Monday, April 04, 2005

Mommas don't let yer babies grow up to be coppers.

Top of the morning gents,

I awoke this morning to the soothing mellifluous tones of a man. Yikes, this isn't fucking funny.

My arctic landscape merged with my drug affected dreamscape and I unknowingly incorporated KBRW Earl Finkler's dreadfully fermented and cobwebbed wit into my dreams of raping and killing. This isn't a pretty picture no matter which order I drain my nut sack or work the kinks outa my dick.

I botch up simple shit. I even fucked up setting all my clocks in accordance with the Royal Majesty's scheme to prolong daylight and upset my internal gonad clock. I now get a piss hard on after lunch.

This can be a scary event, if yer tasked with lifting and hauling suicide bloat bags like June Nelson to the dump. Hey fuck you; Waller and Westlake suffer from the same uncontrollable gun swelling, so we were all packing heat, while lugging leaking corpses out with stacks of frozen dogs.

Ain't nothing new. Working graveyard shift is just like roaming intoxicated across numerous time zones. Enhanced lessons I learned a long time ago in the old jail in Kotzebue.

This was a major bitch, cuz phase shifting my eating, shitting and pissing schedule stressed me out, and I, like normal, was whining to my coworkers about it. Armed and deadly coworkers.

Late one evening, two old coots from down yonder, Georgia and Florida, lectured me on how old professional killers in uniform cope with rotating shifts. These vicious old coppers from Miami-Dade and Broward County Police Departments sat my dumb ass down and lectured rather sternly, "Let me show you how it's done, son."

These scarred up bruisers were named Lieutenant Eunice and Sergeant Mack, both now retarded (retired) and have long since relocated far away from the frozen shit here, north of 70 lat.

These graying gunslingers advised me to only drink coffee before shift and drink alcohol immediately after shift. Make that lots of alcohol, it allows hyperactive psychopaths to sleep in bits and pieces.

Sure, more like pass out in intervals while yer wife and kids are away at work and school. Monitoring yer intake of stimulants, narcotics and hallucinogens will enable a broken human the ability to mimic healthy ones. Cops are funny that way. Fuck ye

We abuse the upstairs brass, but we love 'em, and their quaint old wheel guns. I owe both those uniformed felons a big fucking debt of gratitude. Every time shit was missing (and smoked) out of the evidence locker, or guns seemed to grow legs and walk, they simultaneously forgave me and reminded me of behavioral parameters acceptable heretofore, with deadly force.

We're talking broad parameters, but boundaries enforced with dinosaur magnums that enjoyed digesting Hydra-shocks and Mag-safe ammo, supplied at no charge by yours truly.

If we could've planted a recording device inside KPD dispatch, we would've documented outlandish tales of chasing bad guys, shootouts, cocaine importers, and what 44 magnums do to human flesh and numb skulls.

Lt. Eunice showed me scars from high-speed pursuits where he'd clipped off side view mirrors with his limbs and motorcycle attire.

Folks down south allow fleeing felons to speed past, and then they'll fall in behind hoping to get to their destination quicker. Subsequently failing to detect the motorcycle right on the bad guy's ass, burning GTO (gas, tires, and oil) at 3-digit speeds. Old man Eunice said he'd torn off half his dang road gear, but still killed his prey in a roadside turkey shoot.

Automatics seldom exit auto glass and metal, but magnums always penetrate and displace cranial fluids atop minority scumbags with hot gasses and smoke.

Old man Mack also toted a 44 magnum. Claims they blast through freight containers as well as the doors of municipal Chevrolets. He also claims they vaporize bank robbers, druggers, and escapees just fine too.

Note to self. If pulled over by these two killers; be cool. When it comes to destroying lower life forms in gun battles, shootouts, and beat downs, those two sons of fucks don't discriminate. It ain't their duty to judge you, they'll simply arrange a meeting between you, and your maker.

I'm fortunate to have met so many distinguished killers in my life. I absorb treasure troves of information from all the lethal sons of fucks I've befriended and worked with.

"You could learn a lot from a dummy." -Crash Test Dummies.

While all you coppers were wrestling in the mud and snow, beating the piss outa drunken mongoloids, I was warm and comfortable sponging up devilish details from the minds of wicked shooters.

Mack had biscuit bitches phoning him at all hours of graveyard shift. No shit. That old goat split tiny cooters all over hell and back. Vietnam Vets never outgrow their cruel enjoyment of popping micro pussy in fine aboriginal fashion. His mantra was "put it in soft, then listen for the bones to crack." Fine rapist in my mind.

Lt. Eunice behaved himself far better, despite being a serial killer in uniform doing the Wyatt Earp gig.

Lots of old cops and soldiers pursue the same karmic path as the infamous sheriff of Nome, Alaska. Since the West is already tamed and there ain't no money in smoking pockmarked Induns, these gun toting mercs signed on for constabulary employment hoping to out draw and eviscerate subhumans in the line of duty.

"Just give me a reason." -Captain Wallace, Kotzebue Police Department.

Killers and rapists are magnetically drawn to where we live, up here north of 70 lat where the soil's gone bad.

It's a damn good thing we put uniforms on 'em and pay them to perform the cleaning duties our villages are incapable of doing themselves. Those old ghosts from the past, despite being hired professionals, were paid to do tasks local ice Negro folks were so afraid to undertake.

Shit, I'd be afraid too, had I not been part of this team. What am I saying? You bastards still scare the piss outa me. I like fear, cuz it bring me hard nipples and more boners.

Humans are capable of all things horrid, and all things wonderful. I find myself attracted to and surrounded by the most vicious characters any rural village script provides.

Cheers mates, here's to the old coppers that are long gone, but still deadlier'n shit.

More sex in your violence? Not me, how 'bout the other way 'round.


Karl.

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