Monday, April 18, 2005

Miscellaneous Ramblings. Don't believe a word of it.

Top of the morning gents,

Yup, puttin' my blonde ass (MBA) to work this week.

*Making trail with our browner Brower bros, *chopping Bambi and Rudolph knuckles and nuts with an acid bath finale, and *sucking shit (steam cleaning carpets) like a motherfucker.

Job 1 is to facilitate mondo whale grubbage.

Job 2 is subsistence philanthropy; Bunnik will pack and deliver the aforementioned spicy dried tunnik punniktuk to some blessed students over at the Ilisagvik Campus.

What a cruel thing to do to already rapidly expanding obese mongoloids; deliver more good jerky, sheefish, muktuk, and baked goodies. That's me mates, the Finnish Fuckoff that puts the "sag" in Ilisagvik, fuck ye.

Job 3 is a maintenance plan. I invested a bundle (meaning I stole) a commercial carpet cleaning machine and it's funner'n shit to live above the prevailing standard of hygiene.

(Ya mite wanna try it some day)

"Tough unit" as Mark Arneson would say.

"Beats sucking the farts outa the back seats of yer dad's truck." Like yours truly, Scandinavian Jews defer to their dad's this way.

I'm also suffering from uncontrollable springtime hyperactivity. Once the sun rises, all my hunting and raping pals get busy. So like "monkey fucker see, monkey fucker do", I'm out hunting and shoveling in the laser bright ice and snow formations any other dumbass would call a frozen ocean.

Imagine living north of 70 lat without sunglasses?

Yup, it's a bitch. Long ass days with laser whiteout sunshine that smokes and detaches yer retina faster'n shit, puts a cunt cramp in yer squinting muscles, with clear and cold temps dropping to 17 below every night.

Why is this important? Yours truly has been spending far too much time out in the elements.

Burned ears, cheeks, and sore ass back. I can hear you all whining in unison with me, cuz yer all my best (only) friends and yer all really mean and nasty old killers and rapists now.

Older the goat the longer the horn; fuck all.

Jens Leavitt assisted me in the acquisition of fresh caribou (wholesale machine gun slaughter), with my NANA recruits: Alice Moore and Alvin Ivanoff shipping us a butt load of the biggest sheefish. Ain't I pimp?

Bunnik and I then divvied up the goods and delivered them all over our blessed village, most going to the Siberian Old Folks Home. The rest we punted to me Bunnik's blessed coworkers of high regard and affection.

As our caribou asses thawed on the kitchen counter they leaked blood all over the fucking place. We're talking some serious butt shot illustrations like that old western novel "Blood on the Saddle" by the Kotex Kid.

The big gamy animals finally suffered speedy disassembly at the hands of an overly talkative alien partnered with a lovely human being of Mongol Asian descent.

We stripped every bit o' flesh off those legs, followed by a swan dive and 4 day acid bath in spicy and caustic brine sauce. We’re talking good shit dudes.

Soy sauce, smoke flavoring, pepper, and sugar, are the upfront dick in the dirt flavors, trailing off with a subtle nose of fiery red hot sauce and garlic. Fucking A dudes, hot ass SpicWapInuit foods work miracles. Ya gotta gnaw on more jerky just to put out the fire.

Hard nipples and steamy butt cheeks from chewing spicy dried caribou jerky ain't so bad when yer dumb ass is a couple miles out on an ice shelf within pissing distance of the North Pole and freezing yer dick off.

Me and Mrs. made you NANA boys look good. I bragged up a storm how sheefish from Kotzebue are bigger'n salmon. Damn straight, all day yesterday we pitched some gnarly big fish to some wide-eyed friends and neighbors already suffering from congenitally gookish eyes and micro nads. Way cool.

You know something?

Aside from our secret communications every morning, the only other relationships I can sanely manage are the donors and recipients involved with Operation Muktuk. Ya meet the coolest people once you’ve dedicated yourself to feeding the wrinkled, ancient, and wise.

I toil and labor, trade and barter everything under the sun for major tonnage of whale slabbage. We then ship it back to the remote regions that shaped and molded my wife, with hundreds of big fish flying upstream all the way into my front yard.

Way kewl.

Dean6Killer complimented me on utilizing my MBA in the study of spending decisions made by humans in vastly differing cultures, continents, and latitudes.

No shit. All commerce: every swap, trade, and sale made every day is dissected and analyzed by a handsome felon from Alaska, then documented and reported to a secret organization of retarded soldiers, coppers, and criminals.

I’ve traded almost everything for firearms, muktuk, and caribou corpses. In Finland I traded my own labor and brainpower by laying down hardwood flooring, tending bar and event coordination in exchange for cell phones, contraband, transit passes, and cafeteria meal cards.

Just like my passport, most of them had names on them that I can't seem to remember off hand. In Alaska, as in all my arctic haunts; the number 1 cause of amnesia is the abuse of alcohol. Imagine that?

