamy JewNo fecus and palin piles half-wit, we
got all kinda life abbreviating shit simmering.
Homicides galore and cold necrophelia gore prosecuted
by cold case investigators and retarded troopers
"y'all mite bemember."

One of the lead investigators in the Linehan Black
Widow murder and love triangle: the Hope, Alaska
homicide investigation was lead by one of yer buds,
barts, ilyas and ummas...Wake up fucks. Dallas Massey.


This case involves a soccer mom from Olympia,
Washington who now has been convicted of sexually
manipulating her varied lovers to kill each other for
life insurance monies. On top of a life sentence of
lesbian incarcerate, she'll also see insurance fraud
paper filed with her parole review. A hunnert fucking
years from now.

You boys got exposed to some excellent coppers. Sort
of impossible to compare Old Guard dicks with current
detachment management. Amen?

Sgt. Von Clausen was also a mean bitch of a
supervisor, but how can you argue with fossils from
yonder past that solved big historical cases like the
Butcher/Baker serial killer: Robert Hansen.

During a late night smoke sesh with prevailing
temperatures pert near 40 below with winds shaking my
fucking house just down fifth (750 ml) Avenue in
Kotzebue, my stoner dude Robert Evak waxed fondly
about a cellmate and cribbage partner with the name of
Robert Hansen.

No shit. As he shovelled out piles of ultra-premium
grawler white caterpilars, Evak spun a tiresome yarn
how he and serial killer creepy bitch licker got such
a rush and rager of a hard-on after gittin' a nut
inside a dying bitch's cooter. Following the advice of
Ted Nugent, Robert Hansen and did indeed, "Come a load
and drive it home."

Alaskan rapists like Hansen and Billy Howarth ain't
much akin to Citizen X, just cannibalistic. Not quite
necrophelia, just fucking someone to death. Spoogin'
when she shoulda been dying.

Serial killing for butt-pussy is simply too much work.
I don't get it. To git my rocks messy, I just rope up
spastic mini-limber gimper dudes, wait for a seizure,
climb on board like a goat fucker, then cut the ropes
loose. Yeehaw.

No mattter how stimulating, don't fixate on that last
thought, you'll have to find someplace private to fuck
yer hand.

"The best thing that ever came out of a penis is all
the wrinkles." (Capt. L. Wallace) Now that's one mean
son of a bitch, but I'm quite fond of his ill humor.
Imagine that.

Long after you graying gunslingers die, retire or eat
a gun fer brekky, I'll shamelessly foist yer crippled
broke ass to pert near fucking sainthood too, so bite
my dick.

In the meantime and while yer still sucking God's air,
I'm gonna pound yer shit as masculinely as possible.
You little fucking queers.

"Lang may yer lung reek." "Cheers mates." --One of my
dickheaded Brit pal's stupid ancient Scottish Toast.

Marine hard-core abuse is such a wonderful method of
maintaining life long friendships with you assfuck:
than so much faggish male bonding.

"If I was a good man, I'd talk to you more often than
I do." (R. Waters-P. Floyd).

See what I say? "My lane is straight, but my house
ain't." Sayeth the crooked man.

Karl.

PS. We ain't crazy, just the world. At least in
Alaska.

---

Body was dismembered, placed in freezer

Associated Press - October 23, 2007 12:34 PM ET

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) - Police say a man was killed
with a frying pan, and then his dismembered parts were
bagged and place inside a freezer.

More grisly details have emerged in the weekend death
of 38-year-old Terry Lee Jackson.

A woman who shares an apartment with her grandson
opened the freezer Saturday and found the body parts
Saturday afternoon.

Police have issued a murder warrant for the woman's
grandson, 22-year-old Elmer Seetot. They claim the
murder happened after the two men drank and fought
Friday night.

The grandmother, Ruth Seetot, told police she went to
bed early Friday night because she hadn't been feeling
well, but woke up when her grandson came in. The next
morning, she told police her grandson was still there,
but was crying and was upset.

According to an affidavit, he told his grandmother, "I
accidentally killed Terry."

---

Freezer body suspect still missing-Daily News staff

Published: October 23, 2007

Elmer Seetot, 22, remains on the run this morning,
according to Anchorage police.

Seetot is accused of killing a friend, Terry Lee
Jackson, with a frying pan after a drunken fight
Saturday, then cutting him up and putting the
dismembered body in a chest freezer at his
grandmother's home.

Police have an arrest warrant charging him with
second-degree murder.

Seetot is described as an Alaska Native male, about 5
feet 9 inches tall, weighing about 200 pounds. He was
last seen wearing a black jacket, blue jeans and white
tennis shoes with no laces.

---

Former stripper convicted in fiance's murder
History of manipulation a factor in verdict

By MEGAN HOLLAND
mholland@adn.com

Published: October 22, 2007
Last Modified: October 23, 2007 at 04:38 AM

Jurors in the murder trial of Mechele Linehan returned
a guilty verdict Monday afternoon against the former
exotic dancer turned PTA mother accused of conspiring
to kill a fiance in 1996.

With her husband and lawyer beside her, Linehan stood
unflinching as Judge Philip Volland read the decision
to convict her of first-degree murder. Her husband,
Colin Linehan, normally a stoic figure, slumped when
Volland said "guilty." Other family and friends
started to cry.

Linehan, 35, faces a minimum sentence of 20 years up
to a possible maximum of 99. Volland set sentencing
for Jan. 25.

After the verdict was read, Colin Linehan knelt beside
his seated wife and buried his head in her shoulder.
Guards allowed the couple a final embrace before
taking her from the courtroom in handcuffs.

Linehan's co-defendant, John Carlin III, was convicted
in April, also of first-degree murder. Prosecutors say
the pair conspired to kill Kent Leppink for a $1
million life insurance policy payout, not realizing
Leppink had removed Linehan as the beneficiary days
before his death.

Carlin and Linehan maintain their innocence.

"God is good, one more time," said Leppink's mother,
Betsy, as she walked away from the courtroom. "I guess
we are just going to go on, make it a new beginning."

The Leppink family also issued a written statement:
"We firmly believe that 'Our God Reigns' and has
blessed our family with the services of the finest of
Alaskan people." The letter thanks the Alaska State
Troopers and prosecutors, among others.

"It was the right decision," said prosecutor Pat
Gullufsen. "I think the evidence was there. And it's a
long time coming. But I think that we are where we
need to be. We have both of them convicted now. It's
just a question of what the sentence will be."

Gullufsen said it would be premature to reveal his
sentencing recommendation for either convicted
defendant. Carlin is scheduled for sentencing Nov. 9.

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

The prosecution won over two juries using primarily
circumstantial evidence in the 11-year-old crime.

Outside the courthouse, Christine Eagleson said she
and her fellow jurors were convinced beyond a
reasonable doubt by e-mails exchanged between the
defendants and the victim.

"If you take one of those e-mails alone, then it
doesn't have the same impact it does when you stack
them up like you would stack bricks. And, I think when
that happened, you ended up building something really
large and, I think, undeniable," she said after the
verdict.

Eagleson said a note left by Carlin and Linehan for
Leppink to find a week before his death, apparently
intended to lure him to Hope, was a significant factor
in the guilty verdict. Leppink's body was found May 2,
1996, shot three times near Hope, 90 miles from the
home he shared with Linehan and Carlin.

Jurors also noted with displeasure that Linehan
engaged in "a lot of visual dagger shooting" at
certain prosecution witnesses during the trial,
notably former stripper colleague Lora Aspiotis,
Eagleson said.

Jurors took a first vote on Wednesday, shortly after
they got the case, Eagleson said. They were divided
six to six -- six undecided and six guilty.

The prosecutor's case "was well presented. And we
looked for the balance of that on the other side and
it just wasn't there," said juror Sherry Slade.

The three-week trial was full of details of how
Linehan, who was 23 at the time, manipulated men for
money. The defense did not dispute that but said her
bad behavior when she was younger did not make her a
killer.

But Linehan's life as an exotic dancer played a role
in the jurors' decision. "When ... you were soliciting
yourself to be attractive sexually in all those ways
-- you were soliciting yourself in that manner for
money -- that all goes into the factor of manipulation
and seduction," Eagleson said. "That was a whole key
point that we discussed on and on and on ... that was
the beginning seed."

Juror Lisa Pagano said she was not sure whether
Linehan tried to cancel the life insurance before
Leppink's death as an insurance agent testified. She
wasn't sure why Linehan wanted Leppink killed. "We
didn't have to come up with a motive; that wasn't part
of our instructions," she said.

CARLIN REACTS

A mile east of the courthouse, Carlin heard the guilty
verdict on a television news flash at the Anchorage
jail. Linehan's defense team "shot themselves in the
foot by not presenting the truth of what happened," he
said in a telephone interview. "The truth gets muddled
when both sides are making things up."

Linehan's defense was that Carlin acted alone.

He plans to appeal his conviction.

"There's nothing in any one of those e-mails that has
anything about his death," Carlin said when told
jurors attributed their guilty verdict largely to the
correspondence.

On the Hope note, he said, "In my mind -- and I wrote
it -- it's nothing." It was just a diversion, he said,
written so Linehan could visit a boyfriend in
California and not have Leppink follow her, as he had
before.

Until her arrest last year, Linehan lived in Olympia,
Wash., the mother of a young daughter and a partner in
a clinic with her doctor-husband.

Some old cases just won't fucking go away. Plus some new startling cases.

Top of the morning gents,

"Strange days indeed" (J. Lennon). Ain't that the
truth.

What's up with all these old cases being reopened?

Score 1 for the good guys: Helen Karmun is back under
indictment. BRAND NEW charges felonious-which must
truly enrage my buddy Ken Hall--a guy I dated all the
way from Washington to Kotzebrew. I fucked him in the
end. And in the ass, but I had a lot of help from you
coppers employed at Statewide Drug Enforcement.

http://www.courtrecords.alaska.gov/pa/pa.urd/pamw2000.o_case_sum?90947795

John Paliwoda's case is re-opened too. For you greener
faggots in uniform, years ago me and Nasruk did a
sweet undercover narc job on the UAF campus involving
drugs we'd only give to KVL biaches. Date-rape drugs
like GHB. Gamma-hydroxy-butyl something yada yada. I
was doing business with a couple growers and cocaine
dealers. Then in the evenings I visited with troopers
and coppers at the Marlin, Arctic Bar, etc and any
other bars filled with gaping native biscuit and
indigent shitbanks butt pussy.

Whilst quaffing large lagers and tall shooters with
the Legacy offspring of Kim Nay, John Paliwoda spotted
me, approached our table and bragged to all present
and accounted for that he had "some killer bud, some
chron blow" and a shitload of the 'G'. G is the
codename for Spanish Fly, knockout drugs and mickeys.
The drugs that render sober girls on all fours
flailing and knocking about like horny vegetables
who've lost their wheelchairs and undergarments.

Also leaves a gimp with a drool cup full of jizz.

"Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker." Sure, but GHB
quiets down Alaskan girls dorm buildings faster'n
seizure induced premature ejaculations in adult
females. Before they even see yer dick.

Paliwoda was a meth chef and could synthesize anything
immoral and medically dangerous. His forte was
crushing meds of all sorts to make party shit kids now
call "pharming." So before yer ugly children choke,
puke and vapor-lock, they'll experience symptomatic
relief of ADHD, ED, RLS, DP and IR.

Oh yeah, the rural acronyms abysmal. In rural Alaska
kids wash down whole handfuls of mommy's and daddy's
Rx meds with hard liquor and shitty music. Meds
commonly pumped out the bodies of pre-adolescent organ
donors: attention deficit hyper-active disorder,
erectile dysfunction, restless leg syndrome, dry pussy
and intact rectums.

On Kikiktagruk trouser soil, "someone's gotta be on
bottom, ye know, the party bod" like Helen Barger and
Annie Cyr. "Boogie in the butt" (E. Murphy).

Kevin and his twin sister Alfred Sheldon invited me
and my liquor over their house to party. Yup, I used
to party with real classy neegros. When I arrived I
saw 2 skanky bitches past out, pants down and half the
house shoved up their ass and lippey. No shit, half
the fucking broom closet and bottles of chew spit were
pushed up their hootchy kootchies and turd hatchery.

I'll tell ye about Karl Ferriera's first and last gang
rape after yer done puking. Karl choked Jew-Jew Sours
and assisted hanging one of the other man-raper fagger
dudes in a connex. Hence the popular ghetto arctic
phrase, "doing a Russell White Sampson job on yer
nigger ass." Last thing Alkili Inupiaq Unnuk Lake
needs is a culturally sexual reflection, it'd spatter
them with shit.

Okay, back on topic. After Paliwoda bragged to my
table filled with plain-clothed narco-gunslingers,
Nasruk leaned towards me and stated, "that fucker's
mine, can you set us up to do business?"

That was the beginning of another year plus
orchestration illicit yet brilliantly symphonic sting
operation.

Is there a fucking echo in this room? Do ye see a
pattern or twat? There's something seriously wrong
going on here.

I now take medication that helps me identify bent
bikes, crooked old men and droves of gooney children
awaiting tall alcoholics to pick up a guitar or blow
his own pan flute. I also try to stay far away from
cops.

My era of grift METHodology and chemical brotherhood
will die with you mooks. The Gen-x and y generation is
plum full of fat junkies and piggy computer jerk offs
all needing dad's breasts to suckle from-AND-take a
Jaclynn Russell beat down and a Katy Norton bumper
bite and a Helena Gallahorn Gorta full face drag down
front street behind Nigger Jim Ginley.

Take a look at the shotgun list of charges Nasruk
filed on this biach in the commission of selling
Trooper Nay 1000 doses of GHB, some blow and
mushrooms. The felony theft charge was added after
Paliwoda kyped fronted drug money from AST.

http://www.courtrecords.alaska.gov/pa/pa.urd/pamw2000.o_case_sum?72986016

In this case, I thought Sandy Pussy Russell took a
hammer to Ramona Nichols. What did Lee Virgin do to
get crossthreaded with this man-beast?

Sandy Russell had the Barrow court re-open her case
against Lee Virgin--

http://www.courtrecords.alaska.gov/pa/pa.urd/pamw2000.o_case_sum?87953706

---

Location: Kipnuk

Case number: 07-68833

Type: Sexual Abuse of a Minor (19 counts)

Text: On 10/16/07 Kay E. Attie, 20, of Kipnuk was
charged with nineteen counts of Sexual abuse of a
Minor after over a month long investigation.
Investigation revealed Attie had sexually abused five
(5) boys, ages eight (8) to thirteen (13) in Kipnuk
for the last two-three years in various places. Both
sexual penetration and sexual touching was
involved. Attie was arraigned on 10-16-07 in Bethel
District Court and bail was set at $500.000.00.

Author: PLB0


Received Tuesday, October 16, 2007 3:16 PM and posted
Tuesday, October 16, 2007 3:39 PM

---

Location: Wasilla - Case: 07-88442

Type: Sexual Assault

Text: On 10/15/07 at about 1158 hours, a 41 year-old
female called 911 to report that she was sexually
assaulted in her home in the Wasilla area by a
stranger. AST Patrol Units arrived and secured the
scene. Palmer ABI and Crime Lab personnel responded to
the scene along with an AST K-9 Unit.

The victim disclosed that she was home alone the
morning of 10/15/07 and getting ready for work when an
unknown male entered her residence and
sexually assaulted her.

The victim was transported to the Anchorage SART
Center and Investigators processed the scene.
Investigation is continuing

Author: WEZ0
Received Tuesday, October 16, 2007 10:16 AM and posted
Tuesday, October 16, 2007 10:47 AM

---

Location: Bethel

Case number: 07-87979
Type: Homicide

Text: On 10-13-07 at approximately 0930 hours, the
Bethel Police Department received a report of a
possible deceased individual being transported to the
Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta Regional Hospital. The
individual was pronounced dead upon arrival. The
individual is identified as Angelina Hapoff, age 20 of
Bethel. Bethel Police Department requested assistance
from the Alaska State Troopers. AST's
Alaska Bureau of Investigations, along with personnel
from the State Crime Lab, responded to Bethel and is
treating Hapoff's death as a homicide. The Alaska
State Troopers are asking the public for any
information regarding the whereabouts of Hapoff
between 17:00 hours on 10-12-07 (Friday) and 09:00
hours on 10-13-2007 (Saturday). Tips can be called
into AST at 907-543-2294 or 800-478-2234; Bethel
Police Department at 907-543-3781; Anchorage
Crimestoppers at 907-561-STOP or emailed into
www.anchoragecrimestoppers.com

Received Tuesday, October 16, 2007 4:16 PM and posted
Tuesday, October 16, 2007 4:42 PM

North of 70 lat, there's a hunnert men to every scraling biach. Nup, t'other way 'round.

Top of the morning gents,

Chicks rule, men drool.

Fucking queer if ye gotta problem with my wisdoms
senile and bizarre sing-song repetition to my
ejaculatory yet quite literary discharge.

You ain't married to a sapien primate that you can
truly count on? "It's cuz yer gay" (Super Dad from
Unalakleet).

Girls born north of the Arctic Circle are the catch du
jour. Reason I know this is cuz my wife told me so and
in the middle of my last long distance phone chat with
Commander Craig, that Irish mick fuck called me a
"squaw boy." Like he never kissed an Indun, fuck him.

Where the fuck does this Celtic aboriginal Saxon
bovine raping bag of mashed up assholes get off?
Fucker was born on two separate dates: 1928 and 1931,
ain't he a WOP-with out papers.

If I don't break Craig's balls, he'll die.

Squaw Boy. That's like oochuk boy and the second time
I heard Euro-slang with such racist brevity.
Anglo-centric slurred reference that darky pussy is
little better than fart hammers. "A horny little
Jewish Princess. A grinder a bumper with a
pre-moistened dumper" (F. Zappa).

Like mixing it up with Irish slaves, customary
drinking with Finns means ye gotta break balls. Every
Helsinki Saturday, the 5 of us ussi suomen mba 2000
fuckheads gathered for mile long shots of beer, champs
and anything Finnish and Flammable.

"If there's more the 2 white punks in a huddle,
they're smokin' drugs" (M. Callahan). Yup, we was
smoking drugs.

2 Brits, 2 Finns and 1 cannuk enjoyed roasting my shit
cuz they knew I spent a hunnert years spazzing about
with you cops and robbers and that I done dunked my
donkey injurious and got my dick wet out on the
reservation.

"Touch me I'm sick!" Funny fuckers on yonder braver
soils.

The 2 Brits were simply assholes and their favorite
words were "fucking cunt" and "stupid git." What I
found funny was they brokered jacked liquor and cigs
and their names were Peter and Paul: I stole from
both.

The 2 Finns were United Nations Peacekeepers in the
Finnish Army. Aivar and Timo shot meat and cut throats
in Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, Chechoslovakia. No shit,
real dishonest to God mercenaries that could beat a
prisoner with equal passion as us. I don't believe
coincidences fer dick, but James Mason has a couple
pictures of my drinking buddies standing over piles of
leaking corpses...perchance their slaughterhouse
handiwork.

"War Time is Party Time." "Violence is the destruction
of the human body." "Cheers mates." (Fino Merc Timo's
toast to strong drink).

What kind of creepy bullshit is this? After chipping
frozen red shit, mopping brains and puke, and dragging
and beating the likes of Tykee Lloyd Hall and Billy
Howarth down the Green Mile, I run into a sick mirror
image cluster of graying gunslingers: just like you.

Same fuckers as all ye. I'm such a piece of shit.

At a black tie dinner party, Timo loudly suggested I
"tell everyone the story about all the dogs you shot
in Alaska." Real funny fucker.

All eyes blue and elfin ears finn and fair were upon
me, so I took a breath and started a drunken
sophisticate yarn about grabbing a loaded gun and
climbing under BJ Russell's shit house next to Freddy
Sours. You know, near Spesak's, Squish's uncle's and
Eunice's. I was on assignment killing a pickup truck
full of puppies.

Middle of an Arctic winter, dark as shit and up to my
dick in snow...I was on my stomach crawling under this
nasty ass reservation house so I could shoot the fuck
outa whole box of menstruate foul and toxic canine
parvo-puppies: with 2 clips of 22 sjhp. "Shoulda
brought fucking shotguns" (Pulp Fiction).

I smacked and zapped em' all, also smoked the barking
momma mangy husky bitch with 2 in the eye. Blanchard
radioed me and told me that someone in the house over
my head phoned Kathy at dispatch and reported
gunshots. Lame drunk Inu macaques mighta guessed their
infection, but not their father.

I busted ass and hustled prone back out then flung
dead momma one-eyed bitch mutt under the house and
booked. Never did retrieve the warm meat pile and haul
dick to the dump.

As I gazed around this dinner party there was not a
sound from me audience.

So I started phase 2 of the Kotzebue dog shooting
blood and guts tale with my buddy Billy Bird aka
Blackbird aka Super Nigger. His last moniker dropped
jaws with politically perfect timing. I like seeing
green shit dripping from my audience. Fags faint and
soil trou whenever I fail to shut my gob. If you ever
get a cold from me, you better see a psychologist.

Ya see, Blackbird was my Nigger Jim to your Huck Finn.
He let me sneak home for a few bong rips and fetch
222's, I shucked him jugs and cigs too. He also sold
me a butt-load of guns and bragged how to skin a gook.


We was all sitting at the group W bench...toking on a
number, groovin' on the radio. Me and Blackbird drove
the shot dog stink truck up to the graveyard, smoked
fat chiefs and got chinked, then he went fucking Nam
on me and killed as many dogs as he could till shift
change. I had to lug 'em into the back of the truck, I
never gettoo have any fun.

Good formation, good accuracy. 9.5 points from the
judges. Blackbird drops to one knee and cycles a shell
into his shotgun in a single fluid motion, touches off
a round and blows the collar off of Margaret and Paul
Hanson's black lab. Cycles another round and blasts
the engine room clean outa that dog. We have chunky
red and white tissue in Swan Lake TB laggoon. Bonus
points for horrified children running back home in
tears spattered with bits of hair and dog poop. Crowd
cheers.

My drunken yarn ended with a toast to Vietnam Vet
alcoholics, cops and dog catchers, and ass fucks and
gun oilers.

Gotta laugh. Blackbird could spin a dog like a top. A
double o' buck charge in the hip brodied the piss outa
tundra. Count 3 blood spinning rotations, cycle a
round, Powee, dog eats a neck load and flips off
backwards like drunken ice nigger behind Shannon
Pavle's wiper blades.

I'm still awaiting from our killers at KPD how the
45-70 dragon pistol works on fucking dogs and when
soldier Finn will share what shoulder launched gas
cannisters do to a bloody rag muslim's mug or thorax.

Smile for the CX gun. Ouch. Imagine a smoking white
hot beer can half sunk in yer face, chest or ass like
buckwheats. It ain't torture if I ain't asking no
questions. Die fucker.

Ever rope a rebel over the barrel of cannon? Heads or
tails. Smoke ass and say goodbye faggot.

Oh yes, chicks rule, men drool. With so much
excitement I forgot what I was talking about. Fuck,
I'm still hard.

If it wasn't fer sex, none of ye'd be where you are
right now. Most of my readers got their rectums parked
on this side of the Arctic Circle. A few equal to the
latitude of Shitbanks, Denali and Helsinki. Made you
look you dirty crook, yer dick points north.

Down south of 60, there's way too many smart, handsome
men to compete with. Up here in Alaska, yer only fear
is me.

Enjoy the pickings, rack 'em and stack 'em.

Karluk Puklaumi

PS. The attached slideshow details my hikes overseas.

---

Man-made chemicals blamed as more girls than boys are
born in Arctic

By By Paul Brown

Twice as many girls as boys are being born in some
Arctic villages because of high levels of man-made
chemicals in the blood of pregnant women, according to
scientists from the Arctic Monitoring and Assessment
Programme (Amap).

The scientists, who say the findings could explain the
recent excess of girl babies across much of the
northern hemisphere, are widening their investigation
across the most acutely affected communities in
Russia, Greenland and Canada to try to discover the
size of the imbalance in Inuit communities of the far
north.

In the communities of Greenland and eastern Russia
monitored so far, the ratio was found to be two girls
to one boy. In one village in Greenland only girls
have been born.

The scientists measured the man-made chemicals in
women’s blood that mimic human hormones and concluded
that they were capable of triggering changes in the
sex of unborn children in the first three weeks of
gestation. The chemicals are carried in the mother’s
bloodstream through the placenta to the foetus,
switching hormones to create girl children.

Lars-Otto Reierson, executive secretary for Amap,
said: “We knew that the levels of man-made chemicals
were accumulating in the food chain, and that seals,
whales and particularly polar bears were getting a
dose a million times higher than that existing in
plankton, and that this could be toxic to humans who
ate these higher animals. What was shocking was that
they were also able to change the sex of children
before birth.”

The sex balance of the human race - historically a
slight excess of boys over girls - has recently begun
to change. A paper published in the US National
Institute of Environmental Health Sciences earlier
this year said that in Japan and the US there were
250,000 boys fewer than would have been expected had
the sex ratio existing in 1970 remained unchanged. The
paper was unable to pin down a cause for the new
excess of girls over boys.

The Arctic scientists have discovered that many of the
babies born in Russia are premature and the boys are
far smaller than girls. Possible links between the
pollutants and high infant mortality in the first year
of life is also being investigated.

Scientists believe a number of man-made chemicals used
in electrical equipment from generators, televisions
and computers that mimic human hormones are
implicated. They are carried by winds and rivers to
the Arctic where they accumulate in the food chain and
in the bloodstreams of the largely meat- and
fish-eating Inuit communities.

The first results of the survey were disclosed at a
symposium of religious, scientific and environmental
leaders in Greenland’s capital, Nuuk, yesterday,
organised by the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church,
Bartholomew I, which is looking at the effects of
environmental pollution on the Arctic.

Dr Reierson said the accumulation of DDT, PCBs,
flame-retardants and other endocrine disrupters has
been known for some time and young women had been
advised to avoid eating some Arctic animals to avoid
excess contamination and possible damage to their
unborn children. Dr. Reierson, said blood samples from
pregnant women were subsequently matched with the sex
of their baby. Women with elevated levels of PCBs in
their blood above two to four micrograms per litre and
upwards were checked in three northern peninsula’s in
Russia’s far east - the Kola, Taimyr and Chukotka -
plus the Pechora River Basin.

To check the results the survey was widened and
further communities, including those on Commodore
Island, were investigated. The results were now in for
480 families and the ratio remained the same.

He said full results for the widening of the survey
would not be published until next year but preliminary
results for Greenland showed the same 2:1 ratio in the
north.

Aqqaluk Lynge, the former chairman of the Inuit
Circumpolar Conference who hails from Greenland, said:
“This is a disaster, especially for some 1,500 people
who make up the Inuit nations in the far north east of
Russia.

“Here in the north of Greenland, in the villages near
the Thule American base, only girl babies are being
born to Inuit families. “The problem is acute in the
north and east of Greenland where people still have
the traditional diet.

“This has become a critical question of people’s
survival but few governments want to talk about the
problem of hormone mimickers because it means thinking
about the chemicals you use.

“I think they need to be tested much more stringently
before they are allowed on the market.”

The Inuit are nomadic in nature, having survived for
thousands of years using formidable hunting skills to
seek out the bowhead whale, seal, caribou and walrus.
The Inuit Circumpolar Conference (ICC), an
international body, was founded in 1977 to represent
the rights of the approximately 150,000 Inuit of
Alaska, Canada, Greenland, and Chukotka (Russia). With
relatively low levels of educational attainment and
few opportunities, violence, alcohol and drug
dependency are a growing problem as the Inuit try to
safeguard its traditions.—The Guardian

http://www.thenews.com.pk/print1.asp?id=72051

Some stereotypes come with guarantees and positive statements about Vikings are always racist. Instead of Columbus Day, how 'bout Israeli Gear Day?

Top of the morning gents,

Cautionary note. If yer queer or neegro, ya mite get
pissed off. I use bad words.

Now I'm fucked. I been logging on with you lot for
fucking years now, and I've not acknowledged the long
list of recipients feminine.

You fucks are so arrogant ye didn't suspect I'd have a
few tough broads reading my shit too?

Chicks rule, men drool.

Thank you for the supportive emails, yes I sleep on my
side cuz I gotta kickstand and yes I pull this shit
outa my ass-in only 2 hours each morning. My hat is
off to my female readers that fully understand gender
specific failings and the benefit of all humans
someday sprouting some fucking balls.

NOBODY can work with a "bitch in heat" and "women are
evil." Or so the smarter wives have advised me, "all
that bitch needs is to get fucked."

Peace and quiet only comes from a dick. That's why so
many pale riders borrow mine. Plus minimal grabby
abbies too. "You little bastards be quiet, I'm going
upstairs to fuck yer grandma."

As you all know, I USED to post just the gnarley cops'
emails and bastard VPSO butthead addresses so you
could comprehend why I call this my daily am cop talk
forum. Don't gottoo any more.

Since so many of my missives get forwarded to Southern
Alaska, Central Finland and even a few losers in the
continental US...Japan and Russia too: EVERYBODY is
blind carbon copied (BCC). I don't got a problem with
shitty bitch cunts reading my shit, but I ought not
suffer because you're all no smarter'n yer dumber
wives.

Reviewing all yer readin' writin' and 'rithmetic
skills I can honestly say, "Sorry, God ain't fair in
the distribution of brains and curses the half-breeds
the worst."