On my bigger paying jobs I received compensation in the forms of gratis hotel, restaurant and bar tabs, airfare on Finnair, and Viking Rail and Ferry tickets from Helsinki to Tallin, Stockholm, and Riga.

I further subsidized this plethora of payments with ambiguous proceeds indirectly related to parallel and illicit importation.

Got your attention now, don’t I?

Just like bush Alaska, there’s a thriving black market (musta makki) everywhere I hanged my hat. Opportunities abound when humans refuse to follow their own rules and empower the ever-present invisible hand of economics.

Ain’t no secret why my professors at UAF sent me overseas dozens of times for ‘research’ and what not, I always came back with Cuban cigars, Dom P champs, and an assortment of gems and jewels for Sara Magnum and me Bunnik. Everything a thief owns, he has stolen.

Smugglers have an inherent understanding of economics, hence why they quickly respond to fluctuating market demands unmet heretofore. Nice wording, huh?

Like you lot, most humans don’t give a shit about local option laws, sovereignty issues, or international treaties; they simply want the good shit at unregulated prices.

This gang of grifters once operating out of rural Finland, were also outstanding tutors: Timo Aristo, Simon Butterfield, Paul Quinn and Peter Huffman were extraordinarily violent Euro-trash, but lectured brilliantly on how to smuggle fags (cigarettes) into the UK, tripling yer money, and still undercutting the extraordinarily highly taxed products selling OTC (over the counter) in chip shops, chemist shops, and pubs. Like I said before; genius is never pretty.

I see a future in smuggling cigarettes into Alaska. With all the new taxes on smokes, it’s quite expensive for indigenous aliens to take a ‘fag break, mate.’

Checking online, I found the average price for the good smokes; Gitanes, and Galoiuses at $15.00 per carton, my best price in Anchorage for the imported cigarettes is a skoach over $100.00 per goddamned carton at Carr's and Oaken Keg. Do the math, every government I've enjoyed evading still fucks ye best, longest, and last.

Even if you choose to smoke shitty American fags, you’ll get yer rectal moneymaker raped and scraped to the tune of $60.00 per carton. No shit. Smokes are now cheapest on the Indun reserve we fondly call stinky bush Alaska.

Prohibition, high taxation, etc are red flags to a smuggler.

Think of it this way: the opportunity cost is the opportunity lost, and internet tobacco purchasers are supposed to ‘voluntarily’ report, submit, and pay their respective state taxes in violation of federal laws.

I don’t intend on reselling any of the delicious French or Danish cigarettes I order, I’m waiting patiently for my pals overseas to get their shit together and lay out their plans to develop a trans-Alaska smuggling route for other contraband you boys will eventually be privy to. See how it works?

There’s still a hot market for stolen cell phone corporate software from Nokia, Finland to China, hot pellets to the Gooks and Sand Niggers, and the new gig; smuggled diamonds from the slave labor mines all over Western Africa. When Canada starts mining diamonds, we’ll funnel ‘dirty’ gems in with the ‘clean’ gems freshly mined near Whitehorse.

You’ll know when I’ve returned to my occupational forte, your morning missives will be sent on a word document, security locked, followed by the necessary password to read my shit.

My gramps once said, “Ain’t no profit in peace, nor fair play.”

Amen. Advice from a smart man that purchased a bankrupt logging firm in Forks, Washington; sold off most of equipment, leases, and commercial real estate, and was able to abscond every penny from the pension funds. All absconded proceeds henceforth were funneled into the new project; The Carnation Golf Course.

“Ewing” means Enron in a hunnert fucking languages and dang genders. Regardless, if yer an infant or a retiree crawling on yer hands and knees, we’ll still rape ye, give or take 40 years.

What the fuck, most humans live their entire lives in this politically correct position. Leap frogging and buggerin' vulnerable buttcheeks don't mean "bike rack" in Viking culture, it means "back in parking only."

I'm getting back back into character. I'm feeling as awesome as a dyke in Auschwitz.

Again, I apologize for such scant correspondence. My photo-processing mission is a time pig, and so are my new communications from London, Inari (Finland), and the Ukraine.

This new batch of high crimes and misdemeanors isn’t within yer grasp of jurisprudence, but you oughta listen up anyway.

Some items are carried internally. And since time is one important factor when outrunning the law, and death, “ya best git to gittin' and god speed ya Yank Fuckoff."

Dwayne Welleschuck took his wife on one smuggling run. He made it through Valnikolai, the Finnish/Russo border checkpoint, but his wife was detained by the Russian Authorities.

Detained is a funny term. In this context it means getting raped for 2 days while we stressed and drank heavily in Helsinki, waiting and worrying for her safe return. She emerged bruised and beaten, but still the same pretty Finnish farm girl. That is, if ya like shredded wheat.

"If I swallow anything evil, put yer fingers down my throat." (P. Townsend)

My phone just rang, and my caller ID displays "INTERNATIONAL".

I better log off with you chaps. Opportunity knocks.


Karl.

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