Don't like my estimation of yer weight, brains and
attitude? Then quit being fat, dumb and happy and add
some letters to your fucking name and a few tons o'
lard offa yer butt. To brighten up my list of
recipients, I'd need to add a few more soldier Finns,
or at least some more Goddamned Jews.

That's just what Alaska needs, is more Jews.

Jews lynch their own better'n an Eskimo. Ever wonder
why Inupiaqs banished Manilaq from village
Kikiktagruk? You lot are just as bad as fucking
Christians.

One smart Jew turned out to be a true ally. He'd phone
me with narc-fo about who had really good white guy
drugs and account balances for Polar Consolidated. He
ran numbers better'n you and I, also ran forensic
accounting for the Troopers.

Matter of fact, this same miserable fucking heeb is
STILL doing exotic parity checks, heteroskidasticity,
skewness, and measures the thickness of the tails in a
standard bell curve distribution. Any data outside
standard shotgun spread is suspect and kicked over to
the fraud claims department.

This fucking Jew ass kike motherfucker brilliantly
performed an analysis of decades of phoney paper shite
and convicted Chicky Swanson of multiple 'deamors and
felonies-late 80's-KOTZ Gaming Commission fraud and
Public Radio funds theft-for you greener faggots.

He's also done detective number stacking for the AK
PFD, ATAP, and cloned Quest cards. Oh, sorry for the
mud-ethnic arctic coloquialisms: Alaska Permanent Fund
Dividend, Alaska Temporary Assistance Program and Food
Stamps Benefits debit cards. You fucking queers need
schooling in advanced welfare for the colored.

Alas, welfare makes us all black.

Yup, yer gittin' warm. My heeb dude worked a contract
and chased the nigger out of the woodpile and flushed
the turd outa yer church offerings plate and tithes.
Friends Church hired this hymie fucking kike as of
recent and he sifted out so many phony deposits and
bogus receipts that you'll now find a fellow ice
nigger nailed to an AMCC prison crucifix. Notice y'all
ain't seen Robert Sheldon hanging around Mike Tabor's
anal port nor yer kids?

Most of you already guessed my heeb dude's name: David
Caleschman from KOTZ, now specialized in forensic and
fund accounting. Ask the chief how simple accounting
and econ classes are-classes capable of killing small
children and most minorities.

With public education in public toilets like the June
Nelson Drug Addict and Drunk Macaque fucking gladiator
school for darkey 'tards, more Jews in Alaska will
merely illustrate our chronic fecal alcohol
retardation, and subhuman skin colors. At least the
smartest crossed and pop-eyed kids in Kotzebue can now
apply for benefits and have the federal handouts build
them low IQ housing: a Nigloo.

You'll never find an atheist in a foxhole, nor a Jew
out of private schools-'cept all them Erlich fucking
drunks.

What am I saying? If we had a hunnert more heebs here
in the FAZ, my kind of smartness would be evermore
common.

Good thing my words are so sweet and delicious, else I
wouldn't enjoy eating them so much. I ain't got a
runny nose, I just blew a seal.

Speak louder into the microphone and bite my dick,
it's Finnish and circumSIZED. The only complaints I
get from my sex is that it hurts.

Alaska's token Scandinavian Pagan and Ritualistic
Grandmother fucker.

Karlpuke.

PS. Speaking of dickheads front and center, burka's
clipped off-take a read about Iran's number one
dickless wonder.

---

I found 3 articles detailing the non-existence of
child molesters in Alaska, gays in Iran and moving
Israel to JewNo, Alaska.

First is funniest-take a click visit but don't
masterbate.

http://web.israelinsider.com/Articles/Diplomacy/12161.htm

---

Here's 2 newsclips from KTUU Anchoragua News Ittik and
what-not.

---

Iranian president suggests Jews relocate to Alaska

by The Associated Press Saturday, Oct. 6, 2007

ANCHORAGE, Alaska -- Iranian President Mahmoud
Ahmadinejad said Saturday that Jews do not deserve
Israel and should be relocated to parts of Europe or
even Alaska.

Ahmadinejad called the existence of Israel an "insult
to human dignity" during annual rallies in support of
Muslim claims to the holy city of Jerusalem.

He is known for his anti-Semitic comments and has
repeatedly called for the Jewish state of Israel be
"wiped off the map."

Ahmadinejad also has called the Nazi Holocaust a
"myth" used as a pretext to carve a Jewish state in
the heart of the Muslim world after World War II.

The Iranian president once again said Palestinians
should not pay any price for European and Western
atrocities committed against Jews before and during
the Second World War.

Ahmadinejad suggested Jews be relocated to Europe or
Alaska to establish their own nation.

His remarks came as millions of Iranians held rallies
across the Middle East to protest Israel's continued
hold on Jerusalem, the city where Muslims believe
Islam's prophet, Muhammad, began his journey to
heaven.

---

Putting the Jew in Juneau

By Michael Weiss

Posted Friday, Oct. 5, 2007, at 4:48 PM ET

Journalists respond to Al-Quds Day and Mahmoud
Ahmadinejad's call for a new Jewish state in Canada or
Alaska. Also, Kim Jong-il is an "Internet expert."

Putting the Jew in Juneau: Al-Quds Day, which occurs
on the last Friday of Ramadan, is the Islamic holiday
inaugurated by Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979 as an event
to "warn all the superpowers that they can no longer
keep Islam under their control by means of their evil
agents. Quds Day is the day to give life to Islam."
Celebrated throughout the Muslim world, it has been
taken up in Iran, most visibly by Mahmoud Ahmadinejad,
to denounce Israel and call for its annihilation.
Where should all the Jews go? "Give these vast lands
of Canada and Alaska to them to create a country for
themselves."

Conservative Brian C. Ledbetter at Snapped Shot offers
a gallery of protest photos and writes: "Notice that
Al Quds Day falls on the last Friday of Ramadan, a day
in which all Muslims are encouraged to go to their
mosques for prayer. It is in these mosques that the
'Islamic public' is so easily whipped into a rage by
their radical imams. So, in effect, this is the
largest canned protest of the year."

Fellow righty Ed Morrissey at Captain's Quarters
wonders about Ahmadinejad's suggested alternative
homeland for Jews: "Maybe Ahmadinejad flunked
geography and history at Teheran U. Columbia could
have given him a refresher course. I don't recall a
millenia-long tradition of Jews in Alaska, but maybe
Ahmadinejad can speak on that history when he comes to
Columbia for his next speech."

Proud Zionist Yisrael Medad at My Right Word can't
help but notice the plan bears an eerie similarity to
the plot of Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policeman's
Union. Still, for all Ahmadinejad's wide reading,
Medad still wants to negotiate: "[S]ince Iran is
slightly larger than Alaska, with an area of 1,638,057
square kilometers while Alaska has an area of
1,530,693 square kilometers, why can't the world have
Ahmi chose Alaska and we get Iran?"

Commenter "Insufficiently Sensitive" at Gateway Pundit
asks: "Why the hell can't we get some signs printed up
in Farsi with opposing sentiments, assemble our own
rent-a-mob, stage a grand riot and film it for
YouTube? The MSM is already sold body and soul to the
Iranian (and all other) anti-Americans, but ve haff
vays to get ze message out in spite of MSM 'barriers
to entry'."

Actually, there is a counter-Quds rally being
organized in London by David T and the social
democrats at Harry's Place: "Are you going to
encourage friends to turn out and make clear that
supporting the rights of Palestinians to a state does
not involve supporting a murderous theocracy?"
According to the counterprotest leaflet, "The
demonstration we are opposing is organised by
supporters of the Iranian regime calling themselves
the 'Islamic Human Rights Commission'. The IHRC is not
a human rights group. Over the years the IHRC has
joined forces with other anti-democratic Islamist
groups, including the vicious Hizb ut Tahrir."

Liberal Fred Stopsky, the Impudent Observer, thinks
it's just more hollow bluster: "Ahmadinejad's comments
concerning Israel are nonsense and are best ignored in
the same manner intelligent Americans ignore Bush's
ranting about spreading democracy in the world. Step
two, is moving toward negotiations. I realize critics
will denounce me as an appeaser — Ahmadinejad does not
run Iran, clerics like the Ayatollah Khamenei are in
charge. Let's deal with the real bosses, not the
stooges."

Read more about Al-Quds Day.

MySpace for Tyrants: He won't let his citizens near
the Internet or even carry mobile phones, but North
Korea's Kim Jong-il told South Korean President Roh
Moo-hyun at a summit this week that "I'm an Internet
expert." A nickel to anyone who avoids Al Gore jokes.

Darren Murph at Engadget says: "Granted, the guy must
have some sort of outside connection to still receive
his tunes and booze once the US got involved." Josh at
Gawker adds: "He claimed to have invented LOLTyrant
and also, strangely, UNIX."

"The regime tightly controls all communications in
North Korea," notes Chris Williams at the Register.
"Internet access is completely locked down for
military and important government applications. Kim, a
notorious ladies' man, reportedly asked for then-US
Secretary of State Madeleine Albright's email address
when she visited in 2000. Presently, there are two Kim
Jong Ils listed on Facebook. He's probably trawling
for babes as we write." And Paul McNamara at
NetworkWorld points to a remarkable photo from a few
years back that explains one big impediment to North
Koreans having their own Facebook network:
electricity.

A lil' bit of death mixed in with a lil' bit of hallucination. All flashbacks from a long life of dying. Thanks fer holding my hand.

Top of the morning gents,

Even a moron can learn something new. If ye try
something long enough, ye just might figure shit out
and get darn near good at it. Dying too.

Every fucking time I stroll through the nursery at the
local village hospital, I recognize each and every
newborn. Ya see, there ain't too many Eskimo souls in
this universe. More simply, if there was a heaven for
natives, I already know what it smells like.

The Here After I've set sails for is packed full of
Finns. I got a face only me mum could love, and my
kind ain't welcome 'round yer deceased darker
relatives.

When we go home, we all go to where we're welcome, not
some rezzed out Valhalla ruined diverse and
hodge-podge mixed with muddy sapien varietals. "Silly
humans. Silly human race." "Yours is no disgrace."
(Yes-Squire/Anderson)

Both heaven and hell are mud farms. Nowhere in Alaska,
but South of 60 hidden somewhere between Bellingham
and Snohomish. This I know. The line between
non-reality blurred long before my eyes started
failing. But since meeting you lot and after the
stroke.

Got a room full of crying newborns? One quick walk
‘round all them ugly little shit Inukuns and they’ll
all get mum really quick. Most them recycled corpses
likely remember the dickhead that done helped ‘em hang
themselves, smoke rat smack, or snort cyanide cat piss
diesel.

Yup, that dickhead was most likely me coaxing pressed
rat collections, dog legs and feet across Death’s
Door. Get fucked up and dance with me. "A friend of
the Devil is a friend of mine." (G. Dead)

Fuck it. That ain’t why I’m writing ye. More on that
later. I got some serious problems dudes.

I woke this morning with a deep L-shaped cut in my
goddamn ball bag. Minimal bleeding dudes, but a real
smart piss off when I pull up my trousers to boot and
jacket up. Hurt like shit. What’s am I gonna do with a
slashed bag out on a fucking arctic ice shelf? Bleed
on shit before I shoot it?

I ain’t been drinking so much as I used to: trying to
steer clear of excess spirits and foul temper and too
many injuries. Besides, I can’t have no more gun
accidents.

My memory is pert near perfect, save a tad too much
axle grease, heavy crude and chronic tar build up on
my teeth, but I got no clue who kicked me square in
the nuts hard enough to cut open my nut sack and
ventilate my perforated mud flaps.

I showed Bun my bleedy ball sac: she made me go
straight to our local shitty Indian village clinic.
BIA hospitals are just fucking great place to enjoy a
peroxide douche, scrotal stitches on my extruded
ovaries, then bandage my bashed marsupial blood pouch
that contains my soul kitchen and 2 extra brains.
There's a whole universe inside yer nads, and mine are
slashed and leaking a bit. Fuck my pussy hurt.

Here’s the weird part, when I dropped trou for that
fat native nurse to show her my punctured male bag,
she found no injury only red wet mess. She then got
angry and slapped with bloody gloves cuz I got happy
again. And hard.

This ain’t the first time I woke up all fucked up like
this. Some mornings I wake with busted limbs and
teeth, deep cuts, stinky burns and punctures, only to
panic like a girl, run crying all the way across my
reservation yet miraculously heel as I’m filling out
that bullshit non-native paperwork.

Lots of blood and bruising, but zero gaping cunt
shaped knife or ballistic impressions. No shit, after
waiting goddamned hours next to smelly sick natives,
my fingers, teeth and gonads re-attach.

Before the stroke I used to wake with injuries like
that. But they were real injuries such as loosened
teeth, electrocuted limbs and danglers and spit up
lungs full of prison potable.

But since kyping someone else’s passport and body, I
now awake to injuries I can’t remember getting doled
out on me. Last June, in Kotzebue I woke up with a
crop of pimples on my chest, stomach and groin. Real
doozey pimples too: Greg Lantz a boil grade. When I
went into the bathroom to pop all them fuckers, I
squeezed out pus and birdshot.

I’m so fucked up. As far back as I can remember, I was
always on the other side of the shotgun.

Let me do a quick self-check: yup, clicking ribs,
loose skin and chips in me mouth and lumpy bruises on
me nads. I gotta stop giving and taking so much sex in
my violence.

The hell I inhabit is a hell I created. Why do I feel
imprisoned on the wrong side of a brittle membrane?

Blimey struth you fucks, makes brilliant sense now.
Don't ever let happen to your children, what I done to
other people. To dream is to become stigmatised by
your own sins.

I fucking had enough, my nuts are killing me and I'm
really scared. Could one of you soldiers call me on
the Bat Phone and wake me up?

Thanks.

Karl.

---

Science awakens to the possibilities of human
hibernation

By Scott LaFee

http://www.paramuspost.com/article.php/2007020822504911


In December, a 35-year-old Japanese man was found
after he spent 24 days in the wild, reportedly without
food or water. The man - Mitsutaka Uchikoshi-told
rescuers he remembered falling asleep in a field,
possibly losing consciousness after a fall. After
that, nothing.

When searchers discovered him, Uchikoshi appeared to
be beyond sleep. His pulse was almost undetectable.

His body temperature had dropped to 71 degrees - 27
degrees below normal. His organs had mostly shut down.

Uchikoshi was treated for hypothermia, multiple organ
failure and blood loss from his fall. Remarkably, he
recovered fully, with no lasting ill effects. His
doctors speculate that he survived, essentially
unscathed, because he slipped into some kind of
hibernation.

Maybe, maybe not. In fact, there's little scientific
evidence that humans are even capable of
hibernating-at least not in the same way as some
animals, such as Punxsutawney Phil, the celebrated
groundhog who looks for his shadow on Gobbler's Knob
in Punxsutawney, Pa., each February.

Potential, on the other hand, is a different matter.
Increasingly, researchers think it may be possible to
apply elements of hibernation to a host of human
ailments and endeavors, from extending the utility of
donor organs to permitting long-term human space
travel.

"It may not be necessary to learn how to put humans
into the very deep, profound hibernation states of
some animals in nature," said Hannah V. Carey, a
zoologist at the University of Wisconsin and a
hibernation researcher. "It may be enough to learn how
they do what they do and mimic some of those states."

Such knowledge would be useful in treating surgery and
trauma patients, she said. "Some hibernating animals
are masters of knowing when to eat and when to stop.
If we understood those signals, like when the body
knows it has enough fat and switches metabolisms, it
could be very useful."

Practical success will not come easy. Hibernation
isn't simply sleeping deeply. It isn't merely
triggered by cold or the calendar. The fat-tailed
dwarf lemur of tropical Madagascar, for example,
hibernates during winter not because the weather is
cold (the average temperature is 63 degrees) but
because conditions are dry and food is scarce.
Hibernation in its various forms and degrees boils
down to survival, making it through hard times by
doing less with less. Different animals do it in
different ways, but humans can take lessons from all
of them.

ARCTIC GROUND SQUIRRELS

Arctic ground squirrels are hibernation champs and a
preferred research subject. (For obvious reasons, they
are a lot easier to work with than, say, bears.) When
winter begins in northern Alaska, the indigenous
squirrels burrow underground, curl into balls and, for
all intents and purposes, play dead. Metabolic
processes like heart rate, blood pressure and
respiration virtually disappear. Body temperatures
hover around freezing. The squirrels are utterly
unresponsive to touch. And yet, come spring and warmer
temperatures, they emerge unaffected from their
slumber and burrows.

John Hallenbeck, a researcher at the National
Institute of Neurological Disorders and Strokes, said
part of the reason is the way the squirrels deal with
fat. As any cook will tell you, fat is affected by
temperature. When it's cold, some fats separate and
congeal. The same thing happens inside cells.

Cold causes saturated and unsaturated fats in the
membranes of cell components to differentiate. While
unsaturated fats remain liquid, saturated fats turn
into a kind of crystalline gel. Proteins - the cell's
workhorses - can become stuck in the gel and stop
functioning normally.

Hallenbeck and his colleagues discovered that squirrel
cells get around this problem by changing their
internal structure, clustering proteins in patches of
liquid unsaturated fat so the proteins can continue to
work regardless of how cold it is. When temperatures
rise, the cells restructure again - usually within a
couple of hours of the animal waking and warming up.

Something similar, albeit less effective, occurs
inside chilled human cells, according to Hallenbeck.
By figuring out how squirrel cells do it better, he
believes scientists might apply the knowledge to human
biology, leading to improved cryopreservation
techniques and storage of transplanted organs.

BLACK BEARS

Black bears are not true hibernators - not like
squirrels and other small mammals. Because of a bear's
size, its temperature does not drop as dramatically,
nor does its metabolic rate. Indeed, bears frequently
wake up during hibernation, leaving their den or
"hibernaculum" for brief periods of time. Still, they
spend as much as five months in hibernation. For
humans, such a prolonged period of inactivity would be
catastrophic, perhaps fatal.

"Bedridden patients lose 0.7 percent of their strength
per day, resulting in problems such as severe
atrophy," said Hank Harlow, a professor of zoology at
the University of Wyoming. Bone and muscle loss can
approach 80 percent to 90 percent.

But post-hibernation bears display comparatively
little loss of either. Seth Donahue, an associate
professor of biology at Michigan Technological
University, said bone production in black bears
remains constant throughout hibernation, even though
the bears are not eating.

Donahue credits recycling. During hibernation, black
bears rarely urinate or defecate. Virtually all
metabolic waste is reused, including excess calcium,
which is refashioned into new bone.

Similarly, black bears help keep their muscles full
and fit by converting urea - a nitrogen-rich waste
product found in urine - into new amino acids, thus
preserving existing proteins and contributing to new
muscle tissue.

They also exercise - in their sleep. Using electronic
leg braces attached to the knees of hibernating bears,
Harlow and colleagues showed that the animals undergo
massive episodes of shivering about four times a day.

"It's almost like a human getting on an exercise
bike," Harlow said. "We think these massive muscle
contractions are helping the bears to maintain
strength and muscle tone through the winter."

Work like Harlow's presents a wide array of potential
applications, from treating muscle disorders to
minimizing the negative effects of prolonged hospital
confinement to exercising astronauts during lengthy
space missions.

LEARNING FROM EXAMPLES

Bears and squirrels are hardly the only animals to
hibernate. It's a diverse evolutionary adaptation.
Certain terrestrial frogs, for example, essentially
freeze during winter. In most species, that would be
fatal. Ice crystals forming inside the cells would
puncture delicate membranes, killing the cells and,
ultimately, the animal.

Ice crystals form inside hibernating frogs, too - in
the body cavity, bladder, under the skin - but the
frogs survive because their vital organs are flush
with the sugar glucose, which acts like antifreeze.

Skeptics note that humans aren't like tree frogs or
ground squirrels. We lack the ability to concentrate
glucose in key organs or safely vary our metabolic
processes. They question the practical value of animal
hibernation models. But other researchers counter that
humans may not be so completely different.

"It's hypothesized that hibernation represents an
ancient trait in mammals that continues in selected
lineages today, including possibly humans," said Brian
Barnes, director of the Institute for Arctic Biology
at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks.

Case in point: oxygen deprivation. In hibernation,
many animals significantly reduce oxygen flow to their
brains with no negative consequences. There are
anecdotal examples of humans surviving under similar
circumstances. In 1999, a female Norwegian skier was
pulled from icy waters after being submerged for more
than an hour. With no measurable heart rate,
respiration and a body temperature of 57 degrees, she
appeared to be dead. And yet, she was resuscitated and
recovered fully.

In 2001, a Canadian toddler named Erika Nordby
wandered outside at night in a diaper and T-shirt. The
temperature was minus 11 degrees. When Erika was found
two hours later, her heart had stopped and her body
temperature was 61 degrees, but she, too, was revived
with frostbite as the only lingering complication.

SLEEP AIDS

Even if humans can't hibernate, Barnes and others say
they are inching closer to reproducing hibernation's
protective and beneficial effects through drugs and
therapies. Already, researchers have discovered how to
place lab mice into suspended animation, using a
common gas produced by the body.

Hydrogen sulfide smells like rotten eggs, but
scientists have found that in small doses (an 80
parts-per-million mixture with air), it puts mice into
a hibernationlike state, substantially reducing their
heart rate, breathing and body temperature while
keeping blood pressure normal. Exposed to normal air,
the mice recover within minutes.

The phenomenon presents some interesting
possibilities, said Mark Roth, of the University of
Washington and Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center
in Seattle. In safe doses (high concentrations of
hydrogen sulfide are toxic), the gas could be used to
slow oxygen-deprivation damage in people with critical
injuries or during transplantation surgeries.

It might even lead to more effective cancer therapies.
To wit: Some cancer treatments work by denying oxygen
to malignant cells. But the approach can also harm
nearby healthy cells. If the oxygen needs of healthy
cells could be reduced through suspended animation,
then cancer medicines could be used longer, with
greater effect.

"Right now in most forms of cancer treatment, we're
killing off the normal cells long before we're killing
off the tumor cells," Roth said. "By inducing
metabolic hibernation in healthy tissue, we would at
least level the playing field."

"The cool thing about hydrogen sulfide is that it
isn't something manufactured that we're taking down
from a shelf - it isn't 'better living through
chemistry' - it's simply an agent that all of us make
in our bodies all the time to buffer our metabolic
flexibility," he added. "It's what allows our core
temperature to stay at 98.6 degrees, regardless of
whether we're in Alaska or Tahiti."

Meanwhile, other scientists are investigating the
potential of vitamin C. Humans and primates get most
of their vitamin C from food, but many animals
synthesize it in their livers. Margaret Rice at the
New York University Medical Center and Kelly Drew at
the University of Alaska note that hibernating
squirrels and turtles accumulate massive amounts of
vitamin C in their brains and central nervous systems.


The vitamin, they theorize, protects against damaging
free radicals and acts as a buffer when the animals
emerge from hibernation and expose their depleted
brains to lots of oxygen, which can be just as
damaging as not enough oxygen. The findings could have
direct significance for stroke victims, who frequently
suffer additional brain damage when blood flow
returns.

Chances are, humans will never be like Arctic ground
squirrels. Space-faring astronauts aren't likely
anytime soon to slip into hibernation pods for
journeys to distant planets and stars.

"Human applications are years, if not decades away,"
said Steve Swoap, a hibernation researcher at Williams
College in Massachusetts.
But prospects of hibernation science, say Swoap and
others, are numerous and eye-opening.

DROPPING Seattle energy prices. Fuck Us.

Top of the morning gents,

Since most of ye graying gunslingers and arctic
fuck-offs have seen killer polar playgrounds and the
most surreal arctic landscapes on God's green Earth, I
gotta do you one better. Or at least die trying, so
fuck ye.

*The slideshow is a drain-bramaging century back-pedal
to see yer grandma in diapers, back when toddlers were
likely more mature than any of us. Wake up fucks, do
the math: Eskimo lifespans a hunnert years ago were
27-34 years, married, pregnant and beaten by the age
of 5.

Some shit never changes eh? Last piece of Selawik
pussy I raped and gaped locked onto me like a snapping
turtle. Safety pins fail as birth control.

Fuck me in the goat ass, bun says I'm 92 years old, in
Eskimo Years. Ignore my stupid shit and download the
archival mind trip.

*The single jpg titled #4 is an aerial photo
overlooking the barrow cliffs me and bun hike the shit
out of. The same gnarley cliffs competing tribes
chased thicker negroes over the edge-thus shedding
explanatory powers upon the shattered bone data sets
quite littering the beaches below.

In the aboriginal world of warfare, he who fucks last,
fucks best. If you're being chased over a cliff by
armed yet retarded Inu warriors, shoot yer dogs before
ye leap, they surely won't rally off a cliff like some
bogus Thelma and Louise dike shite.

Butt shot mutt-kammoons make nikipaq ahquaah, ain't no
good to us surviving victors, fer sex, food neither:
unless yer a bit queer.

Oh, yer panties bunch up when I call you lot a bunch
of queers? Call me a fuck wad, but you ain't a man
unless you can out hike me or got a bigger nose than
me. How often has your snot lockers been referred to
by bodacious women as "the second best seat in the
house."

If you blow hot air up a girl's skirt- or bubbles for
69 minutes, some of the world's most beautiful women
in the world will distend their jaws and try to pack
as much meat in their mouths as possible.

I was told by my gramps that women got big yaps for
storing big and quiet sausage, not shrieking like a
cat caught in yer Volvo's fan belt. "Smaller the tit,
the more the monkey" (Steve Turton).

I'm off track. The bitch I want to pitch is the unfair
and audaciously discriminatory energy resource
extraction policies way out in the most remote parts
of Alaska.

Before I stomp on yer dicks, take a quick look how
fast energy prices are FALLING in Seattle. Due to
drastic increases in gas inventories worldwide,
natural gas prices are collapsing: as are the chances
of us building a pipeline from my backyard all the way
to Chicago, Illinois.

---

Puget Sound gas prices reveal radical decline.

http://voiceofthetimes.net

Turn up the heat

UNFORTUNATELY, IT DOESN'T do us any good, but
residential gas customers in the Seattle area are
going to get a big reduction in their bills beginning
Monday, October 1st.

Puget Sound Energy, Washington state's largest energy
utility, is cutting the price of natural gas it
delivers for home use by 13 percent. Monthly gas bills
for a typical residence will drop by $11.27 — to a
new rate of $82.12 a month, the utility says.

That's a big break for a lot of people. Puget Sound
Energy serves 44 percent of the homes in the
Seattle-Bellevue-Everett metro areas that use natural
gas for heat.

How come? According to utility officials, wholesale
prices for natural gas have fallen. The Seattle Times
said the rate reduction resulted from the fact during
the past year there were no distribution disruptions,
there were record imports of liquefied natural gas
imports, and there was more production from the Gulf
of Mexico and the Rockies.

Because the utility costs were lower, it is required
by state law to pass its savings on to the customer.

Compare that to what's happening here.

In Alaska, where natural gas reserves are all over the
place, natural gas prices have taken a big leap
upward.

Debate goes on about a natural gas pipeline from the
North Slope. Natural gas production from the Kenai
Peninsula presumably is falling and the prospect for
future production evidently is grim.

Tough luck for Anchorage customers. Good news for
Puget Sound gas users.

---

Here's a daft notion. Heck with a natural gasline to
Tok or Valdez.

Since we're real Alaskans fully versed in laying
serious pipe, here's a killer hook-up.

Now that the north pole is now ice free year around,
back a couple Drakes barges up here and snag a load of
CNG. Your heating bill would drop from a grand a month
(or more) for stove oil downward to somewhere closer
to our $40.00 monthly gas bill.

No kidding. A typical Barrow house the size of Judge
Jones' old place would likely have bills that total
two and half AK dimes. Water, sewer, garbage, natual
gas and electricity will rack ye $250.00 with natural
gas only $40-$50 per menstrual bicycle-no suglu.

You can sure tell an Ukpeagvik, but ye can't tell 'em
much, they got this high tech, super cheap, negative
carbon footprint energy policy all figured out. They
got the cheapest natural gas on the continent and the
cheapest electricity in the state. I'd go as far to
speculate the your exhorbitant energy costs are an
unfair and inflationary tax. Kikiktagruk poverty and
dependance is a culture rapidly replacing the
indigenous with the indigent. Shitting 2K a month for
bills don't help matters.

Poorly thought out energy policies only burden
citizenry too poor to step up to the good life: north
of 70 lat. Git yer dicks outa the dirt, book up here
and 'have' as much free gas as ye can tote back home.

Just ask Lt. Eunice, he'll tell ye straight. "The
devil went to Georgia, right after he done fucked
Kotzebue all to Hell." There is a God, but he's hiding
north of the Brooks Range, Hell froze over and
something really awful is buried right under yer feet.


"Soil's gone bad" (Pet Cemetery). Sleep tight bitches.



Karlakka Muna-una

Booze draws heavy drinkers from across the countryside, plus a humorous ditty detailing a killer recipe.

Top of the morning gents,

I want y'all to try a rad recipe I got from the
infamous 6Killer, the serial assassin from Kiana ye
best not get cross-threaded with. Anyone who's ever
pissed off our blessed Squirrel River Indun Killer
were found deceased yet blowing blood bubbles out a
sinus cavity the size of yer average Selawik infant's
anus, or Gumby's bypassed turdcutter: whichever gapes
widest.

I still own the gun that made the nickname "Pussy
Faced Davidovics" famous: twice. It's a dandy 357
magnum with custom engraving that reads 'eat my shit
and die' in Germanic Inupuke.

The human face goes through some rather horrific
distortions when ye shove a gun barrel up yer fucking
nose or in yer pie hole and pull the trigger. Suicide
by cop-okay sort of...

Back on topic: a killer recipe I retrieved from one of
my truest and bluest friends.

A few centuries ago I snagged a couple bottles of
Cutty Sark brand Scotch, holstered twin Colts 6-by-6,
then headed a few blocks yonder for some serious
thinking, drinking and heavy testicle (masculine
brains) based dialogue.

Good Alaskan chat, good Saxon drink, good Alaskan
foods too. Me and 6Killer lobbed big ideas back and
forth, plus gulped big shots of good Scotch while
munching on Eskimo candy: smoked salmon. Lots.

Here's how I discovered what it feels like to be a
Selawik bitch ho or a Kivilina diaper rapist. After
chugging down all the Scotch and piles of smoked
salmon with a one-dozen cigarette back, I staggered
home through drifting snow and lay in bed agonizing in
a cloud of shit-burps.

I figured out a mean trick. Now here's the cruelest
trick. Feed you guests lots of smokey salmon and
smokey Scotch, then kick 'em out pronto. They'll be
burping turpentine, paint thinner and gasoline flavors
so bad they'll turn green.

No shit, the grossest belches and sickest burps make
yer guests feel like an Eskimo with a rusty ring
around their mouths. Gas huffing fool is what I felt
like, don't try this at home.

Then I heaved up.

Pleasant eh? Bite my dick while I eat shit and die
like a drunken Sative Nailor after drinking paint
thinner and huffing gas.

*What follows pertains to creating a liquor
distribution station similar to Barrow's: but in
Kotzebue and Bethel. I'm sick of seeing immiktuqs with
sukpiq mukluks and I doubt I'm alone.

Here's how it works up here. ANYBODY with a DWI in the
last 7 years or a domestic assault in the last 10
years won't pass the criminal background check and
cannot purchase liquor. Even bootleggers and suitcase
smugglers get 86'd for 2 years-plus probation.

Think about it. Your town's worst wife beaters and
sloppy drunks can no longer pay retail prices for
booze, just bootleg prices. 1000% screw up tax stings,
but works "ral gud bart" (A. Monroe).

Eliminating the Anglo wrath of alcohol takes both
brains and guts. Barrow Eskimos are tougher Eskimos,
smarter and richer for it too.

Sianarra my brothers,

Kiaqpuke.

---

Wet towns draw heavy drinkers from across the
countryside

RACHEL D'ORO-Associated Press Writer

NOME, Alaska — Villagers from far-flung Eskimo
communities where alcohol is banned regularly pour
into this old Gold Rush town and its many bars and
liquor stores — not just to drink, but to get
plastered.

Day and night, drunks can be seen staggering along
Front Street, slumped against buildings, and passed
out near the tourist shops or along the seawall on the
Bering Sea. Police cart off the worst of them to dry
out at the hospital, where the emergency room often
reeks of alcohol with as many as eight drunks at a
time vying for beds.

Some never make it out of Nome alive. They drink
themselves to death or pass out in the below-zero
cold, where they can count themselves lucky if they
merely lose some fingers or a limb to frostbite. Many
simply vanish, presumably swallowed by the icy waters
of Norton Sound. Over the past two decades, dozens
have died of exposure or drowned.

"The level of alcoholism is intense," said Greg Smith,
who runs the Norton Sound Health Corp.'s outpatient
substance abuse program. "The most dangerous pattern
of drinking is binge drinking and it is firmly
entrenched here. It's been built into the drinking
culture."

The U.S. has more than 500 dry communities, and it is
not unusual for residents to flock to another town to
do their drinking. But some of the worst binge
drinking is associated with a few regional hubs like
Nome that draw people from Native and American Indian
communities across vast expanses of countryside.

One big reason is this: Many Indian reservations and
Eskimo villages are in extremely remote areas and ban
not only the sale of alcohol, but possession, too. In
other parts of the country, many dry communities allow
alcohol possession, and a bar is usually just a short
drive away.

These regional drinking hubs include:

— Whiteclay, Neb. It has a population of 14, yet about
4 millions cans of beer are sold each year in four
stores there, mostly to American Indians. It is just
yards away from South Dakota's Pine Ridge Indian
Reservation, where alcoholism is rampant despite a ban
on the sale and possession of alcohol.

— Gallup, N.M. It has long been branded Drunk Town,
USA. It is surrounded by Navajo, Hopi and Zuni Pueblo
lands where alcohol is prohibited. The town of 20,000
now bans Sunday alcohol sales and a county tax on
liquor has been imposed.

— Flagstaff, Ariz. It is 72 miles from Tuba City on
the Navajo Reservation, and the closest place to get a
legal drink. Wanda MacDonald, director of the Navajo
outpatient treatment center in Tuba City, said on the
stretch of highway between the town of 8,000 and
Flagstaff, she once counted 149 white crosses marking
the sites of fatal car accidents — most of them
because of drinking.

Experts and activists say the heavy drinking involves
only a fraction of the nation's Native population but
perpetuates one of the oldest and ugliest stereotypes.

"The most common perception among the general
population is the firewater myth, that Indians
physically can't hold alcohol. It's just not true,"
said Fred Beauvais, a researcher at Colorado State
University at Fort Collins who has studied the issue
for three decades. "A lot of genetic research has been
done on that and there's no evidence for a specific
genetic factor for Native populations."

Instead, experts link alcohol abuse among Natives to
poverty, hopelessness, loss of culture, and perhaps
habits learned generations ago from hard-drinking
settlers, trappers, traders and miners.

American Indians and Alaska Natives have a 550 percent
higher rate of alcohol-related deaths than nonnative
Americans, a disparity blamed in part on inadequate
health care.

Nome, population 4,000, is best known as the finish
line of the 1,100-mile Iditarod sled dog race and is
situated in a region the size of Louisiana, with 15
mostly dry Inupiat and Yupik villages, some as much as
200 miles away.

It has six bars, four liquor stores and two private
clubs that sell booze, and annual alcohol sales total
$5.5 million, which is equal to more than half of the
city's annual budget.

The drinking crowd swells dramatically during the
Iditarod and when Alaska's oil-royalty checks — last
year's windfall was about $1,100 — are distributed to
nearly every man, woman and child in the state each
fall. But even on the slowest nights, it's not unusual
to encounter someone who has passed out.

Newman Savetilik comes to Nome to quench his thirst
for whiskey. Savetilik, 50, lives in the village of
Shaktoolik, 130 miles from Nome, and feeds himself by
fishing and hunting moose.

"When I come to Nome I got alcohol problems," he said
with eyes half-shut. "I'm not like that in
Shaktoolik."

Nome's boozing history was born with the town after
gold was discovered in 1898, bringing thousands of
hard-drinking fortune hunters. The gunslinger Wyatt
Earp operated the Dexter, the most ornate of 50
saloons lining Front Street in the Gold Rush heyday,
when the town's population swelled to 20,000.

Nowadays, Nome police officers estimate they spend a
third of their time tending to intoxicated people —
some repeatedly — and making arrests for drunken
driving and such booze-fueled crimes as domestic
violence and assault.

Alcohol is involved in 90 percent of the 1,000 or so
criminal cases around the region that are prosecuted
each year, said District Attorney John Earthman.

Three-day protective holds are the primary tool
employed by police to deal with people so
incapacitated they could fall victim to a crime.
Police logged 326 holds in the first seven months this
year and 632 in all of 2006, according to Police Chief
Paul Burke, a former state trooper who began his new
job a few months ago and has made it his mission to
clean up Front Street.

He has asked his officers to conduct more bar checks
and watch out for lawbreakers, such as businesses
selling to already intoxicated people or to minors.
But Front Street merchants generally do a good job of
policing their workers for fear of losing their liquor
licenses, he said. Overly intoxicated people get
kicked out, but still manage to keep drinking.

"In the early '80s, when I first got here, the bars
were open until 5 a.m.," City Manager Randy Romenesko
said. "Obviously there are lots of things that can be
done, but the question is does anyone want to do them.
Bottom line, it's a community decision."

Some mental health experts say there will be no real
progress until Nome gets an inpatient rehab center —
one that incorporates Native sweat lodges, talking
circles and songs and dances. Nome's only residential
rehab center closed eight years ago, its managers
citing dwindling state and federal support. The
nearest facility is almost 200 miles away in Kotzebue.

Meanwhile, the regional Native corporation has
launched an education program for high school students
to discourage drinking and restore appreciation of
their culture.

"I want them to be inspired and empowered and feel
their self-worth, that they can accomplish something,"
said program coordinator Kirbi Fullwood.

A bar at the Nome Nugget Inn stopped serving alcohol
two years ago, specializing instead in Vietnamese drip
coffee, when Thuy Nguyen's family bought it.

"I think Nome can do without one more bar," she said.
"We'd rather get people jacked up on caffeine."

-Associated Press Writers Nate Jenkins in Lincoln,
Neb., Felicia Fonseca in Albuquerque, N.M., and Arthur
H. Rotstein in Tucson, Ariz., contributed to this
report.

On the Net: http://www.nomealaska.org

You think yer the only one with an alcohol problem? We all been cuffed, thumped and thrown in the drunk tank with Ginley: quit being such a bitch.

Top of the morning gents,

First frost, first snow and I'm fucking digging life.
Me and bun are seeing drifting snow at all our stops
between here and hell and back. Okay, only as far as
Kaktovik: same thing though.

I'll assume all yer summers were righteous and fit fer
maggots, mine was. Summers suck cuz real Alaskans
winter in Alaska. All else is mere playtime at the Day
Care center for chubby half-breeds, porky browntards
and old fat white tourists. No shit, these blue-haired
seasoned citizens were even fatter'n a Gumby pre-turd
cutter bypass.

The entire Arctic Slope was invaded by chunky aliens
hoping to see pleasant arctic dwellers, not a mean as
shit Finn with a gun, escorted by a trillion mosquito
bodyguards and vampire chiggers capable of sucking fat
humans dry, all from their bottom and penis.

On my 11 mile daily hikes and hunts inland or along
the cliffs above the Arctic Ocean, the chiggers this
year were something to be reckoned with. To extend the
life of my obsolete year, make and model body I tucked
my trousers inside me socks else I'd experience a
fluid extraction and bloodletting out my fucking dick
worse than draining the Shoreline Swimming pool with
yer retarded inlaw squatting their FAS penis holster
over the drainpipe.

Alas, good fishing requires good bugs. Amen, but I
loathe screaming parasites and buzzing airborn
catheters. The life of the retired, a year of Sundays
till forever. I married smart and rich. Besides
mosquitoes and chiggers, what's in your wallet?

No caribou near town yet, so I ain't punched too many
tickets nor packed the furnace room with tunnik
punniktuq. But, I HAVE scored a savory menu of
righteous munchable meats. Bun split the sinuses of a
natchiq better'n full combat lesbo porn glazing a
dike's toy baseball bat. No shit, the bearded seal I
packed, froze and shipped to Agent Octuck even earned
a nickname: pussy face Davidovics.

Hooah! Ye like that? Just like old times mopping up
dubious suicides with uniformed serial killers.

Topping off Patchuk's monster freezer with some mighty
fine pink and black whale candy and bright red caribou
meat and you got one dandy picnic niqipaq. If you are
so lucky as to lift weights at Octuck's garage and
dojo, he might let you peek at his treasure trove of
ancient foods other cultures call rotten. If he shows
you his gun, run.

No matter what cafeteria of drugs I chow, I'm still a
hunnert percent dedicated to my legacy nickname of
'Slim' and looking really fucking good both in my
underwear and out.

Since losing my North Slope liquor permit over a minor
misunderstanding of local option laws, I kinda been
forced into sobriety save tuppagnak y cafe. Fuck you:
Coffee and bonghits, tea and toke. Meaning, I ain't
drank like a fucking Finn in ages and "it's been days
since I found God" (K. Cobain).

Oops, I forgot you boys are primates, I mean primitive
fucking Niffs. Ye see, way up North of 70 Lat, we have
to pass a criminal background check just to get a
permit to order booze.

Us northern Alaskans got standards too. No fuckups can
order anything alcoholic. Me included. If ye got ANY
assaults, DV cunt punching or DWI (driving while
inupiaq) on your record, you can't play the Ukpeagvik
game of infant biscuit for brew. If I want to drink
someone else's liquor rations, I gotta kill an Alaskan
dime: pay $100.

I've tried sidestepping city ordinances, but a drug
dog at both the airport and post office pretty much
scared me straight. Pretty much knocked my dick in the
dirt and forced me to shut up and sit down: on that
sack o' seeds.

I haven't gotten Finnished drunk since Vance and one
of our graying gunslingers spoiled me plastered. Me
and bunnik flew to Shitbanks, raced to Anchoragua and
back, and basically partied for months till we were
trippin' balls. I owe two hard drinking OCS cowboys
some of my all time 10 best hangovers.

Alas, Coffee and bonghits it is.

Sitrep (situation report for you queers): lots of
physical training, lots of shit food and lots of
hikes: to the tune of a weight declination plateau of
a skoach under 200 pounds. Hence why I now look REALLY
good in a bathing suit sportin' wood.

Every morning my bunnik orders me to "eat your mushuk"
with vitamins and a couple of aspirin, for lunch it's
steak and potato and for dinner it's more steak,
salmon, rice and steamed vegies.

Boring. No sweets, no baked goods, just dead meat. I
can count with my dick the number of times I chugged
down any spirits, save a few visits from a big as shit
redneck from North Carolina. I only getta chug
yeast-werks if I get a visit from a giant of a man
twice my weight.

On days with more blasted exertion such as hunting,
hiking or running from the cops I chow mondo dried
fruit, granola or even dried plums...prunes for you
nimrod anal retentives past 40.

Nothing personal, but your peer group determines your
obesity, so stay on the other side of the Brooks Range
or you'll all start gettin' trim and buff distracting
yer dumber wives from staring at me. Damn I'm good
looking. It's all in my jeans.

Fat is a zip code issue, so blame yer ballooning
bodies on yer wife, yer community and yer lazy nigger
ass. You want a piece of mine? Ye gotta catch me
before ye pound my shit.

I've held back on you lads long enough. Mr. Winter has
returned to bless us pale arctic dwellers, you darky
fuckers too. So I shall bestow "abrasive yet witty"
parables (RA Dillon). Don't fret yer skin hue, in
another 10,000 years you'll also be pale tunniks
sporting big lilly white naulami salamies. Your
melonin impairment is merely Mongoloid in descent.

All you Inupiaq fucking soaks gotta simmer down, take
yer time, let us Viking motherfuckers die off of
natural deaths due to alcholism first.

Ironic ain't it? The most vile humans on Earth are
dying of diabetes and alcoholism faster than
everybody.

And you thought I was talking bad about Natives.


Karl Zagars

PS. Here's the site where I hid all our shit.

http://northof70lat.blogspot.com/

===

Alcohol now Finland's top killer

BBC WORLD NEWS, Finland

Alcohol consumption has soared in Finland following a
tax cut Alcohol has become the leading cause of death
in Finland for men, and is a close second for women, a
study says.

Figures for 2005 released by the state statistics
agency showed alcohol killed more people aged 15 to 64
than cardiovascular disease or cancer.

Almost as many women died of alcohol-related causes as
breast cancer last year.

Alcohol consumption in the Nordic country has risen
steadily over the past 20 years, correspondents say.

About 2,000 Finns died of alcohol-related causes last
year - 150 more than in previous years.

Each Finn drank on average the equivalent of 10.5
litres (22 pints) of pure alcohol in 2005.

Alcohol was also found to be a contributory factor in
suicides, and intoxication is involved in nearly one
in four deaths caused by accidents or violence, the
figures showed.

"If the trend continues, we are talking about a
significant matter even from the point of view of the
economy, because people of working age pay the
pensions of the coming generations, and keep the
economy competitive", Ismo Tuominen, a Ministry of
Social Affairs and Health senior official, told
Helsingin Sanomat newspaper.

Alcohol import quotas were reduced and a 40% cut in
taxes on spirits was introduced two years ago.

Parliament is considering ways of bringing alcohol
consumption under control - including health warnings,
an end to bulk discounts and restrictions on TV
advertising, reports say.

Another proposal is to ban retail sales of alcoholic
beverages before 0900 hours. Currently, stores can
sell beer and cider from 0700.

===

A night out in Helsinki

By Dominic Hughes BBC News, Finland

Dominic Hughes accompanies a police patrol as they
deal with the drunken excesses of a Friday night in
Helsinki and meets a victim of the country's hard
drinking culture.

Alcohol consumption has soared in Finland following a
tax cut

We saw our first really drunk man at around 10pm,
picked out by the headlights of the police van as it
cruised slowly down the road.

He looked like an office worker in his 40s, dressed in
a suit and overcoat, with a laptop bag slung over his
shoulder, weaving and staggering along the pavement,
narrowly avoiding obstacles like lamp posts and trees.


The two enormous policemen we were travelling with
were unfazed.

They see a lot of this kind of thing on their regular
Friday and Saturday night patrols.

So they ignored the office worker. He looked like he
was on his way home to sleep it off.

It's Friday night in Helsinki, and the object of the
exercise seems to be to get as drunk as possible.

'Drunk tank'

Our escorts had already picked up one hopelessly
smashed teenager, depositing him in the grim confines
of what they call the "drunk tank", the biggest in
Europe.

In the morning they will be nursing what the policemen
say will be their worst ever hangover

Lit by bright fluorescent tubes, the small cells smell
of urine and stale sweat, with a toilet in one corner
and a foam mattress on the floor.

Our teenager was like a puppet who had had his strings
cut. Legs buckling, head dropping, he was moaning
incoherently.

And he was quietly crying. You could see he had not
planned on ending his night here, or in such a bad
state.

Most people who wind up in the drunk tank are locked
up for their own protection.

It is at its busiest on weekends when the drinkers of
Helsinki really let rip.

But the police do not arrest just anyone, only those
who look like they will be a danger to themselves or
others.

Many drunks find themselves victims of crime. Others
are injured in falls.

Freezing night

We came across one man with a nasty gash to the head.
He had not been attacked, he was just so drunk he fell
over and knocked himself out.

And passing out on a freezing cold Finnish winter's
night can be lethal.

A few days earlier I had met another victim of
Finland's heavy drinking culture, although Grandfather
Matti, as he likes to be known, did not think he had
been influenced by anything other than pressure of
work.

At first he presented a slightly shambolic figure: a
crumpled red jumper, a full, tangled beard and a funny
little pair of pink-framed glasses perched on his
head.

But after our interview he pressed a CD into my hand,
explaining that it was some of his work.

When I flipped through the sleeve notes, I wished I
had read them before. It was only then that his story
started to make more sense.

'Multi-artist'

Mattijuhani Koponen, to use his full name, has lived
an extraordinary life.

He describes himself as a "multi-artist", whose life
is an artwork in itself. He is not joking.

Matti became obsessed by work and found the only
release was through drink. He has been a poet, a
composer, a musician, a water-colour painter, a
photographer, a performance artist, a gardener, an
activist in men's post-modern liberation movement and
a journalist.

The sleeve notes tell how, in the 1960s, he was the
driving force for an interdisciplinary underground
group called The Sperm.

They arranged happenings, performances and concerts.
Apparently they caused some debate and public outrage
at the time in Finland.

I can imagine.

Matti's most famous concert took place in December
1968.

It is described as a symphonic love poem of
reconciliation made by the biblical figures of Cain
and Abel, represented as an act of love on top of a
grand piano.

Drinking for days

The sleeve notes say this act of reconciliation
between good and evil led to a trial, which saw Matti
imprisoned for eight months, the only time an artist
has been jailed in Finland.

Apparently some theologians thought such a
reconciliation was impossible.

In the drunk tank cells, muffled shouts and moans
filter through the heavy steel doors

Call me crazy, but I am not sure that would be the
reason he was jailed. It might have more to do with
the act of love on top of a grand piano.

After this Matti appears to have retreated into
journalism, and alcohol became more of a feature in
his life.

He became a man obsessed by work.

Writing for two papers, he found the only release was
through drink.

He would drink for days. The first night was OK, he
says, the second was fun, the third bad.

"I had a wonderful family," he says and then sighs.
"My wife got tired of my drinking and then..."

He trails off, leaving the disintegration of his
family unspoken.

Back on the streets

So now he visits a suburban alcohol treatment centre
for regular check-ups.

In a very Scandinavian way he said he does not drink
that much any more: just a few beers and maybe a drop
of cider.

Back at the drunk tank the cells fill up. Muffled
shouts and moans filter through the heavy steel doors.


Most of the occupants eventually fall asleep,
monitored by closed circuit television in case they
fall ill.

And in the morning the lucky ones will head for home,
nursing what the policemen say will be their worst
ever hangover.

But for those who have been caught up in alcoholism so
badly that they have lost everything, it is a return
to the streets.

But tomorrow or the next day it is almost certain they
will be making another visit to the drunk tank.

From Our Own Correspondent was broadcast on Saturday,
29 October, 2005 at 1130 BST on BBC Radio 4. Please
check the programme schedules for World Service
transmission times.

You think yer the only one with an alcohol problem? We all been cuffed, thumped and thrown in the drunk tank with Ginley: quit being such a bitch.

Top of the morning gents,

First frost, first snow and I'm fucking digging life. Me and bun are seeing drifting snow at all our stops between here and hell and back. Okay, only as far as Kaktovik: same thing though.

I'll assume all yer summers were righteous and fit fer maggots, mine was. Summers suck cuz real Alaskans winter in Alaska. All else is mere playtime at the Day Care center for chubby half-breeds, porky browntards and old fat white tourists. No shit, these blue-haired seasoned citizens were even fatter'n a Gumby pre-turd cutter bypass.

The entire Arctic Slope was invaded by chunky aliens hoping to see pleasant arctic dwellers, not a mean as shit Finn with a gun, escorted by a trillion mosquito bodyguards and vampire chiggers capable of sucking fat humans dry, all from their bottom and penis.

On my 11 mile daily hikes and hunts inland or along the cliffs above the Arctic Ocean, the chiggers this year were something to be reckoned with. To extend the life of my obsolete year, make and model body I tucked my trousers inside me socks else I'd experience a fluid extraction and bloodletting out my fucking dick worse than draining the Shoreline Swimming pool with yer retarded inlaw squatting their FAS penis holster over the drainpipe.

Alas, good fishing requires good bugs. Amen, but I loathe screaming parasites and buzzing airborn catheters. The life of the retired, a year of Sundays till forever. I married smart and rich. Besides mosquitoes and chiggers, what's in your wallet?

No caribou near town yet, so I ain't punched too many tickets nor packed the furnace room with tunnik punniktuq. But, I HAVE scored a savory menu of righteous munchable meats. Bun split the sinuses of a natchiq better'n full combat lesbo porn glazing a dike's toy baseball bat. No shit, the bearded seal I packed, froze and shipped to Agent Octuck even earned a nickname: pussy face Davidovics.

Hooah! Ye like that? Just like old times mopping up dubious suicides with uniformed serial killers.

Topping off Patchuk's monster freezer with some mighty fine pink and black whale candy and bright red caribou meat and you got one dandy picnic niqipaq. If you are so lucky as to lift weights at Octuck's garage and dojo, he might let you peek at his treasure trove of ancient foods other cultures call rotten. If he shows you his gun, run.

No matter what cafeteria of drugs I chow, I'm still a hunnert percent dedicated to my legacy nickname of 'Slim' and looking really fucking good both in my underwear and out.

Since losing my North Slope liquor permit over a minor misunderstanding of local option laws, I kinda been forced into sobriety save tuppagnak y cafe. Fuck you: Coffee and bonghits, tea and toke. Meaning, I ain't drank like a fucking Finn in ages and "it's been days since I found God" (K. Cobain).

Oops, I forgot you boys are primates, I mean primitive fucking Niffs. Ye see, way up North of 70 Lat, we have to pass a criminal background check just to get a permit to order booze.

Us northern Alaskans got standards too. No fuckups can order anything alcoholic. Me included. If ye got ANY assaults, DV cunt punching or DWI (driving while inupiaq) on your record, you can't play the Ukpeagvik game of infant biscuit for brew. If I want to drink someone else's liquor rations, I gotta kill an Alaskan dime: pay $100.

I've tried sidestepping city ordinances, but a drug dog at both the airport and post office pretty much scared me straight. Pretty much knocked my dick in the dirt and forced me to shut up and sit down: on that sack o' seeds.

I haven't gotten Finnished drunk since Vance and one of our graying gunslingers spoiled me plastered. Me and bunnik flew to Shitbanks, raced to Anchoragua and back, and basically partied for months till we were trippin' balls. I owe two hard drinking OCS cowboys some of my all time 10 best hangovers.

Alas, Coffee and bonghits it is.

Sitrep (situation report for you queers): lots of physical training, lots of shit food and lots of hikes: to the tune of a weight declination plateau of a skoach under 200 pounds. Hence why I now look REALLY good in a bathing suit sportin' wood.

Every morning my bunnik orders me to "eat your mushuk" with vitamins and a couple of aspirin, for lunch it's steak and potato and for dinner it's more steak, salmon, rice and steamed vegies.

Boring. No sweets, no baked goods, just dead meat. I can count with my dick the number of times I chugged down any spirits, save a few visits from a big as shit redneck from North Carolina. I only getta chug yeast-werks if I get a visit from a giant of a man twice my weight.

On days with more blasted exertion such as hunting, hiking or running from the cops I chow mondo dried fruit, granola or even dried plums...prunes for you nimrod anal retentives past 40.

Nothing personal, but your peer group determines your obesity, so stay on the other side of the Brooks Range or you'll all start gettin' trim and buff distracting yer dumber wives from staring at me. Damn I'm good looking. It's all in my jeans.

Fat is a zip code issue, so blame yer ballooning bodies on yer wife, yer community and yer lazy nigger ass. You want a piece of mine? Ye gotta catch me before ye pound my shit.

I've held back on you lads long enough. Mr. Winter has returned to bless us pale arctic dwellers, you darky fuckers too. So I shall bestow "abrasive yet witty" parables (RA Dillon). Don't fret yer skin hue, in another 10,000 years you'll also be pale tunniks sporting big lilly white naulami salamies. Your melonin impairment is merely Mongoloid in descent.

All you Inupiaq fucking soaks gotta simmer down, take yer time, let us Viking motherfuckers die off of natural deaths due to alcholism first.

Ironic ain't it? The most vile humans on Earth are dying of diabetes and alcoholism faster than everybody.

And you thought I was talking bad about Natives.


Karl Zagars


===

Alcohol now Finland's top killer

BBC WORLD NEWS, Finland

Alcohol consumption has soared in Finland following a tax cut Alcohol has become the leading cause of death in Finland for men, and is a close second for women, a study says.

Figures for 2005 released by the state statistics agency showed alcohol killed more people aged 15 to 64 than cardiovascular disease or cancer.

Almost as many women died of alcohol-related causes as breast cancer last year.

Alcohol consumption in the Nordic country has risen steadily over the past 20 years, correspondents say.

About 2,000 Finns died of alcohol-related causes last year - 150 more than in previous years.

Each Finn drank on average the equivalent of 10.5 litres (22 pints) of pure alcohol in 2005.

Alcohol was also found to be a contributory factor in suicides, and intoxication is involved in nearly one in four deaths caused by accidents or violence, the figures showed.

"If the trend continues, we are talking about a significant matter even from the point of view of the economy, because people of working age pay the pensions of the coming generations, and keep the economy competitive", Ismo Tuominen, a Ministry of Social Affairs and Health senior official, told Helsingin Sanomat newspaper.

Alcohol import quotas were reduced and a 40% cut in taxes on spirits was introduced two years ago.

Parliament is considering ways of bringing alcohol consumption under control - including health warnings, an end to bulk discounts and restrictions on TV advertising, reports say.

Another proposal is to ban retail sales of alcoholic beverages before 0900 hours. Currently, stores can sell beer and cider from 0700.

===

A night out in Helsinki

By Dominic Hughes BBC News, Finland

Dominic Hughes accompanies a police patrol as they deal with the drunken excesses of a Friday night in Helsinki and meets a victim of the country's hard drinking culture.

Alcohol consumption has soared in Finland following a tax cut

We saw our first really drunk man at around 10pm, picked out by the headlights of the police van as it cruised slowly down the road.

He looked like an office worker in his 40s, dressed in a suit and overcoat, with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, weaving and staggering along the pavement, narrowly avoiding obstacles like lamp posts and trees.

The two enormous policemen we were travelling with were unfazed.

They see a lot of this kind of thing on their regular Friday and Saturday night patrols.

So they ignored the office worker. He looked like he was on his way home to sleep it off.

It's Friday night in Helsinki, and the object of the exercise seems to be to get as drunk as possible.

'Drunk tank'

Our escorts had already picked up one hopelessly smashed teenager, depositing him in the grim confines of what they call the "drunk tank", the biggest in Europe.

In the morning they will be nursing what the policemen say will be their worst ever hangover

Lit by bright fluorescent tubes, the small cells smell of urine and stale sweat, with a toilet in one corner and a foam mattress on the floor.

Our teenager was like a puppet who had had his strings cut. Legs buckling, head dropping, he was moaning incoherently.

And he was quietly crying. You could see he had not planned on ending his night here, or in such a bad state.

Most people who wind up in the drunk tank are locked up for their own protection.

It is at its busiest on weekends when the drinkers of Helsinki really let rip.

But the police do not arrest just anyone, only those who look like they will be a danger to themselves or others.

Many drunks find themselves victims of crime. Others are injured in falls.

Freezing night

We came across one man with a nasty gash to the head. He had not been attacked, he was just so drunk he fell over and knocked himself out.

And passing out on a freezing cold Finnish winter's night can be lethal.

A few days earlier I had met another victim of Finland's heavy drinking culture, although Grandfather Matti, as he likes to be known, did not think he had been influenced by anything other than pressure of work.

At first he presented a slightly shambolic figure: a crumpled red jumper, a full, tangled beard and a funny little pair of pink-framed glasses perched on his head.

But after our interview he pressed a CD into my hand, explaining that it was some of his work.

When I flipped through the sleeve notes, I wished I had read them before. It was only then that his story started to make more sense.

'Multi-artist'

Mattijuhani Koponen, to use his full name, has lived an extraordinary life.

He describes himself as a "multi-artist", whose life is an artwork in itself. He is not joking.

Matti became obsessed by work and found the only release was through drink. He has been a poet, a composer, a musician, a water-colour painter, a photographer, a performance artist, a gardener, an activist in men's post-modern liberation movement and a journalist.

The sleeve notes tell how, in the 1960s, he was the driving force for an interdisciplinary underground group called The Sperm.

They arranged happenings, performances and concerts. Apparently they caused some debate and public outrage at the time in Finland.

I can imagine.

Matti's most famous concert took place in December 1968.

It is described as a symphonic love poem of reconciliation made by the biblical figures of Cain and Abel, represented as an act of love on top of a grand piano.

Drinking for days

The sleeve notes say this act of reconciliation between good and evil led to a trial, which saw Matti imprisoned for eight months, the only time an artist has been jailed in Finland.

Apparently some theologians thought such a reconciliation was impossible.

In the drunk tank cells, muffled shouts and moans filter through the heavy steel doors

Call me crazy, but I am not sure that would be the reason he was jailed. It might have more to do with the act of love on top of a grand piano.

After this Matti appears to have retreated into journalism, and alcohol became more of a feature in his life.

He became a man obsessed by work.

Writing for two papers, he found the only release was through drink.

He would drink for days. The first night was OK, he says, the second was fun, the third bad.

"I had a wonderful family," he says and then sighs. "My wife got tired of my drinking and then..."

He trails off, leaving the disintegration of his family unspoken.

Back on the streets

So now he visits a suburban alcohol treatment centre for regular check-ups.

In a very Scandinavian way he said he does not drink that much any more: just a few beers and maybe a drop of cider.

Back at the drunk tank the cells fill up. Muffled shouts and moans filter through the heavy steel doors.

Most of the occupants eventually fall asleep, monitored by closed circuit television in case they fall ill.

And in the morning the lucky ones will head for home, nursing what the policemen say will be their worst ever hangover.

But for those who have been caught up in alcoholism so badly that they have lost everything, it is a return to the streets.

But tomorrow or the next day it is almost certain they will be making another visit to the drunk tank.

From Our Own Correspondent was broadcast on Saturday, 29 October, 2005 at 1130 BST on BBC Radio 4. Please check the programme schedules for World Service transmission times.

===

I'm such an old fashioned, old fart grand motherfucker. A pensive mood need not make a poet, but a hangover sure as fuck does.

Top of the morning gents,

In my last cackle sesh with Agent Octuck he stated he
needed someone 'fine' to cook and clean for his
family.

Shit, free beer, good food and a classy condominium:
hook me up fucker. I've crashed Patrick's pad, sweet
digs. Dude lays out heavy dinero, and it shows nicely.

As far as me being Octuck's armed maid, chef and
answering service, I don't think he's shopping to add
another swinging dick to his castle, I'd guess he's
more in the mood for some skirt, biscuit and trimmed
lippy.

Shuck, another point: I'm already happily employed as
bun's kept man, asset manager and lumberyard. Besides,
my risks of breast cancer are equal to my risks of mud
flap cancer. So far I've found only 2 lumps in my
trash bag.

Monthly self-examinations are prudent, but greasing
yer crank and con rod daily work real fucking good.

"If you shake it more than 3 times, yer playing with
it" (M. Callahan).

I'm so impressed to find that women who do lots of
household chores greatly reduce their risks of breast
cancer. Of course the study is skewed, but my smile
originates from fond recollections of moms around the
world doting and playing, kissing and scolding
gorgeous babies. I'm really fucking old, and it shows
don't it?

Britain and Ireland are the foci of this research,
which intrigues me. My chemically and blunt force
eroded thought platforms reveal old Cobal, Fortran and
Basic programming. Through these layers of ancient
code we can identify my race memories of green eyed,
red haired slaves: that's fucking sexy to a Viking. I
was never much into African or Latino fine: more
Northern Europe and Siberian in preference.

Straight up, 'tween you and me out here in the smoking
section of this cat box, the prettiest girls on the
planet are Eskimo or Finnish. Which is interesting.
Only stunningly gorgeous Scandinavian and Eskimo women
find me attractive. Oh sure, I've been hit on by a
million third world temptresses, but they had ulterior
motives aside from romance and companionship.

I've had Russian, Baltic (Latvia, Lithuania, and
Estonia), African and Asian breed stock back up to me
and rub their bumpers on me, spray me with cat eyes
and cat piss, and even propose odd marriage bullshit
and trade their Afro babies for crack.

Don't be that guy. Mail order brides will always stray
from their bleeding huts and I lost my copy of
Jonathon Swift-The Modest Proposal for recipes how to
brine, roast and prepare cooked infants for din-din.

Nup, I'm the luckiest man alive. Statistically, you
too: all you dickheads are dead and long gone in every
parallel universe I visit each time I hork down
industrial bongers of Cully's ghost bud, deadly hybrid
pine chron that lets you see the dead. So what gives?

Some of you have been spit on by AIDS infected
inmates, slugged and punched by HerpHep drunk bitches
and gang tackled nurse diesel and the herp queens over
at Hospital Housing.

I ain't saying names, but ALL of you miscreants know
the game of fetch of stick and chase the bullet. Shit,
a striking number of you graying gunslingers have even
absorbed stray bullets. Now you know how it feels to
be a bullet dump.

If you got 3 lumps in yer possibles pouch, one of 'em
might be stray bullet from an old gun battle. If you
bite into a Snickers Bar at the Post Office, that hard
lump ain't cancer, it's a brain and blood flavored
nutritional Lead supplements.

Thinking of a Dallas Hannah and his burnt mouth and
the hole in the nape of his neck causes me to digress
off the beaten path of intellectual masturbation
towards evermore amusing processes derivative of a
congenital hyperactive and drain bramaged retard
villager.

This stunt you'll like: and nobody gets fucking hurt.

Just for fun, when I phone you killers at fed, state
or local police, Persecutors Office or offices of
fraudulent Child Safety for gun talk, illegal racial
maneuvering around the constitution, and sweet head
shots from before the stroke, I'm frequently asked,
"May I ask whose calling?"

So for fun I make up stupid shit.

"Yes sir, this is Ethan Cooley."

"Yes ma'am, this is Dallas Hannah."

"Good evening there young man, this is Gilbert Hall."

"How do ma'am, this is Carl Schramm."

"Hey asshole, this is Ken Jewell."

Wake up fucks. It's my very own native American code
talk. When you review the police dispatch phone logs,
your thick head is supposed to think, "That fucking
Karl, I wonder what the fuck he's calling for now. I
sure hope he's got some guns for sale. I hope he shot
my wife already, fucker's late on punching her switch.
I wonder if it's time for me to take a nap and let the
dick head go postal all over town."

I imagine other parties review your Dispatch Phone
Logs too. I better quit being such a fucking dickhead
and just send you shit ass penmanship via jizz-mail.

Besides, my politically inappropriate colon kicks and
gonad Spetznats workouts aren't very nice. I doubt any
of you pussies get upset at all my bad words. Yes I
know ain't ain't a word and we are NOT supposed to use
bad words, but something has broken loose.

Tourette's syndrome reminds me of you guys. After
decades of observation, I think I've seen it all. I
seen every phase of every emotion and ridden your moon
bike (menstrual cycle) right next to you-side by
side-and lived to bitch about it.

Explosive anger, crippling guilt, clever cunning and
some pretty darn kind and tender words too. You guys
are the salt of the fucking Earth cuz your successes
are out of the goddamned ballpark and your failures
heart wrenching and emotionally devastating. Most
folks don't get a second chance do over when we cause
injury and death to another human being. Neither do
you. Don't second-guess shit, humans are at the top of
the food chain because of our creative and destructive
volatility.

By just a cunt hair we saved Annie Joule, but lost
that poor sod off the Crowley docks. We lost May
Marlene Thomas and Bessie (what's her name?) in
explosive and noisy deceleration trauma, which no act
of God could have undone, but we saved that kid
stranded out on the ice. See the ROI? Return on
investment balances your score card and absolved
guilt. I've already forgiven you soldiers for
catastrophic losses that ain't even happened YET.

I'm still disturbed by the fact that one girl was
pregnant, until she was separated from her vessel,
leaving us mukes to mop and shovel hunks of meat with
breasts.

Goddamned moment of no hope. Now both mother and child
enjoy a heaven better, Valhalla. You blessed angels
are witnesses to such horror, but like Hercules ya'll
bear the weight of these remote villages on yer
shoulders. Stress that gives you lumpy chicken skin on
yer nut sack.

'Cept this bitch won't have any fun bag tumors until
after you empty yer gun in his ass.

Hard nipples and drippy dick is what I say. Lumps in
yer fun bags don't mean shit, but lumps in wives fun
bags tell me you live in a fucking pigsty. Kidding,
wait until you read my attached articles.

Nup, I ain't dragging my vacuum cleaner and carpet
steam cleaner over to any of yer fucking scraling
grottos, unless ye got lots of cold beer and smokes.

I promise to leave the guns with the Mrs.

Your children and grandchildren really oughta not see
an old Finn act like a complete dildo. My animated
chemical ego is quite amusing and energetic, albeit
funny as shit, but really offensive to the ears of
babes, virgins and bitchy cunt shaped pears. Who let
the Douglass wife out?

Just ask anybody out here past the goats pasture, as
soon as me and Cully, Microdot and Troyous, Marto and
Denz smoke fat chiefs and get chinked, all the
guitars, guns and computers start humming in the wind.

Hyper Europeans get absolutely fucking creative when
surrounded by fellow felons. Marijuana initiative may
be an oxy-moron, but ain't none of you fuckers have
attended a Northwest Acid Test or a Troy Fest up at
Nancy and Baird's hideout down yonder Skagit River.

With racks and stacks of equipment piled all over
stage scaffolding you have chaos. With a man named
Larson chasing cable and eliminating phantom noise and
feedback, you got mayhem. Neuroshima evolves from
2-dimensional boner music to hallographic machinery
emitting unhealthy amounts of sound pressure levels
and macular degeneration.

All the equipment could truthfully be unjust
enrichment, but who gives a fuck? To this day, the
Mulluks and the Capone’s are assumed to be the
culpable parties in the disappearance of truckloads of
PA equipment from the Eskimo Building and the Rec
Center. Real nice stuff, whoever stated, "crime never
pays" must be a fucking poof.

In my nefarious schemes out here on the reservation I
got stung once. I bought a bass guitar from the
Janitscheck boys (traded product), Gold Streaked this
treasure to Seattle for a tune-up and pick-up tweaks.

Fuck me in the goat ass, the music shop I sent it to
ran the serial numbers, phoned the King County
Sheriff's Office, and handed over MY 4-stringed
shredder to the fucking coppers.

Ain't I an idiot? The pricey instrument I'd bought
from a bunch of fucking crooks and thieves turned out
to be stolen.

Who'd a thunk it? Fuck I'm such a dildo.

The rightful owner likely figured out who'd fucked him
by following the path of the loot from Seattle, to
Kotzebue, Alaska, back to Seattle.

I think I may have even marched over the Chief's
office, closed the door and showed him THAT letter
advising me why I lost a grand on that mish. They
thanked me for assisting the police in returning that
brilliant subsonic sound machine back to its owner.

At the end of a complex bit of commerce, all I got is
a letter from a music shop telling me Fuck you buddy,
later.

Despite being the dip shit sucker in that deal, I
feared Columbo or Wallace would fire me. Who wants
clever grifters and accomplished drug dealers working
for a bunch of fucking cops.

What am I saying? You fuckers probably hired me for
just those professional qualifications. As St. Paul
always declares, "there's always more to the story."

Guns don't kill people. Husbands coming home early do.

Well wishes and understanding farewells make your
nasty crime scene clean ups a little easier on your
soul and restores our faith in life, cuz all you
fuckers are still breathing God's air and that is
truly a miracle.

What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

If you ain't dead yet, you still got shit to do and
miles to go before you sleep.

Orders. All you boys push, pull or drag yer wives to
hospital for a mammo slam and crap smear. Then put out
yer weak gun hand and let the doc do a complete blood
panel on you too.

The crew of med staff at MMC is killer, so to speak.
Dr. Chuck Luck (Mr. Chin) is down from Barrow and so
is Dr. McCarthy the psychiatrist. Dr. Sanders is also
in attendance on this blessed team. He's a fucking
genius at balancing cholesterol, blood glucose and
pressure. The eye doctor transferred in from a
maximum-security prison, the largest in the country
and he knows all about the infections and injuries you
maggots have suffered.

Oh, the reason I'm aware of the psychiatrist is cuz
he's authoring a study of sick puppies that fail to
respond to Prozac, Depocote, Ritalin, Dexedrine,
Cannabis and Ethane. Oh, and cocaine.

I'm authoring a study of BIA village shrinks that
diagnose and prescribe all sorts of really groovy
shit.

Have drugs can't travel. Take a trip never leave the
farm.

Do a self-check. If you got more than 2 lumps it's not
a tumor, it's a spent bullet. I squeezed the shit outa
Octuck's tits, he ain't got no tumors, cuz he's gotta
clean up his own castle.

Guess ye can turn a whore into a housewife.

Fred Garvin, male prostitute.

---

Housework May Reduce Breast Cancer Risk

Doing housework may decrease the risk of breast
cancer, new research shows.

Over 200,000 women from 9 European countries were
studied by Cancer Research UK for over 6 years. The
study found that:

Housework cut breast cancer risk by 30% among
pre-menopausal women and by 20% among post-menopausal
women. Doing household chores is more cancer
protective than playing sports. All forms of physical
activity combined reduced the breast cancer risk in
post-menopausal women but had no obvious effect in
pre-menopausal women.

Of all physical activities studied, only housework
significantly reduced the risk of both pre- and
post-menopausal women getting the disease. "We already
know that women who keep a healthy weight are less
likely to develop breast cancer,” said Dr Lesley
Walker from Cancer Research UK.

"This study suggests that being physically active may
also help reduce the risk and that something as simple
and cheap as doing the housework can help."

The research was published in the journal Cancer
Epidemiology Biomarkers and Prevention.

Posted Wednesday 3rd January 2007

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Household chores cut women’s breast cancer risk

London, Dec 30: Women who exercise by doing housework
can reduce their risk of breast cancer, according to a
new study.

The research on more than 200,000 women from nine
European countries found doing household chores was
far more cancer protective than playing sport.

Dusting, mopping and vacuuming was also better than
having a physical job. The women in the Cancer
Research UK-funded study spent an average of 16 to 17
hours a week cooking, cleaning and doing the washing.

Something as simple and cheap as doing the housework
can help Dr Lesley Walker of Cancer Research UK.

Experts have long known that physical exercise can
reduce the risk of breast cancer, probably through
hormonal and metabolic changes.

But it has been less clear how much and what types of
exercise are necessary for this risk reduction.

And much of past work has examined the link between
exercise and breast cancer in post-menopausal women
only.

The latest study looked at both pre- and
post-menopausal women and a range of activities,
including work, leisure and housework.

All forms of physical activity combined reduced the
breast cancer risk in post-menopausal women, but had
no obvious effect in pre-menopausal women.

The women were studied over an average of 6.4 years,
during which time there were 3,423 cases of breast
cancer.

The international authors said their results suggested
that moderate forms of physical activity, such as
housework, may be more important than less frequent
but more intense recreational physical activity in
reducing breast cancer risk.

"We already know that women who keep a healthy weight
are less likely to develop breast cancer,” Dr Lesley
Walker of Cancer Research UK was quoted by a private
TV channel, as saying.

"This study suggests that being physically active may
also help reduce the risk and that something as simple
and cheap as doing the housework can help."

Bureau Report

I found 2 articles that all but said: "Graying Gunslingers" or "Uniformed Killers" read this shit right now.

Top of the morning gents,

PTSD can be easily detected by radical mood swings and
poor behavioral control often with violent outcomes.
Do you know any men that fit these fucking
occupational, environmental and chemical parameters?

Fuck you. I do.

I found 2 clippings about high stress and its
symptomatic lasting effects on the body.

The antidote? Our good buddy and mistress illicit:
ethane.

Looking around at all you smokers and spitters, I see
some pretty fucking cool customers that I wouldn't
trust with horse shoes, grenades nor atom bombs, yet
I've frequently trusted you graying gunslingers with
both my wife and my life.

Think how many times I've been in the sights of yer
guns whilst walking into drug dens, date rape dorms or
playing the Wal-Mart greeter for incoming airplanes
laden with meth, weed and bootleg booze. Every time I
fondly reminisce of previous black bag ops and wet
werks I get that warm all over feeling knowing your
killers got my shit 100% monitored via transmitters,
recording devices and of course, your rifle scopes.

Regardless of our collective syndrome of violent
dysfunction and scarring affection for our loved ones,
I prefer y'all be heavily armed with large caliber
side iron.

That does it. I no longer make sense.

What the fuck is wrong with my concept of comfort and
friendship when I can't even shake yer hand, mooch yer
tobacco and drink yer office coffee, if I am still
scared shitless to walk anywhere without a bunch of
fucking guns and shit up my ass and strapped to my
road kill.

Oh, road kill is the new hip slang for big shiny wood.
Biscuit too. Genitals are inherently ugly, unless yer
under their influence, hence origin of "mashing
nasties."

What is wrong with me? What's up with all the guns?
There ain't a soul in town that's got the gonadular
structures to simply walk up to me, call me out and
beat my shit to a pulp. Of course most of you lads
would be a nightmare to subdue and get on top of, but
that's more like sex, not physical graffiti. Any of my
former clients may wish revenge for their demise, but
none have even said boo, shit, piss or even spit on
me.

Fast Eddy Larson sent a crew of shooters to my Willow
house, but I was already back at the helm running
comms at KPD Central Dispatch. RA (Robert Anderson)
did a fine job of grounds maintenance and also showed
the truck full of hairy killers the door-from the
business end of his infamous Wing master 12 gauge and
an assortment of strap-on handguns.

I've become such a pussy, I can't walk out my front
door without habitually and unconsciously strapping on
my 2-gun rig, extra ammo clips and 2 combat knives.
Which should strike you as odd because my lethality
lies in my hands, fists and feet AND my creativity
with fertilizer, blasting caps and stove oil-not my
propensity for shooting stupid cap guns. Shit I've
made lots of things go boom with garage door openers
and selector knob assemblies from washing machines.

Someday I'll feel comfortable sharing some awful
stories of senseless horror and overwhelming guilt.
Those confessions will be posted Wednesday morning on
a January plus or minus a few decades. In the
meantime, my paranoid and spooked ass will continue
arming for violent confrontations and noisy gun
battles-that will in all likelihood never occur.

Through sharing my most honest feelings and
intelligence, you boys ought to be able to identify
with most of my troubles with God. I'll never fit in
with the marching moron masses of humanity, but I'll
happily sell them highly addictive drugs, or fuck
them. By inflicting pain on all them other monkeys, I
save my loved ones and myself from spillover anger,
frustration, worries and affective violence.

Not once have I laid hands on my blessed wife. I've
beat hell outa girlfriends, even got my ass tossed in
prison for it. I've also stomped piss and shit outa
some inmates that truly begged for it. Octuck and
Garoutte have asked me nicely how my inmates' faces
and craniums got so battered overnight in the KRJ
house of pain. Never leave a sociopath in charge of
bullies, rapists and child gomers: ain't none of their
crimes worthy of the stompings I doled out on 'em.
Native or otherwise. Talk is cheap, unless it's heard
with bleeding ears-case of Eskimo whoop ass is what
I've both given and received.

My Nordic mind ain't as advanced as you darker white
dudes. I may have souped it up via selective pruning
and massive data dumps, but it's a sure bet my IQ
falls short of yours. After all these years and
dubiously intellectual morning postings, you boys have
figured my shit out. I possess a complete lack of
imagination and cannot discern subtle shifts in heat
nor color out here on the frozen tundra.

My reptilian processors respond to movement, not still
motionless targets. My blue eyes still dilate ass over
teakettle and respond to color blind movement, not
subtle shifts in hue, skin or otherwise. Blue eyes
also indicate genetic obsolescence dooming my sodding
lineage into the honey bucket in under a century, so
stills in both paint and marble bore my shit to
fucking death.

Since all art, music and dance tickles your sexual
synapses, out here on the rez I view all movement as
sexy: even injured dying polar bears, flailing
harpooned whales and disemboweled dogs. If it moves, I
may kill it, or fuck it. Or both.

According to my drinking pal up north, Alak, I porked
my 200-pound hybrid wolf dog on my porch. In front of
his whole family.

Now that's sexy. If I've wrecked pooch rectums, ain't
nothing I can't force good looks upon. Reviewing my
abominable behavior on this side of sentience, I could
very likely be a poster monkey for the sex offenders
website.

One difference, I rape the willing. I have yet to kill
what ain't was already done dead.

I'd give an Inukun 2 points just for breathing. Okay
I've packed some cream filled donuts that hadn't
breathed since her last cocoa puff, but I got me a nut
before she went cold.

Ah Christ I'm funny.

Something inside you violent sons of fucks has truly
broken. The way I heard yer kid put it, "Maybe you
ain't right in the head pa?"

The mind rot has set nicely. We expose you to piles of
stress, make you cut down leaking hangers and shovel
and mop bits of dead shot dogs and dead shot
neighbors. Shit some we even shot ourselves.

Now add to your nightmare a visit to a prison with no
name, located somewhere in Eastern Europe. There.
You're all better now. You just needed reinforcement
recognizing ye got a heart of gold and honorable
intent: but yer fucked in the head nonetheless.

As Marilyn Grey once declared during therapy, it's
your mind's healthy reaction to some extraordinarily
unhealthy environments. Smart bitch must've visited
Lem's Mortuary and Crack House-a chemical dumpsite
inhabited by nothing but baked criminals, toxic sick
bitches and steady streams of corpses that are burned
and buried and now integrated into high-grade fir
lumber all over the Killing Fields of the Pacific Northwest.

There's a little Finn in all of us. In accordance with
a universe bound by 100% energy conservation, a butt
load of bullies, punks and thugs have become soil
nutrients, aromatic hydrocarbons and organic
cellulose: got wood?

So, instead of cartoons I draw conceptually upsetting
fairy tales. All made up fictitious bullshit. I've
never touched a firearm, sold anything illegal nor
laid hands on a fellow primate.

Here in the smoking section of this cat box out back
of the horse pasture apologies are implicit and
complete understanding and forgiveness are explicit.
And I thank you.

Posting really Grimm Fairy Tales that never happened
is merely an exercise in your imagination. By taking
horrid images and nightmarish day-mares and dumping
them all into this paint mixer, I can create a space
where it's okay to laugh with me at really fucking
awful events and experiences so painful that when I'm
alone and nobody's looking, break my metal and bring
me to tears.

Only you guys: and a long list of dead friends ever
seen me cry. On occasion old friends from far away and
a long time ago pop in for cold one and a smoke.
Shoot, back pert near a fortnight I mooched a smoke
from Trooper 1D25. I was sitting out here all by
myself on the Group W bench when Kim popped in and
asked how Bun was. He told me to keep an eye on his
son Nush, insofar as to suggest I avail my highly
specialized skill set and murderous tool belt to him.

"Weeping is for the living, so enjoy it while it
lasts." "Besides, you ain't broken. You and your boys
are exactly the way God created you. Broken wings and
tarnished halos are distinguishing marks so angels of
mercy can tell the difference and stay the hell out of
yer way"

Ain't nothing wrong with me, it's all them other crazy
people that don't believe deceased loved ones visit
the sins of their son's best friends. You graying
gunslingers know what I'm talking about.

Trooper Nay also told me that "ain't no living with a
gunslinger, but tell yer boys they ain't done yet."

I write fictional crap that happened before the
stroke: conceptual tapestries from absolutely painful
experiences. The hearing loss, phantom PTSD symptoms
and subsequent medications including signs of torture
inside and outside my cadaver are remnants of sores
from extraordinary empathy albeit stigmatic whilst
only in the company of you unforgiven angels. The Lord
works in mysterious ways and you heavily armed lads
are the chosen few.

My name ain't Kevin Elsberg, Musta Makki nor Karluk,
it's Leonard Zelig. After 1 Msec out here on the rez
north of 70 lat, my transformation is almost complete.
I no longer see a handsome dapper and well-groomed
devil in the mirror; I see a pathetic busted up old
veteran. I'm getting too old to carry out any more
contracts for you fuckers.

Alas, the only truth in my shit is that I'll never
refuse any request from you killers. I'll break every
law in the book, under oath, subpoena and
non-disclosure agreement; as long as I know I'm dead
center in your gun sights, hearts and nightmares.

Ain't none us are who we claim we are and none of us
ever broke any firearms laws while in the commission
of violating a fellow sub human's constitutional right
to breathe out of more than one asshole and assistance
tying sheets whilst we kick their bucket.

And ass.

Each and every one of us could quite possibly be that
guy praying ya'll think he's an imposter. We could
never take responsibility for ALL of the awful things
we've done.

"No one knows what it's like, to be the bad man." "And
I blame you" (P. Townsend).

Have gun will travel. Still too scared shitless to
leave 'em at home.

Leonard.

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War trauma may raise heart risks
Last Updated: Tuesday, January 2, 2007 | 9:56 AM ET
The Associated Press

A groundbreaking study of 1,946 male veterans of the
Second World War and the Korean War suggests that vets
with symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)
are at greater risk of heart attacks.

The new study is the first to document a link between
PTSD symptoms and future heart disease, and joins
existing evidence that vets with PTSD also have more
autoimmune diseases such as arthritis and psoriasis.

'The burden of war may be even greater than people
think." Study's lead author Laura Kubzansky.

A second study, funded by the U.S. army, found that
soldiers returning from combat in Iraq with PTSD
reported worse physical health, more doctor visits and
more missed workdays. The army study is based on a
survey of 2,863 soldiers one year after combat.

"The burden of war may be even greater than people
think," said the first study's lead author, Laura
Kubzansky of the Harvard School of Public Health, who
studies anxiety, depression and anger as risk factors
for heart disease. Her work, with colleagues from
Harvard and Boston University, appears in Monday's
Archives of General Psychiatry.

Their study was funded by the National Institutes of
Health and the Department of Veterans Affairs. The
army study appears in Monday's American Journal of
Psychiatry.

The possible link with heart disease didn't surprise
one Iraq veteran diagnosed with PTSD.

"It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out,"
said John Oliveira of New Bedford, Mass., a former
Navy public affairs officer and veteran of Iraq and
Afghanistan. "It should also be a wake-up call that
the cost to treat those of us suffering from PTSD
could dramatically increase as we age."

Medical authorities first accepted PTSD as a
psychiatric condition in 1980 at the urging of Vietnam
veterans.

In PTSD, the body's normal hormonal response to stress
becomes trigger-happy, scientists believe. Long after
traumatic events, people remain edgy, fearful and
prone to nightmares and flashbacks. The continual
release of adrenalin prompted by these symptoms may
wear down the cardiovascular system, Kubzansky said.

"It's not enough to simply welcome them home and do
some immediate evaluation or help with reintegration,"
she said. "They need to be tracked and watched
carefully."

Raises questions for Afghanistan, Iraq veterans
The Harvard and Boston University researchers analyzed
data from the Veterans Administration Normative Aging
Study, a long-term research project tracking
Boston-area vets.

They looked at health records of men who completed
either a 46-item questionnaire measuring PTSD symptoms
in 1986, or a different 35-item PTSD assessment in
1990. Both questionnaires are recognized tools for
diagnosing PTSD and ask about symptoms such as sleep
problems, nightmares, numbness, a heightened sense of
being on guard and intrusive memories of traumatic
events.

Over the 10 to 15 years after completing the
questionnaires, the vets with more PTSD symptoms were
more likely to have heart attacks. For each level
increase in symptoms on the 1990 assessment, the risk
of heart attack or chest pain rose 18 per cent - even
after the researchers took into account known heart
disease risk factors such as smoking, alcohol use and
high blood pressure.

Although the men had different levels of PTSD
symptoms, very few had enough symptoms for a true
diagnosis, Kubzansky said. The study needs to be
repeated to see if the findings hold true for
PTSD-diagnosed veterans, and for women, she said.

The data also didn't track how frequently the men
exercised, so researchers couldn't tell if the men
with PTSD symptoms were getting more or less exercise
than other veterans.

Dr. Gary J. Kennedy, director of geriatric psychiatry
at Montefiore Medical Center, called the study
"impressive." He said one symptom of PTSD is avoiding
activity, which could account for some of the effect
on the heart.

Kennedy, who was not involved in the study, said
treatment options for PTSD include drugs, talk therapy
and behavioural changes such as gettin